" So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. I never could. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine.
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