“Impossible to say,” he answered. "It is," replied Sheppard. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Parbleu, but she was a fool. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. You may command my services at any time. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up.
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