She whispered tremulously, in that touching tone I had heard once
before on her lips, and which thrilled me again with the same
emotion:

"I would believe you. But what about papa--"

"He be hanged!" My emotion betrayed itself by the brutality of my
tone. "I've had enough of your papa. Are you so stupid as to
imagine that I am frightened of him? He can't make me do
anything."

All that sounded feeble to me in the face of her ignorance. But I
must conclude that the "accent of sincerity" has, as some people
say, a really irresistible power. The effect was far beyond my
hopes,--and even beyond my conception. To watch the change in the
girl was like watching a miracle--the gradual but swift relaxation
of her tense glance, of her stiffened muscles, of every fibre of
her body. That black, fixed stare into which I had read a tragic
meaning more than once, in which I had found a sombre seduction,
was perfectly empty now, void of all consciousness whatever, and
not even aware any longer of my presence; it had become a little
sleepy, in the Jacobus fashion.

But, man being a perverse animal, instead of rejoicing at my
complete success, I beheld it with astounded and indignant eyes.
There was something cynical in that unconcealed alteration, the
true Jacobus shamelessness. I felt as though I had been cheated in
some rather complicated deal into which I had entered against my
better judgment. Yes, cheated without any regard for, at least,
the forms of decency.