Annabel, I was lying. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. All this was the work of a minute. Her new husband had paid for a cadre of escorts back to Mantua. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. “What I mean is. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read.
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