ated by a
projection of the desecrated talent, a being almost celestial, since, by
genius, by artistry, it often becomes immortal?

"Let us go further, if you wish. Suppose that an artist depicts a saint
and becomes enamoured of her. Thus we have complications of crime
against nature and of sacrilege. An enormity!"

"Which, perhaps, is exquisite!"

He was taken aback by the word she had used. She rose, opened the door,
and called her husband. "Dear," she said, "Durtal has discovered a new
sin!"

"Surely not," said Chantelouve, his figure framed in the doorway. "The
book of sins is an edition _ne varietur_. New sins cannot be invented,
but old ones may be kept from falling into oblivion. Well, what is this
sin of his?"

Durtal explained the theory.

"But it is simply a refined expression of succubacy. The consort is not
one's work become animate, but a succubus which by night takes that
form."

"Admit, at any rate, that this cerebral hermaphrodism, self-fecundation,
is a distinguished vice at least--being the privilege of the artist--a
vice reserved for the elect, inaccessible to the mob."

"If you like exclusive obscenity--" laughed Chantelouve. "But I must get
back to the lives of the saints; the atmosphere is fresher and more
benign. So excuse me, Durtal. I leave it to my wife to continue this
Marivaux conversation about Satanism with you."

He said it in the simplest, most debonair fashion to be imagined, but
with just the slightest trace of irony.

Which Durtal perceived. "It must be quite late," he thought, when the
door closed after Chantelouve. He consulted his watch. Nearly eleven. He
rose to take leave.

"When shall I see you?" he murmured, very low.

"Your apartment tomorrow night at nine."

He looked at her with beseeching eyes. She understood, but wished to
tease him. She kissed him maternally on the forehead, then consulted his
eyes again. The expression of supplication must have remained unchanged,
for she responded to their imploration by a long kiss which closed them,
then came down to his lips, drinking their dolorous emotion.

Then she rang and told her maid to light Durtal through the hall. He
descended, satisfied that she had engaged herself to yield tomorrow
night.

CHAPTER XIII

He began again, as on the other evening, to clean house and establish a
methodical disorder. He slipped a cushion under the false disarray of
the armchair, then he made roaring fires to have th