She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view.
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