“But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present situation. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. I was his wife. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. He said daring things with a grace which made them irresistible, his eyes flashed back upon her some eloquent but silent appreciation of the change in her manner towards him. “I wonder if you give me a thought. He was no longer in military uniform, and it was evident from his suit of brown brocade that he had been disturbed while preparing for an evening engagement. Her lips were dry and cracked. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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