’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. She wasn’t well-liked really, I think people were jealous of her. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. "What did you ring for, Sir?" she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment. Lucy looked about confusedly. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest.
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