Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. Here one might live the life of golden days. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. ’ ‘Pah!’ scoffed Melusine.
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