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44 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
delicate body, those exquisite limbs, that sweet face, that
proud smile, that modestly veiled bosom, could she be
yearning for blood and forbidden fruit? Diana? Yes,
unmistakably Diana !
I continued my research ; I looked through a number
of publications on art stored up in this incomparable
treasure-house of the State, so as to study the various
representations of the chaste goddess.
I compared ; like a scientist, I proved my point, again
and again rushing from one end of the huge building to
the other to find the volumes to which I was being-
referred.
The striking of a clock recalled me from the world of
my dreams ; my colleagues were beginning to arrive, and
I had to enter on my daily duties.
I decided to spend the evening at the club with my
friends. On entering the laboratory, I was greeted with
deafening acclamations, which raised my spirits. The
centre of the room was occupied by a table dressed like
an altar, in the middle of which stood a skull and a large
bottle of cyanide of potassium. An open Bible, stained
with punch spots, lay beside the skull. Surgical instru-
ments served as bookmarkers. A number of punch-
glasses were arranged in a circle all round. Instead of
a ladle a retort was used for filling the glasses. My
friends were on the verge of intoxication. One of them
offered me a glass bowl containing half-a-pint of the fiery
drink, and I emptied it at one gulp. All the members
shouted the customary "Curse it!" I responded by
singing the song of the ne’er-do-wells
—
Deej) potations
And flirtations
Are life’s only end and aim . . .
After this prelude an infernal row arose, and, amid
shouts of applause, I delivered myself of a stream of
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