move.

"The saint is playing devil!" replied the Abbot.

At this the living head tore itself violently away from the dead body and
fell upon the yellow pate of the priest.

"Remember, Doña Elvira!" cried the head, fastening its teeth in the head
of the Abbot.

The latter gave a terrible shriek, which threw the crowd into a panic. The
priests rushed to the assistance of their chief.

"Imbecile! Now say that there is a God!" cried the voice, just as the
Abbot expired.



THE AGE FOR LOVE

BY PAUL BOURGET


When I submitted the plan of my Inquiry Upon the Age for Love to the
editor-in-chief of the Boulevard, the highest type of French literary
paper, he seemed astonished that an idea so journalistic--that was his
word--should have been evolved from the brain of his most recent
acquisition. I had been with him two weeks and it was my first
contribution. "Give me some details, my dear Labarthe," he said, in a
somewhat less insolent manner than was his wont. After listening to me for