of whom I am warranted in suspecting everything, and of whom, in reality, I know nothing. And it is this that draws me to him with a dizzy violence. At least he is capable of many things in crime, perhaps, and perhaps also in the direction of good. I do not know. What does he want of me? What â– will he do with me ? Should I be the unscrupulous instrument of plans that I knew nothing of, the plaything of his ferocious passions ? Does he even love me ? And why does he love me ? For my beauty; for my vices; for my intelligence; for my hatred of prejudices, — he who makes parade of all the prejudices ? I do not know. In addition to this attraction which the unknown and mysterious has for me, he exercises over me the bitter, power- ful charm of force. And this charm, yes, this charm acts more and more on my nerves, conquers my passive and submissive flesh. It is something which I cannot define exactly, something that takes me wholly, by my mind and by my sex, revealing in me instincts of which I was unaware, instincts that slept within me without my knowledge, and that no love, no thrill of voluptuousness had before awakened. And I tremble from head to foot when I remember the words of Joseph, saying to me :

" You are like me, Celestine. Oh! not in fea- tures, of course. But our two souls are alike • our two souls resemble each other."

Our two souls ! Is that possible ?