She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. “Some afternoon. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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