“Had I Svengali’s power, I’d mould her to my will.” Paul clenches his hand together, gazes passionately at the reclining figure, and slowly moves back to his place. She arose.
“Paul, come near me,” she said, with a voice as seductive as that of a luring siren, “and sit upon this low stool.”
This request was made by her following a flashing, unaccountable mental freak, that filled Paul with pleased astonishment!
“I am your willing slave,” he said, as he did her bidding.
“Do you love any woman?” said Ouida.
“I dare not answer,” said the model.
“Dare not answer? Have I not asked you? What do you fear?” said the sculptress.
“Myself,” said Paul.
“He who cannot master himself is like the beast of the field.”