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” She covered her face with her hands. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. I cannot have my wife distressed or worried.
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