’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. . Lucy’s cool. If he had imagined Melusine would be hampered by her petticoats, he was disappointed. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked.
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