" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. Later on—well then the time may come. The delay was only momentary. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. ‘Possibly,’ he said.
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