‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. Ennison looked down on him in disgust. “I have a message from your sister. Mirrors. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. ” “You meant to say ‘morbid’.
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