’ ‘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 was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. She sat with him in the courtyard after serving him 20 spiced wine. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside.
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