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I barely prevailed sometimes, but in the end, my wits were faster than their steel. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. And no ill-chances. A true nun. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. ‘Melusine…Melusine. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him.
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