The thought that the secret of her life had strayed into alien hands, deprived her of her senses. She cried, she screamed, she beat him with her fists.
The matter began to look suspicious. A doubt as to the virginity of her soul, yea, even of her body, began to assail him.
"One moment, little girl," he said. "There are no nooks or crannies for hiding in now. Either you'll kindly let me see what this is without further delay, or I'll take you between my knees and hold you so fast you won't be able to move a muscle."
"Colonel, dear, _dear_ colonel! A few sheets of music, and some songs, that's all, I swear to you, _dear_ colonel."
The droll innocence of her plea stirred his emotions; that humble, unconscious "colonel" set him laughing again. Besides, the daughter of a musician, as he knew her to be, might be expected to have ambitions.
"You yourself probably compose?" he asked.
"No--no--no--it's not that," she moaned. "But don't look in--give it back to me--if you don't, I'll jump out of the window. I will, by God and all the saints!"
She pleased him so well with her eyes stretched in deadly terror, with her hair loosened by the struggle, with the expression of a tragic muse on the sweet, delicately cut child's face, that he wanted to enjoy the rare sight a little longer.
Accordingly, he assumed a black expression, and pretended to be what a few moments ago he had actually been.
She fell on her knees, and clasping his legs, stammered and whispered, almost choked with shame and distress:
"If you give it back to me, you can do with me whatever you want. I will do whatever you want. I won't resist any more."
The bargain, it struck him, was to his advantage.
"Shake hands," she replied. "And never ask questions--yes?"
"If you swear to me by your St. Joseph it's nothing but music."
He handed her the roll, and she gave herself up to him--sold herself to the man who already possessed her for the Song of Songs, of which he had robbed her.
The rays of early morning shining on her eyes through curtains striped with yellow awoke her. She was resting comfortably pressed against something warm. She had slept deliciously.
What had happened to her came back to her slowly.
He was lying with his head thrown back, his mouth open. The light from the windows was playing on his shiny, furrowed chin. Little veins crisscrossed his gaunt cheeks like streams on a map. The inky moustache glistened with pomade. His eyelids were folded over so often that Lilly thought if they were stretched to their length they would reach to the tip of his nose.