Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. It was the girl. They fell in a diapason of smashes.
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