Nobody who cared. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern.
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