Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. “Rubbish!” he answered.
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