“Can you explain to me what you felt was the source of her power?” John Silence asked, looking purposely anywhere but at the narrator.

“I am surprised that you should ask me such a question,” answered Vezin, with the nearest approach to dignity he could manage.  “I think no man can describe to another convincingly wherein lies the magic of the woman who ensnares him.  I certainly cannot.  I can only say this slip of a girl bewitched me, and the mere knowledge that she was living and sleeping in the same house filled me with an extraordinary sense of delight.

“But there’s one thing I can tell you,” he went on earnestly, his eyes aglow, “namely, that she seemed to sum up and synthesise in herself all the strange hidden forces that operated so mysteriously in the town and its inhabitants.  She had the silken movements of the panther, going smoothly, silently to and fro, and the same indirect, oblique methods as the townsfolk, screening, like them, secret purposes of her own—­purposes that I was sure had me for their objective.  She kept me, to my terror and delight, ceaselessly under observation, yet so carelessly, so consummately, that another man less sensitive, if I may say so”—­he made a deprecating gesture—­“or less prepared by what had gone before, would never have noticed it at all.  She was always still, always reposeful, yet she seemed to be everywhere at once, so that I never could escape from her.  I was continually meeting the stare and laughter of her great eyes, in the corners of the rooms, in the passages, calmly looking at me through the windows, or in the busiest parts of the public streets.”

Their intimacy, it seems, grew very rapidly after this first encounter which had so violently disturbed the little man’s equilibrium.  He was naturally very prim, and prim folk live mostly in so small a world that anything violently unusual may shake them clean out of it, and they therefore instinctively distrust originality.  But Vezin began to forget his primness after awhile.  The girl was always modestly behaved, and as her mother’s representative she naturally had to do with the guests in the hotel.  It was not out of the way that a spirit of camaraderie should spring up.  Besides, she was young, she was charmingly pretty, she was French, and—­she obviously liked him.

At the same time, there was something indescribable—­a certain indefinable atmosphere of other places, other times—­that made him try hard to remain on his guard, and sometimes made him catch his breath with a sudden start.  It was all rather like a delirious dream, half delight, half dread, he confided in a whisper to Dr. Silence; and more than once he hardly knew quite what he was doing or saying, as though he were driven forward by impulses he scarcely recognised as his own.

And though the thought of leaving presented itself again and again to his mind, it was each time with less insistence, so that he stayed on from day to day, becoming more and more a part of the sleepy life of this dreamy mediaeval town, losing more and more of his recognisable personality.  Soon, he felt, the Curtain within would roll up with an awful rush, and he would find himself suddenly admitted into the secret purposes of the hidden life that lay behind it all.  Only, by that time, he would have become transformed into an entirely different being.