She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. ‘I have told you I will take Jacques. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. Before midnight, I'll answer for it, it shall be done. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached.
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