And as Freya instead of going away sank back on the divan, with a faintness that seemed to challenge his wrath, it was he who fled in order to bring the interview to an end.
He rushed into his stateroom, locking the door with a bang. This flight brought her out of her inertia. She wished to follow him with the leap of a young panther, but her hands collided with an obstacle that became impassable, while from within sounded the noise of keys and bolts.
She pounded the door desperately, injuring her fists with her fruitless efforts.
"Ulysses, open it!… Listen to me."
In vain she shrieked as though she were giving an order, exasperated at finding that she was not obeyed. Her fury spent itself unavailingly against the solid immovability of the wood. Suddenly she began to cry, modifying her purpose upon finding herself as weak and defenseless as an abandoned creature. All her life appeared concentrated in her tears and in her pleading voice.
She passed her fingers over the door, groping over the moldings, slipping them over the varnished surface as though seeking at random a crevice, a hole, something that would permit her to get to the man that was on the other side.
Instinctively she fell upon her knees, putting her mouth to the keyhole.
"My lord, my master!" she murmured in the voice of a beggar. "Open the door…. Do not abandon me. Remember that I am going to my death if you do not save me."
Ferragut heard her, and, in order to evade her moaning, was getting as near as possible to the end of his stateroom. Then he unfastened the round window that opened on the deck, ordering a seaman to go after the mate.
"Don Antoni! Don Antoni!" various voices cried the whole length of the ship.