out the eye, pressing it in with the linen without looking at it. A deep
moan, startling and terrible, was heard. It was the poor spaniel, who died
with a howl.

"Could he have been in the secret?" Don Juan wondered, surveying the
faithful animal.

Don Juan was considered a dutiful son. He raised a monument of white
marble over his father's tomb, and employed the most prominent artists of
the time to carve the figures. He was not altogether at ease until the
statue of his father, kneeling before Religion, imposed its enormous
weight on the grave, in which he had buried the only regret that had ever
touched his heart, and that only in moments of physical depression.

On making an inventory of the immense wealth amassed by the old
Orientalist, Don Juan became avaricious. Had he not two human lives in
which he should need money? His deep, searching gaze penetrated the
principles of social life, and he understood the world all the better
because he viewed it across a tomb. He analyzed men and things that he
might have done at once with the past, represented by history, with the
present, expressed by the law, and with the future revealed by religion.
He took soul and matter, threw them into a crucible, and found nothing
there, and from that time forth he became Don Juan.

Master of the illusions of life he threw himself--young and
beautiful--into life; despising the world, but seizing the world. His
happiness could never be of that bourgeois type which is satisfied by
boiled beef, by a welcome warming-pan in winter, a lamp at night and new
slippers at each quarter. He grasped existence as a monkey seizes a nut,
peeling off the coarse shell to enjoy the savory kernel. The poetry and