“Penelope!” he thrilled deliriously.
“Don't call me Penelope. It's so prim and old fashioned. I told you what to call me—Fauvette. That's the name I like. Fauvette! I am your Fauvette. Say it.”
Her eyes consumed him.
Christopher realized his danger, but he was powerless against the spell of her beauty.
“My Fauvette!” he caught her in his arms.
“Ah! Ah! Mon cheri! Wait!” Swiftly she turned off the lights, then darted back to him in the darkness.
At this moment of supreme crisis the door of the apartment opened slowly and, as the light streamed in, a figure entered that came like a gentle radiance. It was Seraphine.