Her faithful servant struggled, with her assistance, to rise. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Gosse! Dieu du ciel, but how did he get into the convent? She had perforce to obey his command, for speech was impossible. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. It heralded you, promised you. “Quite on my own,” she said. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. It’s gone. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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