’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. And immeasurable was the calm evolved from this knowledge. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. We stopped for a moment to watch it, and almost immediately it was turned out.
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