It is a kind of magnetic attraction of the senses, a nervous shock such as sensitive natures feel in case of sudden emotion--say, at an unexpected chord in music, a too pungent odor, a glorious sunset, a glance into space from the top of a high precipice. There is surprise and a dazed feeling. They last but a second or two, and are like a dream. Then comes forgetfulness, until a new meeting or a memory, though only indirectly evoked, reawakens the undefined and unavowed feeling, and gives double vigor to the sensation originally felt. Lise Olsdorf and Paul Meyrin unconsciously underwent this purely physiological experience. That evening, when they were near each other again at dinner, there was an exchange of looks which troubled them. The artist, already rather spoiled by his successes with women, was quite ready to think that the princess looked on him with favorable eyes. Conceit thus operated with him. Up to now his conquests had not been of so high an order; he soon fancied that he was deeply in love with Lise Olsdorf. The simple truth was that he desired her, and that as much out of vanity as passion. Unfortunately, Paul had no idea how to set about paying his court to a "great lady." He had heard a friend maintain the paradox that the best means one can use with women is to treat them by contraries; scrupulous politeness, tender care, timid and romantic declarations, for women of the town, and exactly the opposite for women in good society. But if the latter way is successful, as unhappily it too often is, thanks to the manners of to-day, Paul was not convinced that it was; besides which, he had no aptitude for the part of a coarse libertine, nor did he think that the princess was a woman to put up with a want of respect. Without any preconceived plan, then, he made up his mind to wait until a favorable occasion should offer itself. As for Lise Olsdorf, without analyzing her own emotions, she felt herself so strongly drawn to the handsome stranger that, fearing to betray herself, she was during dinner less gracious to him than she ordinarily was to guests in general newly arrived at the château; nor could she without a tremor think of the approaching moment when, after the Russian custom, the mistress of the house, standing on the threshold of the dining-room, receives the homage of her guests, who, passing one by one before her, each kiss her hand, while her lips touch their forehead. From modesty, or perhaps designedly, Paul Meyrin was among the last few. When Lise offered him her hand he pressed his lips to it in so long a kiss that she withdrew it sharply and fell back a step, without giving him the expected kiss in return.