"And you?"
"I am his architect."
"Morally, messire monk?"
"Madame, I do not edificate souls."
The woman stared him over with a critical comprehensiveness.
"Balthasar."
The man half glanced at her.
"Look me in the face."
He gave a sigh, made a gesture with his hands, looked melancholy and over-ecstasied to the point of despair.
"Madame, there are thoughts beyond one's liberty."