David was still looking at Sophia. The midday light streaming through the white panes of glass threw sharp shadows under his cheekbones, giving him the gaunt look of a desert saint.
God's breath, how I would like to paint his picture. At least I could have that much of him.
"Do you think I wanted you to meet him so that you could teach him better manners?" David demanded.
"Of course not," she said, "but you do not understand men."
David's laugh was as harsh as the planes of his face.
"Oh, yes," Sophia went on impatiently, "you have always lived with men, and you lead men and fight against men. But you do not understand how Christian men, especially Frenchmen and Italians, feel about women. You know nothing, for example, of l'amour courtois."
"Yes," said Ugolini. "The head of every young French nobleman is full of two things, honor and l'amour courtois."
David looked from Ugolini to Sophia and back again. "What is this l'amour courtois?" he demanded. "I should know about it. Why have you not told me?"
Ugolini lifted his shoulders in a gesture that reminded Sophia of a shopkeeper on the Mese.
"My dear fellow, we cannot guess where the gaps are in your knowledge of the Christian world. That is why it is so dangerous for you to go about in public."