Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. "My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. "To-morrow I will take you to him. ‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback.
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