And she resumed her hunt with trembling impatience.
"Oh, he's gone," cried George, who had lost the agile flame-worshipper from sight. "He's flown away!"
Hippolyte was really vexed; the wager had excited her.
She rose and cast a keen glance around the room, to discover the fugitive.
"Here it is!" she cried, triumphant. "There, on the wall! Do you see?"
And she made a sign that she regretted she had cried out.
"Don't stir," she went on in a low tone, turning towards her friend.
The moth had alighted on the luminous wall and stayed there motionless, similar to a little brown spot. With infinite precaution, Hippolyte approached, and her beautiful body, slender and flexible, cast a shadow on the white wall. Quickly her hand was raised, descended, closed.
"I have it! I have it!"
And she exulted with childish joy.