"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. He nodded silently, too full for words. Mon cher major, Melusine began. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. Imbecile. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered.
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