The Frenchman was already being followed. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. "What is it?" "The night," she answered.
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