His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found her!’ ‘Ah, Gérard,’ uttered the girl in a gratified tone as Major Alderley walked through into the light. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. ‘No, for you had your own selfish plans already made, that is now seen. ” Lucy said. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came.
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