Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience.
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