Chapter 25
When Caterina and Santo returned to the inn, Madame Robert was still at her desk. After they greeted her, she murmured, “L’amour, l’amour . . . l’amour n’est pas mort,” and kissed the photo of a man on her worn, gold-leafed Louis XV registry desk. Love is not dead.
Caterina paused before climbing the stairs. “Your husband?”
Madame Robert, wrinkled as a raisin, pursed her lips and winked again. “Non, non, Jacques was my lover. If I’d ever married him, it would have ruined our relationship.” She brushed her hands together. “My husband had his affairs; I had mine.” She delivered this intimate information without remorse, as cheerful and casual as if Caterina were inquiring about the weather.
“Sure are different attitudes in France and America,” Santo said, chuckling.
Caterina
