Martha said to me that it must come to the bibliothéque. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. Of course there are, millions of them. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones.
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