Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’ Melusine giggled. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood.
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