The strong, small hand of the beautiful vixen struck into the red cheeks of the Indian with no slight effect. His eyes began to get as red and angry as those of a wolf, his blood suddenly became inflamed, and with a sudden movement, he seized her roughly by the waist.
Fernanda uttered a terrified cry.
"What is the matter? Why are you angry?"
"Leave me, leave me, you brute!"
She struggled in desperation but she could not release herself.
Once more free, she was perfectly sober. She cast a vague, strange look at the Indian, and this look, suddenly assuming an expression of horror, was fixed upon him as upon some wild animal that had just attacked her.
"What are you doing here? Ah, yes!" she exclaimed raising her hand to her forehead. "My God! What has come to me? Am I dreaming?"
Then once more fixing her angry, menacing eyes upon him, she cried in a rage:
"What are you doing standing there? Leave the room immediately! Leave the room! leave the room!" she repeated with a voice which grew louder each time.
But when the Indian got as far as the door, she rushed before him, flew along the passages, and when she reached the staircase she fell down in a swoon.