Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably. He threw her on the bed. It isn’t. We hide it bravely, but so it is. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom.
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