They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended.
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