CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. Now if she sent fifteen pounds the suggestion that she had spent a five-pound note in the meanwhile would be irresistible. And this though he was evidently passionately in love with her. I find it impossible to associate you with—my little friend of the ‘Ambassador’s. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life. “I should like you to come here,” she said. .
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