My shark!" She threw herself on the sailor's breast, stroking his beard, and pushing him so as to edge in on the divan which was too narrow for the two.
She guessed at once the cause of his furrowed brow, the listlessness with which he responded to her caresses, the gloomy fire that was smouldering in his eyes.

The exotic dance had made him recall her past and in order to regain her sway over him, subjecting him in sweet passivity, she sprang up from the divan, running about the room.
"What shall I give to my bad little man, in order to make him smile a bit ?...

What shall I do in order to make him forget his wrong ideas ?..." Perfumes were her pet fad.

As she herself used to say, it was possible for her to do without eating but never without the richest and most expensive essences.

In that scantily furnished room, like the interior of an army and navy supply store, the cut glass flasks with gold and nickel stoppers, protruded among the clothing and papers, and stood up in the corners denouncing the forgetfulness of their enchanting breath.
"Take it! Take it!" And she sprinkled the precious perfumes as though they were water on Ferragut's hair, over his curled beard, advising the sailor to close his eyes in order not to be blinded by this crazy baptism.
Anointed and fragrant as an Asiatic despot, the strong Ulysses would sometimes revolt against this effeminateness.