He waited. ‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. Here, as has already been observed, condemned malefactors were allowed to converse with such of their guests as had not interest or money enough to procure admission to them in the hold. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair.
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