His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. They were those of the Irish watchman. It was a dead calm. On regaining his breath, he began to consider whither chance had led him; and, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, he perceived a sombre pile, with a lofty tower and broad roof, immediately in front of him.
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