“I’m not the Devil. ’ Bitterness rose up as he looked at the female. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. Silk. My will never faltered. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw.
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