The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. She stared at his pleading face. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. He was an old, skilled vampire. But in a moment, it was tucked under his arm and, raising the pistol again, he gestured towards the door opposite the one where Melusine stood. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. Everybody who’s going to develop into a woman.
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