’ Melusine might have responded that she had not asked him, but she was too intent on her mission. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle.
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