The wings stopped. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. She proffered her neck towards him. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him.
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