The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. "My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England.
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