And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. ’ ‘But if I am with you, as André Valade, as your husband, an émigré—’ ‘Pah!’ Melusine spat. He moved to one side, bowing and gesturing to the door.
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