“A little nervous. Plote was sleeping or deaf. Alors, one must steel oneself. 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. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. He doesn’t know where she is, and I told him he’d have to apply to Remenham’s lawyers if he wanted anything to do with this place. ‘Major, sir!’ The major appeared so swiftly that Melusine was instantly suspicious. Promise me one thing before I leave you. I would not think so of you, Marthe.
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