“Excuse me,” she said, “I am looking for M. d’Asterac.”
I said to her:
“Madam, there is no M. d’Asterac. There is you and I. I expected you. You are a Salamander. I have opened the crystal flagon. You have come. You are mine.”
I took her in my arms and covered with kisses all places my lips could find uncovered by her dress.
She tore herself away and said:
“You are mad.”
“That is quite natural,” I replied. “Who in my place could remain sane?”
She lowered her eyes, blushed, and smiled. I fell at her feet.
“As M. d’Asterac is not here,” she said, “I had better retire.”
“Remain!” I cried, and bolted the door.