Soyons amis, bon marin, 'Be we friends, good sailor;' and sail over
every sea fearlessly. Neither of us is understood, perhaps because our
critics do not understand themselves."

"Be it so," he said, dejectedly resigning himself.

His odd colour and eyes gave a kind of unearthly tone to the interview.
I met him a few days later in almost as great a depression again.

"It's these English. I hate them. It is necessary that I should kill
one."

"My dearest misanthrope," I replied, "what you need is some
horse-riding."




CHAPTER VI.

ALEXANDRA.

Maintenant que la belle saison étale les splendeurs de sa robe.

--BENJ. SULTE.


Listen! A note is struck which, with an old magic, transforms the world!
In the dying beauty of an autumntide, Love Divine, last and most potent
of the goddesses, came walking through the woods and diffused the