’ He laughed. Soon I shall make my début, that it will be known that I am the real Melusine Charvill, and then I shall not require the services any longer of this imbecile of a Gérard. ‘To see Charvill. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer.
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