He sat down on the edge of the bed.

She huddled up, drawing the cover over her chin.
"Cold, dear ?" "No," and she opened wide her eyes, which flashed sparks.
He undressed, casting a rapid glance at Hyacinthe's face.

It was hidden in the darkness, but was sometimes revealed by a flare of the red hot fire, as a stick, half consumed and smouldering, would suddenly burst into flame.

Swiftly he slipped between the covers.

He clasped a corpse; a body so cold that it froze him, but the woman's lips were burning as she silently gnawed his features.