. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. “Here,” he said, “is this Blau See, and here we rest until to-morrow. Tell me about your island. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other.
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