Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. ‘You mean that there is a rival Melusine to the one he has heard about? He does not. “I shall have to go through the building. I am glad you found me. I am going to take you entirely at your word.
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