n the two measures of oats. But let
this everlasting question alone, resolved to-day by a 'Yes' and a 'No.'
What experience did you look to find by a jump into the Seine? Were you
jealous of the hydraulic machine on the Pont Notre Dame?"

"Ah, if you but knew my history!"

"Pooh," said Emile; "I did not think you could be so commonplace; that
remark is hackneyed. Don't you know that every one of us claims to have
suffered as no other ever did?"

"Ah!" Raphael sighed.

"What a mountebank art thou with thy 'Ah'! Look here, now. Does some
disease of the mind or body, by contracting your muscles, bring back
of a morning the wild horses that tear you in pieces at night, as with
Damiens once upon a time? Were you driven to sup off your own dog in a
garret, uncooked and without salt? Have your children ever cried, 'I am
hungry'? Have you sold your mistress' hair to hazard the money at play?
Have you ever drawn a sham bill of exchange on a fictitious uncle at a
sham address, and feared lest you should not be in time to take it up?
Come now, I am attending! If you were going to drown yourself for some
woman, or by way of a protest, or out of sheer dulness, I disown you.
Make your confession, and no lies! I don't at all want a historical
memoir. And, above all things, be as concise as your clouded intellect
permits; I am as critical as a professor, and as sleepy as a woman at
her vespers."

"You silly fool!" said Raphael. "When has not suffering been keener for
a more susceptible nature? Some day when science has attained to a pitch
that enables us to study the natural history of hearts, when they
are named and classified in genera, sub-genera, and families; into
crustaceae, fossils, saurians, infusoria, or whatever it is,--then, my
dear fellow, it will be ascertained that there are natures as tender
and fragile as flowers, that are broken by the slight bruises that some
stony hearts do not even feel----"

"For pity's sake, spare me thy exordium," said Emile, as, half
plaintive, half amused, he took Raphael's hand.

II. A WOMAN WITHOUT A HEART

After a moment's silence, Raphael said with a careless gesture:

"Perhaps it is an effect of the fumes of punch--I really cannot
tell--this clearness of mind that enables me to comprise my whole
life in a single picture, where figures and hues, lights, shades, and
half-tones are faithfully rendered. I should not have been so surprised
at this poetical play of imagination