“You say you want a vote,” said Mr. "Aha!" exclaimed Jonathan, acting upon the information he had obtained from Wood; "I have found you at last. ‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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