Antoinette felt the touch of its cold, clammy wings, of its hooked claws.

She tore the hood from her head and flung it away in horror.

Samuel Brohl sprang forward to pick it up, pressed it to his lips, and made his escape, like a thief carrying off his booty.
When Antoinette re-entered the _salon_, she found there Mlle.

Moiseney, whose boisterous, overwhelming joy had just put M.Moriaz to flight.
This time Mlle.

Moiseney knew everything.