"How?" cried her brother, starting. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. He was nearly wincing. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered.
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