Very slowly, half-afraid that the mere action of raising his eyelids might start up again the pain in his head that the Marquis recalled as being intolerable, he opened his eyes.
He saw, as he had expected, that he was in a strange room and that he was lying in a strange bed.
Standing by the washstand, washing the cup that he had recently drunk from, was the slim figure of a woman.
She had her back to him and, remembering the softness of her voice and the gentleness with which she had raised him, the Marquis found himself waiting for her to turn so that he could see her face.
She dried the cup and set it down on the saucer with an infinitesimal amount of noise and then she placed the cloth on a towel rail and turned towards him.
He had somehow expected her to resemble her voice, but w
