‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter.
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