The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. “Soon she will return. ” She laughed. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. It was among artistic people. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. Ann Veronica was not ready enough to deal with that counter-stroke.
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