EAR THE BEAUTIFUL ARCHANGEL ZITA UNFOLD HER
LOFTY DESIGNS AND ARE SHOWN THE WINGS OF MIRAR, ALL
MOTH-EATEN, IN A CUPBOARD

Thus talking, the two archangels had reached the Boulevard Rochechouart.
As his eye lighted on a tavern, whence, through the mist, the light fell
golden on the pavement, Theophile suddenly bethought himself of the
Archangel Ithuriel who, in the guise of a poor but beautiful woman, was
living in wretched lodgings on La Butte and came every evening to read
the papers at this tavern. The musician often met her there. Her name
was Zita. Theophile had never been curious enough to enquire into the
opinions entertained by this archangel, but it was generally supposed
that she was a Russian nihilist, and he took her to be, like Arcade, an
atheist and a revolutionary. He had heard remarkable tales about her.
People said she was an hermaphrodite, and that as the active and passive
principles were united within her in a condition of stable equilibrium,
she was an example of a perfect being, finding in herself complete and
continuous satisfaction, contented yet unfortunate in that she knew not
desire.

"But," added Theophile, "I have my doubts about it. I believe she's a
woman and subject to love, like everything else that has life and breath
in the Universe. Besides, someone caught her one day kissing her hand to
a strapping peasant fellow."

He offered to introduce his companion to her.

The two angels found her alone, reading. As they drew near she lifted
her great eyes in whose deeps of molten gold little sparks of light were
forever a-dance. Her brows were contracted into that austere fold which
we see on the forehead of the Pythian Apollo; her nose was perfect and
descended without a curve; her lips were compressed and imparted a
disdainful and supercilious air to her whole countenance. Her tawny
hair, with its gleaming lights, was carelessly adorned with the tattered
remnants of a huge bird of prey, her garments lay about her in dark and
shapeless folds. She was leaning her chin on a small ill-tended hand.

Arcade, who had but recently heard references made to this powerful
archangel, showed her marked esteem, and placed entire confidence in
her. He immediately proceeded to tell of the progress his mind had made
towards knowledge and liberty, of his lucubrations in the d'Esparvieu
library, of his philosophical reading, his studies of nature, his works
on exegesis, his anger and his conte