She pushed at the closer of the two soldiers bearing the precious burden. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack.
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