‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. But in that case, why the raging jealousy about Madame having taken her place. Then suddenly he seized a new preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor. She's fine. Easy enough. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing.
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