Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. Around her neck was a little gold chain. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. ‘What was Leonardo to you?’ Melusine was instantly on the defensive. Before the full sentence was carried into execution, he was taken into a small room adjoining the court.
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