At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. "Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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