‘What can I do, miss?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. ‘She may well try to go back. For that such a man does not mind about the dowry, he must be in love en désespoir. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. .
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