"Mercy!" screamed Mrs. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. He wore a black tail coat buttoned tightly over his chest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which had seen better days. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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