it is as futile to blame her for them as to blame
lactic acid for being an acid possessing mixed properties."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am saying that we can no longer assign praise or blame to any human
thought or action, once the inevitable nature of such thoughts and
actions has been proved for us."

"So you approve of the morals of that gawk of a Perrin, do you? You, a
member of the Legion of Honour! A nice thing, to be sure!"

The doctor heaved himself up.

"My child," he said, "give me a moment's attention; I am going to tell
you an instructive story:

"In times gone by, human nature was other than it is to-day. There were
then not men and women only, but also hermaphrodites; in other words,
beings in whom the two sexes were combined. These three kinds of human
beings possessed four arms, four legs, and two faces. They were robust
and rotated rapidly on their own axes, just like wheels. Their strength
inspired them with audacity to war with the gods, therein following the
example of the Giants, Jupiter, unable to brook such insolence----"

"Michon, doesn't my petticoat hang too low on the left?" asked Nanteuil.

"Resolved," continued the doctor, "to render them less strong and less
daring. He divided each into two, so that they had now but two arms, two
legs, and one head apiece, and thenceforward the human race became what
it is to-day. Consequently, each of us is only the half of a human
being, divided from the other half, just as one divides a sole into two
portions. These halves are ever seeking their other halves. The love
which we experience for one another is nothing but an invisible force
impelling us to reunite our two halves in order to re-establish
ourselves in our pristine perfection. Those men who result from the
divisions of hermaphrodites love women; those women who have a similar
origin love men. But the women who proceed from the division of
primitive women do not bestow much attention upon men, but are drawn
toward their own sex. So do not be astonished when you see----"

"Did you invent that precious story, doctor?" inquired Nanteuil, pinning
a rose in her bodice.

The doctor protested that he had not invented a word of it. On the
contrary, he had, he said, left out part of the story.

"So much the better?" exclaimed Nanteuil. "For I must tell you that the
person who did invent it is not particularly brilliant."

"He is dead," remarked Trublet.

Nanteuil once more express