Fra Balthasar tumbled his brushes and paints aside, and went to meet her as she rode over the grass. There was a smile on the man's lips, a flush upon his sleek face, as he walked with a courtly and debonair vanity. The woman caught sight of him and wheeled her horse in his direction. The autumn splendour of her cheeks told of hard riding, and her horse dropped foam from his black muzzle.
Fra Balthasar crossed himself with much meekness.
"Good greeting, Madame Duessa," were his words, as he kept his eyes on the ground.
The woman scanned the glade with the strenuous spirit of a Boadicea.
"My Lord Flavian?"
"Madame?"
"He has been here."
"But is here no longer."
"These buildings?"
"Are the Lord Flavian's."