It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on.
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