And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. Surely it was a dream. “I was in Paris four years ago,” Mr. ‘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. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England.
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