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“La belle ‘Alcide,’ wasn’t it? Annabel Pellissier was her real name. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate.

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