Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Rumor in the Palazzo had it that her new doctor was a powerful archbishop from the south who conducted most of his dealings in secret. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. “Come sit with me, beautiful. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. I found the door locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was as you see.
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