All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised.
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