legal ceremonies.

Felix, a prey to the strange hallucination that incessantly
pursued him, saw a likeness between the official and the Chinese
figure he had awkwardly thrown down and broken one night long
ago. Presently his face darkened, and his eyes began to burn.
Behind the magistrate's blue spectacles he caught the gleam and
roll of the tawny eyes belonging to Mr. Harrison's clerk, to Li,
son of Mung, son of Tseu.

When at length the magistrate put the formal question, "Felix
Etienne d'Aubremel, do you take for your wife Ernestine Juliette
Montmorot," Felix heard a shrill ringing voice say, "Felix, I
give you your wife with my hand--my hand."

The official repeated the question more loudly. "With my hand--my
hand," whispered a thousand mocking little voices.

"No!" Felix shouted rather than answered, and rushed away from
the spot like a lunatic.

Once more at home, he shut out everyone and flung himself on his
bed, in a state of stupor that weighed him down till night--a
sort of dull torpor of brain, with utter exhaustion of physical
strength--a misery of formless thought. Towards evening one
persistent idea aroused him from this strange lethargy.

"I am a cowardly murderer," he groaned. "I wished for my
fellow-being's death. God punishes me--I will execute his
sentence." He stretched out his hand in the dark, groping for a