So far the boy's mind was clear. ‘What’s this? Impertinence! French manners, is it?’ ‘Grace à vous,’ Melusine threw at him fiercely. By a sort of instinct. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Let me go my own way towards them. He only laughed his defiance. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited.
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