"'Ah!' said Sarrasine, 'to stimulate a passion is a poor way to
extinguish it! Are you already so corrupt that, being old in heart,
you act like a young prostitute who inflames the emotions in which she
trades?'

"'Why, this is Friday,' she replied, alarmed by the Frenchman's
violence.

"Sarrasine, who was not piously inclined, began to laugh. La
Zambinella gave a bound like a young deer, and darted into the salon.
When Sarrasine appeared, running after her, he was welcomed by a roar
of infernal laughter. He saw La Zambinella swooning on a sofa. She was
very pale, as if exhausted by the extraordinary effort she had made.
Although Sarrasine knew but little Italian, he understood his mistress
when she said to Vitagliani in a low voice:

"'But he will kill me!'

"This strange scene abashed the sculptor. His reason returned. He
stood still for a moment; then he recovered his speech, sat down
beside his mistress, and assured her of his profound respect. He found
strength to hold his passion in check while talking to her in the most
exalted strain; and, to describe his love, he displayed all the
treasures of eloquence--that sorcerer, that friendly interpreter, whom
women rarely refuse to believe. When the first rays of dawn surprised
the boon companions, some woman suggested that they go to Frascati.
One and all welcomed with loud applause the idea of passing the day at
Villa Ludovisi. Vitagliani went down to hire carriages. Sarrasine had
the good fortune to drive La Zambinella in a phaeton. When they had
left Rome behind, the merriment of the party, repressed for a moment