I feel the curiosity of a child." She opened the piano,--the poor piano of the Scotch captain--and some thin and plaintive chords, showing many years' lack of tuning, filled the saloon with the melancholy of resuscitated memories.
The melody was like that of the musical boxes that we find forgotten in the depths of a wardrobe among the clothes of some deceased old lady.
Freya declared that it smelled of withered roses.
Then, leaving the piano, she opened one after the other, all the doors of the staterooms surrounding the saloon.

She stopped at the captain's sleeping room without wishing to pass the threshold, without loosening her hold on the brass doorknob in her right hand.

Ferragut behind her, was pushing her with treacherous gentleness, at the same time repeating his caresses on her neck.
"No; here, no," she said.

"Not for anything in the world!...

I will be yours, I promise you; I give you my word of honor.