’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. She is extremely lovely, but for her to have borne the name of the Blessed Virgin would have been nothing short of sacrilege. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. ‘I have justice. ‘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. " "What else did you do when alone?" "I read the encyclopaedia.
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