“Well,” Florence continued, “what I’ve told you is only part of it. There were other things that happened. I’ll have to speak of them too because ... well, because they form the story. I can hardly talk of them even now. Oh, it was terrible! There were times when Floria returned, the same Floria who had screamed for months in the London hospital. I remember the first time I saw her. It was about twelve years ago. I came home from school and found mother, that is Jane, dressed in a ball gown and talking to father in a voice I had never heard before. She was playing the part of La Tosca. When I arrived father was in tears. We both managed somehow to quiet her and after an hour she fell asleep. When she woke up she was Jane again. And there was no memory in her mind of the scene she’d been through. She worked around for days, looking dully at us and only half alive. But after this Floria returned a number of times and each time more and more violently. We never knew when one of the spells would come to her and we spent all our time watching her, trying to anticipate her and soothe her. But despite all our efforts we could do nothing. Floria would come and father would at once begin to act. It was the only way to humor her. Several times I sat by crying my eyes out and watching him play Baron Scarpia for her. “We tried everything—remedies, travel, and even several specialists. But the only thing we found able to bring her out of her spells, to end quickly the delusion which would sweep her, was to let her have her own way for a while. Father discovered that if he indulged her for a few minutes and played the part of the Baron, if he let her dress herself as Tosca, the Floria obsession would collapse of itself. And particularly if I were present and watching. Otherwise the delusion would last for hours—even days. And all this kept on through years. Oh, it was awful! But he would never consider for a moment sending her away. She was his wife to the last. I’ll tell you about the night ... about the night he was killed,” she concluded for a space with a sigh. De Medici sat waiting, his hand on hers and his eyes staring miserably at her saddened face.