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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 135
former flirtations, my love affairs with women of a lower
class, appeared to me like crimes, like a sin against the
race. The white skin, the perfect feet, the delicate hands,
were they signs of degeneration ? Were they not rather
on a par with the glossy skin of the wild beast, its slim,
sinewy legs, which show hardly any muscle ? The beaut}-
of a woman is the sum total of characteristics which are
worthy of transmission through the agency of the man
who can appreciate them. This woman had been pushed
aside by her husband ; therefore she no longer belonged to
him, for she had ceased to please him. He could see no
beauty in her, and it was left to me to achieve the blossom-
ing of a flower, the rare loveliness of which the seer, the
elect only, could perceive.
Midnight was striking. From the barracks close by
came the "Who goes there? " of the relieving guards.
It was time to part.
I accompanied my beloved on her way home, and, as
we Avere walking along side by side, I tried to kindle in her
the fire of my enthusiasm, my new hopes ; I startled her
with the plans which her kisses had ripened in me. She
came closer, as if to find strength in contact with me,
and I gave her back tenfold what I had received from
her.
When we had arrived at the high railings she noticed
that she had forgotten her key. How annoying ! But,
bent on showing her my mettle by penetrating into the
lion’s den, I climbed the railings, dashed across the court-
yard and knocked at the front door, prepared for a stormy
reception from the Baron, My throbbing- heart was
thrilled by the thought of fighting my rival before her
eyes. The favoured lover was transformed into a hero !
But, luckily, it was only a servant who came to open the
door, and we said good-night to each other formally,
calmly, with the maid, who had not taken the trouble
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