‘Pitiful. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. We dine at seven-thirty. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. ‘Melusine…Melusine. I felt I MUST do something anyhow, and up I came just as soon as I could to see you.
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