’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. ’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. ‘I know just what he was doing. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. ‘When I thought to make them sympathique for me, with a little tear, you understand, and some tricks feminine of this kind—’ ‘Feminine tricks, too?’ cut in Gerald admiringly, controlling a quivering lip. ’ ‘Ah, that was well done of him,’ exclaimed Melusine. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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