As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. She pointed across the road. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. . It would not be wise to ever see your family again if you do not wish them to come to harm. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. 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. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing.
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