’ ‘I see now how it was that Marthe knew of the secret passage,’ Melusine said. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. ’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers.
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