engaged to, another loved him and he her; but those were the least of
his erotic triumphs; wherever he showed himself, he conquered. And
proofs were to hand. For one day, when he had dragged me up to his room
with him, he bewildered me by shaking out before my eyes a profusion of
embroidered sofa-cushions, fancy pillows, cigar-cases, match-holders,
crocheted purses, worked waistcoats, etc.; presents from every
description of person of the feminine gender. In every drawer he pulled
out there were presents of the sort; they hung over chairs and on pegs.

I was young enough to feel a certain respect for a man so sought after
by the fair sex, although I thought his frankness too great. What first
began to undermine this feeling was not doubt of the truth of his tales,
or the genuineness of the gifts, but the fact that one after another of
my comrades, when the first cool stages of acquaintance were passed,
invariably found a favourable opportunity of confidentially informing
me--he could not explain why it was himself, but it was a fact--that
wherever he showed himself women were singularly fascinated by the sight
of him; there must be something about him which vanquished them in spite
of him. When at last one evening the most round-backed of all of them, a
swain whose blond mustache, of irregular growth, resembled an old, worn-
out toothbrush more than anything else, also confided in me that he did
not know how it was, or what could really be the cause of it, but there
must be something about him, etc.,--then my belief in Vilsing's
singularity and my admiration for him broke down. It must not be
supposed that Vilsing regarded himself as a sensual fiend. He did not
pose as cold and impudent, but as heartfelt and instinct with feeling.
He was studying theology, and cherished no dearer wish than eventually
to become a priest. He constantly alternated between contrition and
self-satisfaction, arrogance and repentance, enjoyed the consciousness
of being exceptionally clever, an irresistible charmer, and a true