o begin an artists' spree and waiting only for him. Sarrasine
restrained a feeling of displeasure and put a good face on the matter.
He had hoped for a dimly lighted chamber, his mistress leaning over a
brazier, a jealous rival within two steps, death and love, confidences
exchanged in low tones, heart to heart, hazardous kisses, and faces so
near together that La Zambinella's hair would have touched caressingly
his desire-laden brow, burning with happiness.

"'_Vive la folie!_' he cried. '_Signori e belle donne_, you will allow
me to postpone my revenge and bear witness to my gratitude for the
welcome you offer a poor sculptor.'

"After receiving congratulations not lacking in warmth from most of
those present, whom he knew by sight, he tried to approach the couch on
which La Zambinella was nonchalantly reclining. Ah! how his heart beat
when he spied a tiny foot in one of those slippers which--if you will
allow me to say so, madame--formerly imparted to a woman's feet such a
coquettish, voluptuous look that I cannot conceive how men could resist
them. Tightly fitting white stockings with green clocks, short skirts,
and the pointed, high-heeled slippers of Louis XV.'s time contributed
somewhat, I fancy, to the demoralization of Europe and the clergy."

"Somewhat!" exclaimed the marchioness. "Have you read nothing, pray?"

"La Zambinella," I continued, smiling, "had boldly crossed her legs,
and as she prattled swung the upper one, a duchess' attitude very well
suited to her capricious type of beauty, overflowing with a certain
attractive suppleness. She had laid aside her stage costume, and wore a
waist which outlined a slender figure, displayed to the best advantage
by a _panier_ and a satin dress embroidered with blue flowers. Her
breast, whose treasures were concealed by a coquettish arrangement of
lace, was of a gleaming white. Her hair was dressed almost like Madame
du Barry's; her face, although overshadowed by a large cap, seemed only
the daintier therefor, and the powder was very becoming to her. She
smiled graciously at the sculptor. Sarrasine, disgusted beyond measure
at finding himself unable to speak to her without witnesses, courteously
seated himself beside her, and discoursed of music, extolling her
prodigious talent; but his voice trembled with love and fear and hope.

"'What do you fear?' queried Vitagliani, the most celebrated singer in
the troupe. 'Go on, you have no rival here to fear.'

"After h