"His arm came through--like this," she stepped outside the bedroom, and, reaching around the edge of the door showed her exquisite bare arm within. "See? Then my husband entered slowly and--as soon as I saw his eyes," her agitation was increasing, "I knew what to expect. His face was flushed. He had been drinking. He looked at me and--then he locked the door--like this. I crouched away from him, I was frozen with terror, but--but--" she twined her hands in distress. "Oh, you'll hate me! I know you'll hate me!" "No!" "I tried so hard to resist him. I pleaded, I wept. I begged on my knees--like this." "Please--please don't," murmured Christopher, as he felt the softness of her supplicating body. "But Julian was pitiless. He caught me in his arms. I fought against him. I struck him as I felt his loathsome kisses. I said I would scream for help and--he laughed at me. Then--" She stopped abruptly, leaving her confession unfinished, and, standing close to her lover, held him fascinated by the wild appeal of her eyes and the heaving of her bosom. Suddenly Christopher's heart froze with terror. The dreaded change had come. This glorious young creature whose glances thrilled him, whose flaunted beauty maddened him, was not Penelope any more, but _the other_, Fauvette, the temptress, the wanton. "Chris!" she stepped before him splendid in the intensity of her emotion. Her garment was disarranged, her beautiful hair spread over her white shoulders. She came close to him--closer--and clung to him. "Why--why did you lock that door?" he asked unsteadily. "I did not notice," she answered in pretended innocence, and he knew that she was lying. "Do you mind, dear? Do you mind being alone with me?" Then, before he could answer, she offered her lips. "My love! My husband! Kiss me!" It was too much. He clasped her in his arms and held her. He knew his danger, but forgot everything in the deliciousness of her embraces. "Penelope!" She drew back in displeasure. "No! I'm not Penelope. Look at me! Look!" What was it the soldier read in those siren eyes--what depths of allurement--what sublime degradation? "Fauvette!" he faltered. "Yes, your Fauvette. Say it!" He said it, knowing that his power of resistance was breaking. He was going to yield to her, he could not help yielding. What did the consequences matter? She was too beautiful. Then slowly, musically, the neighboring chimes resounded. A quarter to one! And Christopher remembered. God! What should he do? He straightened from her with hands clenched and eyes hardening. In a flash she saw the change. She knew what he was thinking and pressed close to him, offering again her red lips. "No!" "Don't be a fool! You can save _her_, your goody-goody Penelope. It's the only way. I will leave her alone, except occasionally--I swear I will." "No! You're lying!" It seemed as if he repeated words spoken within him.