Yvette was by no means an ordinary woman. Her face was at once sinister and attractive, with lines of strength about it; she moved with a certain distinction; she had brains and various abilities; and I imagined her to have been capable of some large action, a first-class sin or a really dramatic self-sacrifice — she would have been ready for either. But of her origin I am to this day as ignorant as of her ultimate fate.
A current of air told me that a window was open.
“I noticed a suspicious-looking man outside just now,” I said. “Is he one of your confederates? Have you been communicating with him?”
She sat down in an armchair, leaned backwards, and began to hum an air — la, la, la.