But her words were not addressed to Melusine. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song.
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