She threatened me with her finger and knitted her brows. “Perhaps, even a ‘Venus in Furs.’ Watch out, I have a large, very large fur, with which I could cover you up entirely, and I have a mind to catch you in it as in a net.” “Do you believe,” I said quickly, for an idea which seemed good, in spite of its conventionality and triteness, flashed into my head, “do you believe that your theories could be carried into execution at the present time, that Venus would be permitted to stray with impunity among our railroads and telegraphs in all her undraped beauty and serenity?” “_Undraped_, of course not, but in furs,” she replied smiling, “would you care to see mine?” “And then—” “What then?” “Beautiful, free, serene, and happy human beings, such as the Greeks were, are only possible when it is permitted to have _slaves_ who will perform the prosaic tasks of every day for them and above all else labor for them.” “Of course,” she replied playfully, “an Olympian divinity, such as I am, requires a whole army of slaves. Beware of me!” “Why?” I myself was frightened at the hardiness with which I uttered this “why”; it did not startle her in the least. She drew back her lips a little so that her small white teeth became visible, and then said lightly, as if she were discussing some trifling matter, “Do you want to be my slave?” “There is no equality in love,” I replied solemnly. “Whenever it is a matter of choice for me of ruling or being ruled, it seems much more satisfactory to me to be the slave of a beautiful woman. But where shall I find the woman who knows how to rule, calmly, full of self-confidence, even harshly, and not seek to gain her power by means of petty nagging?” “Oh, that might not be so difficult.” “You think—” “I—for instance—” she laughed and leaned far back—“I have a real talent for despotism—I also have the necessary furs—but last night you were really seriously afraid of me!” “Quite seriously.” “And now?” “Now, I am more afraid of you than ever!” We are together every day, I and—Venus; we are together a great deal. We breakfast in my honey-suckle arbor, and have tea in her little sitting-room. I have an opportunity to unfold all my small, very small talents. Of what use would have been my study of all the various sciences, my playing at all the arts, if I were unable in the case of a pretty, little woman— But this woman is by no means little; in fact she impresses me tremendously. I made a drawing of her to-day, and felt particularly clearly, how inappropriate the modern way of dressing is for a cameo-head like hers. The configuration of her face has little of the Roman, but much of the Greek. Sometimes I should like to paint her as Psyche, and then again as Astarte. It depends upon the expression in her eyes, whether it is vaguely dreamy, or half-consuming, filled with tired desire. She, however, insists that it be a portrait-likeness. I shall make her a present of furs.