" CHAPTER XIII. Melusine’s eyes blazed into his. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. ‘I believe that. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress.
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