The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. One would think I had agreed to her going. ’ Both Valade and the granddaughter gazed at him blankly. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father.
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