CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. ‘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. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes.
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