Her heart ached; and that puzzled her. ’ ‘Emile Gosse,’ Melusine said flatly, in the same language. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption.
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