I have given up painting. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. “My word holds,” she said. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. And we men would work for them and serve them in loyal fealty. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject.
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