fault of Hortense, he had taken Gratienne, not to satisfy his physical, but his cerebral needs. To live, he had to have the electuary of two or three sensations, always the same, but always fresh. Was he capable of a profound emotion, and would such a love have influenced his physiological habits? He did not know. Faithful to Bouret's theories, he did not think so.
He wrote to Hortense: "I want you to come." She was frightened but happy.
"How he loves me!"
The pleasure of obeying struggled in her with fear. Fear, at certain moments, gave way.
"Since he wants me to come, it is clear that he knows I can come, that there is no danger. And then, he will be there!"
She leaned on Leonor as on a second husband, stronger, more real, though distant. Distant? But wasn't he always present in her thoughts?
One morning her fear gave way altogether. She wrote, set out, arrived.
She was trembling, and she still trembled long after the bolts were shot.
This new festival of love was vain, on ac-
