No surprise, for Melusine was aware no Frenchman in his situation would dream of walking abroad unarmed. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. Not then. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. Almost had Martha won out. “I hope nothing is wrong. This forthright dame was so excited, she could not keep still, but paced about the parlour much as Melusine had done earlier.
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