“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. "Perhaps. ‘You would say that already then you love me?’ His glance was a caress and Melusine’s resolve weakened. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. Oh, you must believe me.
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