He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. "Put it under my pillow," he said. I asked him to take me away, and hide me.
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