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wolf-skin rug if I had.”
    “But the wolf-skin rug becomes you,” said Ragoczy gently.
    “Do you think so?” She reached out and laid her finger against his lips. “Don’t talk about this, will you?”
    “No; I never would.” He finished tying her laces and stepped back. “In which drawer to you keep your under-shifts?”
    “The second from the top, on the left.” She closed her robe.
    “The one with the blue embroidery, if you please.”
    “It will be my pleasure.” He slid the drawer open and removed the under-shift she sought; it was soft, made of fine knitted goat-hair yarn and silken decoration. He held it out to her. “If you want to slip into it?”
    She nodded again, and pulled off her robe, flinging it onto the bed before she could change her mind. She tugged the under-shift down from her shoulders and looked for her chamise. “The fire isn’t making much headway,” she said as her teeth chattered.
    “I will make sure it is built up for tonight, from the furnace next to the kitchen, not on this hearth.” He handed her the chamise.
    “Doesn’t that worry you? Mightn’t the chimney catch fire?” She shivered again, this time from fear.
    “The flues are constructed along Roman lines, and they do double duty, as chimneys and as comprehensive heaters. They are better ventilated, and have six shielded channels up through the walls that meet at two chimneys on the roof, as the old Roman household holocaust did in the floors, and the hotter-burning hypocausts did in the walls and floors in the baths. These channels are more like a hypocaust than a holocaust.” Over the centuries he had tried many variations on the Roman design when he had the opportunity to adapt his dwellings to his standards. This château had been no exception, being partially ruined when he bought it, and providing him with an opportunity to include Roman engineering as part of his own uses.
    “I suppose you got your idea from them?” She reached for her shirt and pulled it on, fastening its eighteen pearl buttons with unseemly haste; she felt something beyond cold now—a loneliness that touched her to the marrow.
    “To a large degree, yes. Some I learned from the Russians, more than two hundred years ago.” He offered the body of the gown to her.
    Hero pulled the garment over her head, wriggling to get it settled in place. “If you will tend to my laces?”
    “Of course,” said Ragoczy, and moved around behind her. “Stand still and I’ll finish this in a minute.”
    Hero lifted her heavy plait of hair and said, “Why is fashion so complicated? Not that the Parisians or Romans would call this fashion.”
    “It is complicated so that you can show that you can afford a chambermaid or a ’tire woman to dress you. And neither Rome nor Paris has the winters Yvoire does, even in mild years.” He slipped the knots into the back of her gown, then reached for the long, broad-skirted jacket with the standing collar and eased this onto her arms and settled it on her shoulders. “There. I hope I’ve done the task correctly. So long as Wendela is recovering from her putrid lungs, I am willing to do my poor best for you.”
    “Your poor best is more than satisfactory,” said Hero and turned to kiss his cheek. “It is inconvenient that she should be ill, and it is most kind of you to offer to treat her.”
    “Her family did not think so,” he said with a wry smile.
    “Then her family should—”
    “It is their decision and we do well to honor it,” he said. “And it is not as if you haven’t managed without a maid before. I know your father did not provide you one when you went with him to Anatolia.”
    “No, but there was Madama Chiaro, and we traded maid duties with one another.” She chuckled. “It meant more than tying laces—it meant looking for scorpions in our shoes and cases, and trying to keep the sand from ruining our clothes. I must have destroyed four muslin dresses before I learned how to care for