Then Melusine jumped back into the fencer’s pose, on guard, the point of the wicked blade directed towards her enemy. He waited. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. For a nun at night it is less dangerous than for the jeune demoiselle.
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