I went to her rooms to-night. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. The truth was impossible, indecent. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again. I am ready to wait for you, to wait your pleasure, to give all my life to winning it. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be.
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