"Constance—or, rather, Mrs. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. He was every bit as much a pig as this Emile. The movement was fatal to her son. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him.
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