’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. I know he is dead. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.
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