. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. ’ ‘It is you who is absurd,’ countered Melusine, the spark returning to her eye. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. . “It is such a very respectable boarding-house,” she said.
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