He stooped to lift her up, but reading in his eyes that he was yielding, she sprang to her feet and threw herself, gleeful as a child, upon his breast.  Her victory filled her with such joy she could have shouted it out of the windows.  She coaxed and fondled Wilhelm, called him by every endearing name, drew him over to the long mirror that he might see how handsome he was, dragged him into his room and then back into the bedroom, and required a considerable time to recover her self-control.

Meanwhile it had grown dark.  She did not notice it till now, and rang for Anne to bring lamps.

“Has Don Pablo come back?” she asked of the maid.

“Half an hour ago, madame.”

“Then send up the boxes at once.”

“You have sent for the luggage already?” was Wilhelm’s astonished inquiry when Anne had left the room.

“Naturally, my darling.  I was certain, you know, that you would not break your Pilar’s heart.”

Auguste and the man whom Pilar called Don Pablo now carried up the one small box and two large ones Wilhelm always took about with him.  Pilar asked him for the keys, and proceeded to put away his belongings in the various receptacles of the room.  She would not suffer him to help her.  Only his books she allowed him to pile up in a corner for the present; their orderly arrangement in the bookcase was put off till the daylight.

At dinner Pilar was in the seventh heaven, and more in love than ever before.  In her wild spirits she threw all her glasses into the garden, and would only drink out of Wilhelm’s.  It was a real banquet:  costly Spanish wines, red and white, rough and sweet, from her well-stocked cellar, accompanied by choice dishes, and finally champagne, of which Pilar partook—­valiantly.  After dessert she skipped into the salon, put the champagne glass down on the piano, and between sips and kisses played and sang Spanish love-songs that drove the flames to her cheeks.  That evening she was all Bacchante.  In the bedroom she tore off her clothes with impatient fingers, and held out her small, high-bred feet for Wilhelm to pull off her silk stockings.  He knelt and kissed the little feet, while she gazed down at him with burning misty eyes, and between the blood-red lips slightly parted in a wanton smile gleamed pearly teeth that looked as if they could bite with satisfaction into a quivering heart.  It was the Sphinx and the poor trembling mouse in the dust before her to the life.

When Wilhelm awoke next morning, he saw Pilar standing all fresh and ready at the bedside to greet him with a happy smile.  With her iron nerves and superabundant animal strength, she required but little sleep, and had at once resumed her old habit of stealing away early to perform the rites of her toilette while he still slept.