“Look at that,” he said.  “Might it not have been cut from an angel’s head?”

“It is certainly wonderful.”

“It must have been hair like this which crowned the infamous head of Lucrezia Borgia,” he said, bitterly.  “She, too, had golden hair; but hers must have been of paler tint, like her nature.”

He resumed his seat, and, fixing his eyes upon the lock, continued: 

“She was one of Ottilie’s friends—­dear friends, they called each other,—­which meant that they kissed each other profusely, and told each other all their secrets, or as much as the lying nature of the sex permitted and suggested.  It is, of course, impossible for me to disentangle my present knowledge from my past impressions so as to give you a clear description of what I then thought of Agalma.  Enough that, as a matter of fact, I distinctly remember not to have admired her, and to have told Ottilie so; and when Ottilie, in surprise at my insensibility, assured me that men were in general wonderfully charmed with her (though, for her part, she had never understood why), I answered, and answered sincerely, that it might be true with the less refined order of men, but men of taste would certainly be rather repelled from her.

“This opinion of mine, or some report of it, reached Agalma.

“It may have been the proximate cause of my sorrows.  Without this stimulus to her vanity, she might have left me undisturbed.  I don’t know.  All I know is, that over many men Agalma exercised great influence, and that over me she exercised the spell of fascination.  No other word will explain her influence; for it was not based on excellences such as the mind could recognize to be attractions; it was based on a mysterious personal power, something awful in its mysteriousness, as all demoniac powers are.  One source of her influence over men I think I can explain:  she at once captivated and repelled them.  By artful appeals to their vanity, she made them interested in her and in her opinion of them, and yet kept herself inaccessible by a pride which was the more fascinating because it always seemed about to give way.  Her instinct fastened upon the weak point in those she approached.  This made her seductive to men, because she flattered their weak points; and hateful to women, because she flouted and disclosed their weak points.

“Her influence over me began in the following way.  One day, at a picnic, having been led by her into a conversation respecting the relative inferiority of the feminine intellect, I was forced to speak rather more earnestly than usual, when suddenly she turned to me and exclaimed in a lower voice: 

“’I am willing to credit anything you say; only pray don’t continue talking to me so earnestly.’

“‘Why not?’ I asked, surprised.

“She looked at me with peculiar significance, but remained silent.

“‘May I ask why not?’ I asked.

“‘Because, if you do, somebody may be jealous.’  There was a laughing defiance in her eye as she spoke.