the iron
constitution of the lion-tamer. On the other's features, on the
contrary, a great alteration was perceptible; his hollow cheeks, marble
pallor, his eyes, by turns dull and heavy, or gleaming with lurid
fire, betrayed the ravages of debauchery, his parched lips were almost
constantly curled by a bitter and sardonic smile. His spirit, once
gay and sanguine, still struggled against the besotting influence of
habitual intoxication. Unfitted for labor, no longer able to forego
gross pleasures, Jacques sought to drown in wine a few virtuous impulses
which he still possessed, and had sunk so low as to accept without shame
the large dole of sensual gratification proffered him by Morok, who paid
all the expenses of their orgies, but never gave him money, in order
that he might be completely dependent on him. After gazing at Morok for
some time in amazement, Jacques said to him, in a familiar tone: "Well,
yours is a famous trade; you may boast that, at this moment, there are
not two men like you in the whole world That's flattering. It's a pity
you don't stick to this fine trade."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, how is the conspiracy going on, in whose honor you make me keep it
up all day and all night?"

"It is working, but the time is not yet come; that is why I wish to have
you always at hand, till the great day. Do you complain?"

"Hang it, no!" said Jacques. "What could I do? Burnt up with brandy as
I am, if I wanted to work, I've no longer the strength to do so. I have
not, like you, a head of marble, and a body of iron; but as for fuddling
myself with gunpowder, instead of anything else, that'll do for me; I'm
only fit for that work now--and then, it will drive away thought."

"Oh what kind?"

"You know that when I do think, I think only of one thing," said
Jacques, gloomily.

"The Bacchanal queen?--still?" said Morok, in a disdainful tone.

"Still! rather: when I shall think of her no longer, I shall be dead--or
stupefied. Fiend!"

"You were never better or more intelligent, you fool!" replied Morok,
fastening his turban. The conversation was here interrupted. Morok's
aider entered hastily.

The gigantic form of this Hercules had increased in width. He was
habited like Alcides; his enormous limbs, furrowed with veins as thick
as whipcord, were covered with a close-fitting flesh-colored garment, to
which a pair of red drawers formed a strong contrast.

"Why do you rush in like a storm, Goliath?" said Mo