“But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. Think of those days in Paris. ‘Parbleu, the house, is it broken in the least? I do not think so. He went more easily this time. What right had a young woman to possess the scarring and intimate knowledge of that dreg of human society, the beachcomber? CHAPTER II Ah Cum lived at No.
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