He was the opposite of Musette in almost every way.

M. Musette came up and closed the door for him.

The musette bag on his left side, the five pounds of C-4 he himself had taken.

M. Musette opened the door and led the way into the building.

Musette didn't take him through the drapes into another room.

"If Musette left tonight, and returned in three months, would we have less ground to stand on?"

I saw it in the guest room we'd prepared for Musette.

I believe that Musette is an ordeal in the traditional sense of the word.

Musette didn't like being laughed at, that was plain on her face.

Musette found her voice, at long last, though it was strained, and a little afraid.

All of us now turned to look at Musette.

My eyes saw Musette with the wrong color of eyes.

M. Musette was silent for what seemed like five or ten minutes.

Now, if you will just call over one of your men and have him pick up this musette bag, please.

He couldn't afford to appear weak in front of Musette.

"The time when you could speak for me, Musette, is long past.

I would rather spend a night in Musette's bed than weaken your power so.

"It never occurred to me that anyone would actually try to put Musette under guard."

The sense of something larger, more dangerous pushing against Musette's face.

Musette fell back onto the floor into a†dead faint.

It appeared to be a strap on a musette bag.

M. Musette said nothing, but took two or three theatrical steps back.

He looked at the musette bag in his hand.

Because his musette is always full of little bags and tins.