Now then, missie—’ ‘Bon,’ said Melusine, interrupting him without ceremony, and paying no attention to the muskets that were pointing at her from two directions. And he did not lack courage. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. But this was a vicomte’s sister. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. Well, he was executed for murder. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling.
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