“You are in trouble,” he said. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me.
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