pacifist loves suffering. The ordinary normal person
avoids suffering when possible. He endures it only when something
necessary or desirable cannot be gained in any other way. He may
undergo agony at the mere thought of it. His bravery consists in
facing danger and pain in spite of fear. But the extreme passivist,
who is really an unconscious pervert, loves to dream of martyrdom and
suffering. It must be a suffering, however, which is forced upon him,
and it must be a personal matter, not impersonal and general, as in
war. And he loves to contemplate a condition of complete captivity--of
irresponsible passivity, in which all resistance is in vain."

"Do you know, they disgust me, those two!" said Westmore angrily. "I
never could endure anything abnormal. And now that I know Esme is--and
that big lout, Mandel--I'll keep away from them. Do you blame me,
doctor?"

"Well," she said, much amused and turning to go, "they're very
interesting to physicians, you know--these non-resisting, pacifistic
perverts. But outside a sanatorium I shouldn't expect them to be very
popular." And she laughed and joined a big, good-looking man who had
come to seek her, and who wore, in his buttonhole, the button of the
French Legion of Honour.

Thessalie had strolled forward along the terrace by herself,
interested in the pretty spectacle and the play of light on jewels and
gowns.

Westmore, busy in expressing to Barres his opinion of Esme and Mandel,
did not at the moment miss Thessalie, who continued to saunter on
along the balustrade of the terrace, under the blossoming row of
orange trees.

Just below her was another terrace and an oval pool set with tiny jets
which seemed to spray the basin with liquid silver. Silvery fish, too,
were swimming in it near the surface, sometimes flinging themselves
clear out of water as though intoxicated by the unwonted lustre which
flooded their crystal pool.

To see them nearer, Thessalie ran lightly down the steps and walked
toward the shimmering basin. And at the same time the head and
shoulders of a man in evening dress, his bosom crossed by a sash of
watered red silk, appeared climbing nimbly from a still lower level.

She watched him step swiftly upon the terrace and cross it diagonally,
walking in her direction toward the stone stairs which she had just
descended. Then, paying him no further attention, she looked down into
the water.

He came along very near to where she stood, gazing int