Well, then I would experience what has occupied my imagination since my childhood, what has always given me the feeling of seductive terror. A foolish apprehension! It will be a wanton game she will play with me, nothing more. She loves me, and she is good, a noble personality, incapable of a breach of faith. But it lies in her hands —_if she wants to she can._ What a temptation in this doubt, this fear! Now I understand Manon l’Escault and the poor chevalier, who, even in the pillory, while she was another man’s mistress, still adored her. Love knows no virtue, no profit; it loves and forgives and suffers everything, because it must. It is not our judgment that leads us; it is neither the advantages nor the faults which we discover, that make us abandon ourselves, or that repel us. It is a sweet, soft, enigmatic power that drives us on. We cease to think, to feel, to will; we let ourselves be carried away by it, and ask not whither? * * * * * A Russian prince made his first appearance today on the promenade. He aroused general interest on account of his athletic figure, magnificent face, and splendid bearing. The women particularly gaped at him as though he were a wild animal, but he went his way gloomily without paying attention to any one. He was accompanied by two servants, one a negro, completely dressed in red satin, and the other a Circassian in his full gleaming uniform. Suddenly he saw Wanda, and fixed his cold piercing look upon her; he even turned his head after her, and when she had passed, he stood still and followed her with his eyes. And she—she veritably devoured him with her radiant green eyes—and did everything possible to meet him again. The cunning coquetry with which she walked, moved, and looked at him, almost stifled me. On the way home I remarked about it. She knit her brows. “What do you want,” she said, “the prince is a man whom I might like, who even dazzles me, and I am free. I can do what I please—” “Don’t you love me any longer—” I stammered, frightened. “I love only you,” she replied, “but I shall have the prince pay court to me.” “Wanda!” “Aren’t you my slave?” she said calmly. “Am I not Venus, the cruel northern Venus in Furs?” I was silent. I felt literally crushed by her words; her cold look entered my heart like a dagger. “You will find out immediately the prince’s name, residence, and circumstances,” she continued. “Do you understand?” “But—” “No argument, obey!” exclaimed Wanda, more sternly than I would have thought possible for her, “and don’t dare to enter my sight until you can answer my questions.” It was not till afternoon that I could obtain the desired information for Wanda. She let me stand before her like a servant, while she leaned back in her arm-chair and listened to me, smiling. Then she nodded; she seemed to be satisfied. “Bring me my footstool,” she commanded shortly.