Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. Beautiful sculptures of sugar and almond paste decorated the long tables, delicate replicas of flowers and miniature animals, even a small Palazzo sculpted from cakes graced the table. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. He was not particularly grateful for the present situation. In the one he approached was gathered together a vast assortment of weapons, each of which, as appeared from the ticket attached to it, had been used as an instrument of destruction. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. B.
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