The pearl necklace was still on her neck peeping out through the V-shaped opening of her gown.
It was the magnificent toilet of a rich actress who puts everything on herself,--of one so enamored with jewels that she is not able to live without their contact, adorning herself with them the minute she is out of bed, regardless of the hour and the rules of good taste.
But Ferragut did not take into consideration the unsuitableness of all this luxury.

Everything about her appeared to him admirable.
Without knowing just how, he began to talk.

He was astonished at hearing his own voice, saying always the same thing in different words.
His thoughts were incoherent, but they were all clustered around an incessantly repeated statement,--his love, his immense love for Freya.
And Freya continued marching on in silence with a compassionate expression in her eyes and in the corners of her mouth.

It pleased her pride as a woman to contemplate this strong man stuttering in childish confusion.

At the same time she grew impatient at the monotony of his words.
"Don't say any more, Captain," she finally interrupted.