’ ‘Parbleu,’ burst from Melusine indignantly. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. 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. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead. Won’t you come and have some tea with me? There is a new place in Bond Street,” he hastened to say, “where everything is very well done, and they give us music, if that is any attraction to you.
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