"You have killed him," cried Winifred in alarm. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. ‘Melusine!’ Distracted, Gosse blinked and his eyes flicked away from Melusine’s just as she flung the fullness of her gathered petticoats in the way of his blade. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. “As things are at present,” she said, “it is true. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. You'll do. Families had seen their lands seized, their chateaux ransacked or burned, and those unlucky enough to have failed to anticipate disaster, had been murdered or dragged away to gaol. Yours?" The stranger hesitated. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father.
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