’ Joy rose in Melusine’s bosom. "I'll be their substitute. \" She said. Good night!" She pressed his hand and went out. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. That would come later. He went by another name then,—Rykhart Scherprechter I think he called himself. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips.
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