“The molten lead which was poured into my ear,” replied Aurélie, “will go before her glowing like a will-o’-the-wisp.” “And how can she, in her condition, make so long a journey?” “Let her take the fine ebony cane which broke my skull,” rejoined Hortense. “For now the cup of Florian’s iniquity runs over, and all the implements of his wickedness revolt against him.” “Come now,” said Melior, “there has been a great deal of nonsense talked. But you have at last, poor ghost, suggested something really practical, and something that had occurred to me also. Yes, you are entirely right, and your suggestion is most sensible, though, to be sure, it can hardly be ebony: for now that I am quite certain about Florian I simply owe it to my self-respect to leave him before he murders me too, and the easiest way to do that of course is to use my unfortunate and misguided sister’s staff. But ebony, you know, is perfectly black—” “Now of what staff can you be talking?” “Why, but, my dear! As anybody at Brunbelois, even the veriest tidbits of children, could tell you, it was presented to Mélusine by one of the most fearful and ruthless demons resident in the Red Sea. It was the staff the poor darling always rode on. I do not, of course, mean him: in fact, I only saw him once, on a Saturday, when I was the merest child. And with all those scales, he could hardly expect anybody to call him a darling, even if you overlooked his having a head like a cat. Only much more so, of course, on account of his being larger. No, I meant that Mélusine rode on it—” Now Florian was reflecting, “With what a lovely air of innocence she lied to me about that staff!” And Aurélie was saying, ineffectively, “Yes, but—” “—Not as a steady thing, of course, but when she was about some particularly important enchantment, and wanted to make an impression. Mélusine was accomplished, and all that, and nobody denies it, but, if you ask me about being vain, then I can only say that, sister or not, I believe in being truthful. And as for leaving her things about helter-skelter, even the crown jewels—for Mélusine was the oldest of us girls, and Father always spoiled her quite terribly, and Mother never cared especially for dressing up,—why, we all know what clever people are in that way: and I need only say that I found this very staff stuck away in a cupboard, like an old worn-out broom—” Said Marianne, “Yes, but—” “—When I was getting my things together to leave Brunbelois. And, much as I hate to contradict anybody, it has a distinctly red tinge, so that it could not possibly be ebony. So, what with all the talk, and Hoprig’s suspicions about Florian, it simply occurred to me that this staff was not the sort of thing my dear father would care to be stirring up unpleasant old memories with, by seeing it, after all his trouble with Mélusine. For, even if Hoprig had been quite wrong, still, marriage, as I so often think, is really just a lottery—”