A perfect scheme of aesthetics, a real religion!" Francois smiled as he looked at Hyacinthe, buttoned up in his long pleated frock-coat, with his made-up face, and carefully cropped hair and beard.

"And yourself ?" said he, "I thought you were working, and were going to publish a little poem, shortly ?" "Oh! the task of creating is so distasteful to me, my dear fellow! A single line often takes me weeks....

Still, yes, I have a little poem on hand, 'The End of Woman.' And you see, I'm not so exclusive as some people pretend, since I admire Jonas, who still believes in Woman.

His excuse is sculpture, which, after all, is at best such a gross materialistic art.

But in poetry, good heavens, how we've been overwhelmed with Woman, always Woman! It's surely time to drive her out of the temple, and cleanse it a little.