“Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale.
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