et the money. Her body felt colder than ever, cold as death.
This, she thought, must be the way that poor man they killed last week
felt when he was waiting for the torturers to come for him. She
shuddered and hugged her knees tight against her chest under the gauzy
gown Tilia had given her to wear.

Tilia must have seen the sudden darkening of her mood. She moved over to
the bed and sat down beside Rachel, making the frame of the bed groan
alarmingly. She put a hand lightly on Rachel's arm.

"Listen, Rachel. I was raped. I will not be party to the rape of
another. You do not have to do this. Just tell me that you do not want
to."

A sudden heat rushed through Rachel's body. She was no longer cold. She
burned with anger.

"Stop saying that!" she screamed. "Will you leave me alone?" Being
reminded over and over again that she was doing this of her own free
will was an even worse torture than imagining what the man would do to
her.

_Oh, God, I am going to cry and make myself ugly, and he will not want
me and I will not get the five hundred florins._

She pressed her hands against her face, trying to stop tears.

"I was asking you to think, not carry on," said Tilia reprovingly. "If
you want to walk well in life, you had better learn not to burst into
tears when you have an important decision to make."

Rachel took deep breaths to calm herself.

"I decided days ago that I could not do any better for myself than this,
Signora Tilia. But I am so afraid. Perhaps the man will not want me when
he sees how afraid I am."

Tilia grinned broadly. "Nonsense. The more innocent and timid you
appear, the more you will delight him."

Rachel heard a light tapping at the door, and her heart beat so hard she
thought it would burst.

Tilia rose, brushing down her green satin gown. "The signal that he has
arrived. I thought he would never get here. It's almost morning. I must
go down and greet him, child. But remember, I will be watching
everything."

_I do not really like that._

Tilia winked and pushed on what looked like a plaster panel between two
gold-painted beams in the wall. It swung away from her and she squeezed
through.

Rachel sat in the bed, drawn up into the corner of it that was farthest
from the door, and waited. She played nervously with fingers that felt
like icicles.

A short time later she caught a glimpse of Tilia pushing open the door,
but her eyes fixed on the man standing in the doorway.

She