’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. ’ ‘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. She felt like a dried-up old woman. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous.
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