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ARIADNE. 199pale Carrara marble, and iUumined the name cutonthe stone,he felt apang that hadneverbeforetouched his cold, voluptuous self-control andfortunate hfe." " AATho else could love me like that! hethought to himself; and thought also, — whatbeasts we are, that it is not love that touchesus, but the pursuit of itthat we desire.He understood that to him alone was consecratedher creation. She had striven to excelonly thatby excelling she might reach some placein his remembrance. The bird was dead: herepented that he had kiUedit.A little later, a womanwho could say to himwhat men could not venture to say, spoke tohimofit."This poet is you," she said. "AVho lovesyou like that ? AVas the poorbird that hes " deada mere woman, hke Aedon and Philomel ?He answered, "Yes, but a womanwithout sin;the sin wasmine."And his conscience stirredinhimand his heartwent out to her, and he remembered her as hehad seen her when he had kissed her first, and