His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. ‘French? But what else?’ ‘I do not like Frenchmen,’ Melusine snapped. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major.
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