“You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. His smile faded. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. He shuddered. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel.
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