His touch as that of
glowing iron, sent a thrill through her limbs; it seemed as if she were
enveloped in a mist, languorous, dreamy, oppressive. Her lithe, supple
frame grew rigid and then swayed towards him, trembling with pleasure
and yet with fear. Around her all things had undergone a curious,
sudden change. The moon was a moon no longer; it seemed close, close to
the trellis-work of the veranda, as if it hung just above the luminous
lawn. The garden was not the one that she knew, but another garden,
sombre, mysterious, that, suddenly approaching, closed round her. Her
brain reeled. She drew back, and with strange languor, freed herself
from Sarudine's embrace.
"Yes," she murmured with difficulty. Her lips were white and parched.
With faltering steps she re-entered the house, conscious of something
terrible yet alluring that inevitably drew her to the brink of an
abyss.
"Nonsense!" she reflected. "It's not that at all. I am only joking. It
just interests me, and it amuses me, too."
Thus did she seek to persuade herself, as she stood facing the darkened
mirror in her room, wherein she only saw herself _en silhouette_
against the glass door of the brightly lighted dining-room.
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