At sight of this she ceased to hesitate; she stepped over the window prop, and with her chemise flying and her legs bared to the night air she vanished in the gloom.
"Stop! Stop!" said Satin in a great fright.

"You'll kill yourself." Then as they began hammering at the door, she shut the window like a good-natured girl and threw her friend's clothes down into a cupboard.
She was already resigned to her fate and comforted herself with the thought that, after all, if she were to be put on the official list she would no longer be so "beastly frightened" as of yore.

So she pretended to be heavy with sleep.

She yawned; she palavered and ended by opening the door to a tall, burly fellow with an unkempt beard, who said to her: "Show your hands! You've got no needle pricks on them: you don't work.
Now then, dress!" "But I'm not a dressmaker; I'm a burnisher," Satin brazenly declared.
Nevertheless, she dressed with much docility, knowing that argument was out of the question.

Cries were ringing through the hotel; a girl was clinging to doorposts and refusing to budge an inch.