He felt the vampire’s breath playing in the short hair on his neck and descending in hot flushes to his feet, which were nervously tapping his horse’s flanks. Renaud trembled. His passion had taken possession of him once more in all its intensity. It seemed as if a hurricane were raging in man and horse alike. They started off at full speed.
Renaud believed that he had a victim in his grasp, but he was himself the victim, and he rode away with the witch clinging fast to him—as the kite sometimes flies away with the serpent, thinking that he has mastered it, only to be strangled in its folds at last.
XXI
HERODIAS
They galloped across the plain. At every step, Renaud felt the gentle pressure of the woman’s arm. Zinzara and Renaud galloped away upon Livette’s horse!
Of what was the drover thinking? Was she girl or woman? His pride made him persist, in spite of himself, in wishing that she might be the former, although it seemed hardly probable, heathen females mature so early!
A breath of air blew in their faces. It brought to their nostrils the pungent smell of tamarisk blossoms. He slackened his horse’s pace.
“Go on, go on!” said she, “press on! We will talk later—by ourselves, romi, where nobody can see us.”
The horse darted forward afresh.