“You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. ‘Here were you patiently waiting, without uttering one word of complaint the entire time, which of course you never do, being yourself a female altogether of a disposition extremely sweet and charming without the least vestige of a temper—’ ‘Gérard,’ Melusine uttered on a warning note, desperately trying to control the quiver at her lip. “Quite right,” she said. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. She tried not to blush. He hated himself a little for it.
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