’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. It gave him plenty of time to obsess over his random crushes, which worried her. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. ‘He’s already spoken for, Melusine. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. ’ Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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