I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. Your mother arrived, and she knew me for what I was, she whispered to me curses against werewolves and vampires when I was alone in a room with her. She waited for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald. ‘Do not smile at me and try to make me not angry any more,’ Melusine warned, ‘for I am very angry indeed with you. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him.
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