“Never question me as to that,” she answered, untying with a gesture of wonderful sweetness the young man’s scarf, doubtless in order the better to behold his neck.
“Yes, there is the neck I love so well!” she said. “Wouldst thou please me?”
This interrogation, rendered by the accent almost lascivious, drew De Marsay from the reverie in which he had been plunged by Paquita’s authoritative refusal to allow him any research as to the unknown being who hovered like a shadow about them.
“And if I wished to know who reigns here?”
Paquita looked at him trembling.
“It is not I, then?” he said, rising and freeing himself from the girl, whose head fell backwards. “Where I am, I would be alone.”
“Strike, strike!...” said the poor slave, a prey to terror.
“For what do you take me, then?... Will you answer?”
Paquita got up gently, her eyes full of tears, took a poniard from one of the two ebony pieces of furniture, and presented it to Henri with a gesture of submission which would have moved a tiger.
“Give me a feast such as men give when they love,” she said, “and whilst I sleep, slay me, for I know not how to answer thee. Hearken! I am bound like some poor beast to a stake; I am amazed that I have been able to throw a bridge over the abyss which divides us. Intoxicate me, then kill me! Ah, no, no!” she cried, joining her hands, “do not kill me! I love life! Life is fair to me! If I am a slave, I am a queen too. I could beguile you with words, tell you that I love you alone, prove it to you, profit by my momentary empire to say to you: ‘Take me as one tastes the perfume of a flower when one passes it in a king’s garden.’ Then, after having used the cunning eloquence of woman and soared on the wings of pleasure, after having quenched my thirst, I could have you cast into a pit, where none could find you, which has been made to gratify vengeance without having to fear that of the law, a pit full of lime which would kindle and consume you, until no particle of you were left. You would stay in my heart, mine forever.”