Bianca's lip curled.
"I see; you imagine yourself capable of sacrifice. Well, you have your
chance. Take it!" She pointed to the corded trunk. "Now's your time; you
have only to disappear!"
The little model shrank back against the windowsill. "He wants me!" she
muttered. "I know he wants me."
Bianca bit her lips till the blood came.
"Your idea of sacrifice," she said, "is perfect! If you went now, in a
month's time he'd never think of you again."
The girl gulped. There was something so pitiful in the movements of her
hands that Bianca turned away. She stood for several seconds staring at
the door, then, turning round again, said:
"Well?"
But the girl's whole face had changed. All tear-stained, indeed, she had
already masked it with a sort of immovable stolidity.
Bianca went swiftly up to the trunk.
"You shall!" she said. "Take that thing and go."
The little model did not move.
"So you won't?"
The girl trembled violently all over. She moistened her lips, tried
to speak, failed, again moistened them, and this time murmured; "I'll
only--I'll only--if he tells me!"
"So you still imagine he will tell you!"
The little model merely repeated: "I won't--won't do anything without he
tells me!"
Bianca laughed. "Why, it's like a dog!" she said.
But the girl had turned abruptly to the window.
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