’ ‘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. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. " "You'd better send him," jeered the turnkey. Don’t leave me. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. She is the wife now of another man.
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