‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. Wood, in equal trepidation. “Here,” he said, “is this Blau See, and here we rest until to-morrow. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own.
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