. ’ ‘Then Gérard may come back,’ Melusine cried involuntarily on a sudden rising hope. She pushed him gently on the chest. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind.
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