Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. I told him that I was not ‘Alcide. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. By rights I ought to have arrested her days ago. “But Sebastian! I need them!” He smiled, not a smile of comfort, but a smile of terrible menace. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs.
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