a smile; "it's the want of the potentiality that is so deplorable."
"Why torment Strubofr, though?"
"Struboff? " he repeated, knitting his brows. "Ah, now Struboff is worth tormenting! You won't believe me; but he can feel."
"I was right, then; I thought he could."
"You saw it?"
"My prospects, perhaps, quicken my wits."
My arm was through his, and he pressed it between his elbow and his side.
"You see," said he, "perversity runs through it all. She should feel; he should not. It seems she doesn't, but he does. Heavens, would you accept such a conclusion without the fullest experiment? For me, I am determined to test it."
"Still you're in love with her."
"Agreed, agreed, agreed. A man must have a spur to knowledge."
We parted at the Place de la Concorde, and I strolled on alone to my hotel. Vohrenlorf was waiting for me, a little anxious, infinitely sleepy. I dismissed him at once, and sat down to read my letters. I had the feeling that I would think about all these matters to-morrow, but I was also pervaded by a satisfaction. My mind was being fed. The air here nourished, the air of Artenberg starved. I complimented Paris on a virtue not her own; the house in the Rue Washington was the source of my satisfaction.
There was a letter from Varvilliers; he wrote from Hungary, where he was on a visit. Here is something of what he said:
