She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. 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. It was horrible. “I shot him. I care for you. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. "No; I don't think I'd laugh. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it.
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