The Duchess shook her head; the pearls tinkled among the dyed curls.
“Leave me here,” she said.
She drew herself from their support and sank heavily and wearily on the marble rim of the pool.
“Bring me my cloak.”
They fetched it from a seat among the laurels; it was white velvet, unwieldy with silver and crimson embroidery.
Lucrezia drew it round her shoulders with a little shudder.
“Leave me here,” she repeated.
They moved obediently across the soft grass and disappeared up the laurel-shaded steps that led to the terraces before the high-built palace.
The Duchess lifted her stiff fingers, that were rendered almost useless by the load of gems on them, to her breast.
Trails of pink vapour, mere wraiths of clouds began to float about the west; the long Italian twilight had fallen.