He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a bundle of notes, and threw them on the bed, after which he took off his tunic.
"You're drunk or mad," Sylvia cried, now more exasperated than frightened. "Go out of my room before I wake up the house."
The giant paid not the least attention, and, seating himself on a chair, bent over to unlace his boots. Sylvia again tried to muster enough strength to rise, but her limbs were growing weaker every moment.
"And if you're not the girl I wanted," said the giant, looking up from his boots, "you're a girl, aren't you? I've paid you, haven't I? A splendid state the world's coming to when a cocotte takes it into her head to argue with a Russian officer who pays her the honor of his attentions. The world's turning upside down. The people must have a lesson. Come, get off that bed and help me undo these boots."
"Do you know that I'm English?" Sylvia said. "You'll find that even Russian officers cannot insult Englishwomen."
"A cocotte has no nationality," the giant contradicted, solemnly. "She is common property. Come, if you had wished to talk, you should have joined my table earlier in the evening. One does not wish to talk when one is sleepy."
The English acrobats slept next door to Sylvia, and she hammered on the partition.
"Are you killing bugs?" the giant asked. "You need not bother. They never disturb me."
Sylvia went on hammering; her arms were getting weaker, and unless help came soon she should faint. There was a tap on the door.
"Come in," she cried. "Come in at once—at once!"