"The key," replied the widow. ’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. When he left these premises, three years ago, I took them from him; or rather—to deal frankly with you,—he placed me in them rent-free, for, I'm not ashamed to confess it, I've had losses, and heavy ones; and, if it hadn't been for him, I don't know where I should have been. You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather than let it speak her mother's infamy.
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