this germ of immortality
remains always a germ, never sprouting, overlaid and weighted down by
the lymphatic laziness and materialistic propensities of its shell or
husk--the body. But I must put aside the forlorn prospect of the
multitudes in whom the Divine Essence attains to no larger quantity
than that proportioned out to a dog or bird--I have only to speak of
the rare few with whom the soul is everything--those who, perceiving
and admitting its existence within them, devote all their powers to
fanning up their spark of light till it becomes a radiant, burning,
inextinguishable flame. The mistake made by these examples of beatified
Humanity is that they too often sacrifice the body to the demands of
the spirit. It is difficult to find the medium path, but it can be
found; and the claims of both body and soul can be satisfied without
sacrificing the one to the other. I beg your earnest attention,
mademoiselle, for what I say concerning THE RARE FEW WITH WHOM THE SOUL
IS EVERYTHING. YOU are one of those few, unless I am greatly in error.
And you have sacrificed your body so utterly to your spirit that the
flesh rebels and suffers. This will not do. You have work before you in
the world, and you cannot perform it unless you have bodily health as
well as spiritual desire. And why? Because you are a prisoner here on
earth, and you must obey the laws of the prison, however unpleasant
they may be to you. Were you free as you have been in ages past and as
you will be in ages to come, things would be different; but at present
you must comply with the orders of your gaolers--the Lords of Life and
Death."

I heard him, half awed, half fascinated. His words were full of
mysterious suggestions.

"How do you know I am of the temperament you describe?" I asked in a
low voice.

"I do not know, mademoiselle; I can only guess. There is but one person
who can perhaps judge of you correctly,--a man older than myself by
many years--whose life is the very acme of spiritual perfection--whose
learning is vast and unprejudiced. I must see and speak to him before I
try any more of my, or rather his, remedies. But we have lingered long
enough out here, and unless you have something more to say to me, we
will return to the ballroom. You will otherwise miss the cotillon;" and
he turned to retrace the way through the illuminated grove.

But a sudden thought had struck me, and I resolved to utter it aloud.
Laying my hand on his arm and looki