CHAPTER VIII. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. But if you mean to take me to this Gérard, I shall know what to say to him. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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