He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover. ‘Bête. The children made us slaves, and the men took advantage of it. ‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued.
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