Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. ‘As to that, I am at this moment altogether displeased with Gérard, you understand,’ Melusine temporised. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display.
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