“Since this morning, when I kissed you,” I answered fiercely.
She sank into a chair beyond the table and stretched a hand across it to me, inviting the clasp of mine. “But if this is so, why leave us?”
“Because I am afraid,” I answered. “Because... O God! Giuliana, do you not see?” And I sank my head into my hands.
Steps shuffled along the corridor. I looked up sharply. She set a finger to her lips. There fell a knock, and old Busio stood before us.
“Madonna,” he announced, “my Lord the Cardinal-legate is below and asks for you.”
I started up as if I had been stung. So! At this hour! Then Messer Fifanti's suspicions did not entirely lack for grounds.
Giuliana flashed me a glance ere she made answer.
“You will tell my Lord Gambara that I have retired for the night and that... But stay!” She caught up a quill and dipped it in the ink-horn, drew paper to herself, and swiftly wrote three lines; then dusted it with sand, and proffered that brief epistle to the servant.
“Give this to my lord.”
Busio took the note, bowed, and departed.