The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. ’ Melusine was quite aware of the effect she had on the young lad.
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