Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. “Don’t!” she begged. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. He was aware of Hilary, in company with Lucilla and the comtesse’s daughter some few yards away, listening in suddenly. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll.
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