I was twenty-one years old, and fond of girls to the utmost degree. After studying a year at the university I obtained a post in one of the outlying districts, so I left the university and took up the work. No sooner had my foot touched the ground of my new workplace than I began to examine the place corner by corner, hoping to catch sight of a pretty girl who would keep me company in my solitude and drive the specter of strangeness from my soul.

Before long I met an old friend of mine who had been working there for a long while. He welcomed me, then led me by the hand and introduced me to all the employees, men and women.

And so it was that my hand touched the hand of a girl, smooth and soft and fresh; her face flashed and reflected the electric light into my eyes, then stirred in my soul buried fancies and imag-inings. Her name was "Christine." Then I placed my hand in the hands of the rest of those present in greeting, and none caught my full attention except the smooth-skinned "Christine" and "Violette," another girl, dark of complexion, with a sweet smile. Two girls had planted themselves before me at the parting of the ways and begun to toss me about like a feather where whirlwinds meet. And behind my audible con-versation with that new company, I strained my brain in study and comparison, weighing in which qualities the first surpassed the second, or the second the first.

The first surpassed the second in softness and beauty. Her lips were set with a slight curve, an artistic construction that with every movement could take possession of one of my nerves — this in addition to the color of her clear, fresh, rosy skin. As for the second, she surpassed the first in the ring of her voice, in her lightness of spirit, in her lovable

darkness and refreshing talk. My straining went for nothing, for I did not succeed in reaching any satisfactory settlement with myself in preferring the one over the other.

We left the room where the company was gathered at about ten o'clock, and my old friend Antoine walked beside me. Then he asked me, "How did you find this new society?"

— "It is new in every sense of the word."

— "Did you like the young ladies?"

— "Why do you ask me that question?"

— "Because I have not forgot-ten you yet."

— "It seems you have some foreigners here."

— "Of course you mean 'Christine' and 'Violette.'"

— "Ah... they did seem foreign to me. What is their origin?"

At this my friend's face turned grave and darkened, and he said: "They are of Greek origin, Albert. They dance and play and jest — but they are honorable, Albert, honorable in the extreme."

I wondered greatly at my friend's answer, for I had known him as a dissolute young man who gave this side of the conventions no thought at all. Then an idea crossed my mind: "Have you fallen in love with one of them?"

— "Who? I? I am engaged. Didn't you know yet? Here is my ring!"

— "Whom have you become engaged to: Christine or Violette?"

— "And what made you suspect those two, Albert? My fiancée lives in Aleppo, and our wedding has drawn near."

— "You devil! Why didn't you tell me before? I wish you every success and happiness."

The next morning I rose very early and paced before my room, breathing in the fresh morning air — and there I came upon the two girls, who added gaiety to the morning light.

"How strange," I said to them, "how did you wake so early?"

"How did you — you — wake so early?" said the dark one.

— "I... I am a man!"

— "And we are two girls of the twentieth century, the century of equality."

— "Delightful! I am proud to meet two modern girls in this town."

A moment later I found myself walking under guard between two angels, amid two rows of cypress trees and their gentle air.

— "It seems life is quiet and romantic in this place," I said to them, and they laughed.

"And the people are romantic too," answered the dark one with charming mockery.

We walked on, enjoying sweet talk, until we came to a deep well, and I asked her:

"What is the meaning of this dry well amid these green trees?"

— "Tell him, Violette, the his-tory of this well," said Christine.

— "This is the well at which Jacob stood when he met Rachel. It has an old, old history."

— "No, no," Christine cut her short, then winked at her slyly. "This is for us to throw into it everyone we want to be rid of. Help me,

Violette!" — and each of them clung to me from one side, pressing hard upon my arms.

— "Do you want to be rid of me so quickly, before you have learned my good from my bad?"

— "Yes!" they cried