She laughed lightly, although not with contentment, as his hand encircled her wrist and he placed his ear upon her chest, in an effort to gauge the pulsations of her heart.
For a few moments there was a silence between them. Then de Rochelle, raising his head and looking straight into her eyes, said, “There is nothing the matter with you.” Then kissing her, he whispered, “And your lips are just as sweet as ever.”
Sana, slightly bored, freed herself gently from his arms, and as she did so, murmured “Oh, it is nothing.” Throwing her head backward, she added, “I do not feel very well, but it is beyond me to say what it is.”
A nameless fear had suddenly arisen within her heart. Yes, that was it. The fear of speaking to him of the incident on the bridge. It would probably cause him worry and it would rob her of the delicious dreams she would weave about the man who was already enthroned in the most secret recesses of her heart.
So saying no more she rose from the couch, and left the apartment to go to her own room, leaving de Rochelle alone, in consternation and uneasy contemplation.
When she reached her room, Sana threw herself upon the bed, burying her face in the pillows. Presently, however, she rose to a sitting posture, and tangled her fingers madly in her hair, asking herself unanswerable questions.
“Why should I want to commit suicide? Does not François love me, and do I not love him with all my heart? Putting myself away in such a cowardly manner—would he ever get over it? And then, too, what of my dear mother?”
Having tortured her mind in that fashion, she slipped from the bed and approaching the dresser, she rested her hands heavily upon an open drawer and glared into the mirror. With piercing eyes she gazed at herself and gradually a smile came to her face and a new light gleamed in her eyes.
“Beautifully strange—yes, he was right. I am too young to die. And I am not going to.”
With a determination born of a new and greater hope, she threw her head back and her long, lustrous hair, thus shaken loose, unrolled its dark coils down over her shoulders and far below her waistline. Her clothes seemed too tight, so she loosened them, stripping off her outer garment. There was something sirenic about her beauty as she stood there with wild-hanging hair, her breasts heaving with excitement. She commenced to rearrange her disheveled hair, and a smile crept to her lips as she admired the reflection in the glass. She was indeed well aware of her fascinating and dangerous beauty.