’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. We wore invisible chains and invisible blinkers. I wish to rise in the world, mademoiselle, and you are going to help me.
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