’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. She had told him, point blank, that since the Church had neither annulled the first marriage nor sanctified the second one, she was not his wife. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. In the biological laboratory that was their invincible tone. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Those were dreams.
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