It was a clear, lovely, October morning. Melusine was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. “You must tell me the truth, and I will see that no harm comes to you. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. Out of sight of that tell-tale window, the two officers darted across the grounds, speedily gaining the lee of the mansion walls. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears.
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