Playing became a way of escape. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. And it is all for his behaviour tout à fait imbecile, and that of monsieur le baron his father entirely unforgiving, that I am put at this need to come myself and get a dowry that I may marry in all honour. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered.
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