’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. No doubt there’s some little mistake. “It’s a period of crude views and crude work,” said Mr.
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