The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. ‘Here were you patiently waiting, without uttering one word of complaint the entire time, which of course you never do, being yourself a female altogether of a disposition extremely sweet and charming without the least vestige of a temper—’ ‘Gérard,’ Melusine uttered on a warning note, desperately trying to control the quiver at her lip. “Did you tell him?” Capes smiled faintly. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming.
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