The girl’s eyes never left his face. “Do not be frightened, dear,” she said. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. ’ ‘Not if you want one of good family, no,’ he agreed mildly. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. She lay very still and closed her eyes, hear tears gliding off of her ears, causing them to itch. .
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