’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. ’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation.
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