"You Russian devil! The key, the key!"
He tried to clutch her throat, but she pushed him back.
"Go to your Frenchwoman. She's calling for help."
Tenise sank by the window, one burning arm over the sill, and was silent. Caspilier, mechanically beating back the fire from his shaking head, whimpering and sobbing, fell against the table, and then went headlong on the floor.
Valdorême, a pillar, of fire, swaying gently to and fro before the door, whispered in a voice of agony—
"Oh, Eugene, Eugene!" and flung herself like a flaming angel—or fiend —on the prostrate form of the man.