. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. She screamed involuntarily—she had never in her life screamed before—and then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. But it was not adieu, so she promised her old nurse. He listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone. "Your worry is needless. " "Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so.
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