Wanda rose and opened the window.
“You have a curious way of arousing one’s imagination, stimulating all one’s nerves, and making one’s pulses beat faster. You put an aureole on vice, provided only if it is honest. Your ideal is a daring courtesan of genius. Oh, you are the kind of man who will corrupt a woman to her very last fiber.”
* * * * *
In the middle of the night there was a knock at my window; I got up, opened it, and was startled. Without stood “Venus in Furs,” just as she had appeared to me the first time.
“You have disturbed me with your stories; I have been tossing about in bed, and can’t go to sleep,” she said. “Now come and stay with me.”
“In a moment.”
As I entered Wanda was crouching by the fireplace where she had kindled a small fire.
“Autumn is coming,” she began, “the nights are really quite cold already. I am afraid you may not like it, but I can’t put off my furs until the room is sufficiently warm.”
“Not like it—you are joking—you know—” I threw my arm around her, and kissed her.
“Of course, I know, but why this great fondness for furs?”