What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. I will lay them all at your feet. Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards— but one crosses it sometimes. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. ‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping.
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