Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention.
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