“Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. ’ ‘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. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. . If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. It was obvious that he had waited for her.
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