’ ‘I fetched them with my clothes when the son of madame took me to see Marthe,’ Melusine admitted. Sebastian returned to find her blood dripping into the crucible. She might even forgive him. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members.
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