He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. ‘It is all too probable that she would wish to change into lay clothing to escape recognition. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. Remember that. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. It was less will than education. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck. But after a time I learned the ways of the parrakeets, and they would come down to me like doves in the stories. ‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone.
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