u the fellow had a lot of poetry in him and
observed that all this sounded true enough. It would be just about the
sorcery a woman very much out of the common would exercise, you know.
Poets do get close to truth somehow--there is no denying that.

"There is no poetry in my composition, I know, but I have my share of
common shrewdness, and I have no doubt that the lady was kind to the
youngster, once he did find his way inside her salon. His getting in
is the real marvel. However, he did get in, the innocent, and he found
himself in distinguished company there, amongst men of considerable
position. And you know, what that means: thick waists, bald heads, teeth
that are not--as some satirist puts it. Imagine amongst them a nice
boy, fresh and simple, like an apple just off the tree; a modest,
good-looking, impressionable, adoring young barbarian. My word! What a
change! What a relief for jaded feelings! And with that, having, in his
nature that, dose; of poetry which saves even a simpleton from being a
fool.

"He became an artlessly, unconditionally devoted slave. He was rewarded
by being smiled on and in time admitted to the intimacy of the house.
It may be that the unsophisticated young barbarian amused the exquisite
lady. Perhaps--since he didn't feed on tallow candles--he satisfied
some need of tenderness in the woman. You know, there are many kinds of
tenderness highly civilized women are capable of. Women with heads and
imagination, I mean, and no temperament to speak of, you understand. But
who is going to fathom their needs or their fancies? Most of the time
they themselves don't know much about their innermost moods, and blunder
out of one into another, sometimes with catastrophic results. And then
who is more surprised than they? However, Tomassov's case was in its
nature quite idyllic. The fashionable world was amused. His devotion
made for him a kind of social success. But he didn't care. There was his
one divinity, and there was the shrine where he was permitted to go in
and out without regard for official reception hours.

"He took advantage of that privilege freely. Well, lie had no official
duties, you know. The Military Mission was supposed to be more
complimentary than anything else, the head of it being a personal
friend of our Emperor Alexander; and he, too, was laying himself out for
successes in fashionable life exclusively--as it seemed. As it seemed.

"One afternoon Tomassov called on the mistr