that I dread to see her.
When I propose to find a husband for her, she goes into hysterics and I had to promise to make no more allusions to her marriage.
'Such is my position, M. Dormeuil, what would you do in my place?'
'I really cannot say, my dear Count. It is most embarrassing. You cannot marry her and you do not wish to make her your mistress.'
He seemed for a time lost in a profound reverie and did not reply for a few moments.
'She wishes to see me this evening and I am afraid I may weaken,' he said at last. 'Let me conduct you, dear friend, to a closet, near her room and if passion should get the best of me, come to my assistance, I pray you.'
The greater part of the evening was already spent and we had to hasten our visit to Wanda before she should retire. The Count preceded me and made me enter a closet next to the room, at the door of which he knocked.
'Who is there?' called a fresh young voice.
'It is I, Alexis.'
'Ah, at last,' she cried, and I heard her run to the door. 'How glad I am to see you, I feared you would forget my request.'
'You see, do you not, that I have not forgotten it, since I am here.'
There was a little hole in the door of my hiding place which seemed to have been made on purpose. I peeped through it and saw her on her knees before him. She implored him to keep her with him; she would be his slave.
She is as handsome as the Count has described her, but taller and more distinguished looking in her white wrapper. As she holds his hands and kisses his face, her expression denotes sincere love. She pulls him towards a large armchair and innocently sits on his knees, as she would have done with her father when a child; while with all the grace imaginable, she tries to extract a promise from him that he will not leave her.
It was too much for my Russian friend to withstand and naturally he seized her head and covered her face with kisses. They are entwined in each other's arms. Their bodies are like one. It would have seemed a crime to me to disturb them, notwithstanding the request made by the Count.
How she twists herself like a snake; now they have fallen pell-mell on a beautiful white bearskin on the floor, and he passes one leg between her naked thighs, and she, following her natural instinct, rubs herself against him.
I could not blame him. As I looked at them, I felt my own prick stiffen up like a poker. When he placed his instrument between her beautiful thighs, I thought he only did his duty, for she was breathlessly wishing for it.
The jerks of the young girl's body became less marked, and all at once she gave a cry of pain! It was only transitory, however, for she entwined herself round the Count more closely than ever. She literally covered his face with kisses and laughed and cried in the same breath.
It is impossible for me see her body with the exception of her thighs which escape her drawers, but that is enough to convince me of the beauty of the rest.
She must have spent several times, although she does not wish to let him go. She has turned over on her side and shows me her back. Her drawers are slightly open and as she pushes with her bottom, I can see her crack with the Count's lance-like prick imbedded in it.
Her backside must be enormous, for it almost splits the delicate envelope that confines it.
The Count has just spent but she still remains sticking to him and does not allow her mouth to leave his for an instant.
I judged that the amorous combat was at an end and in order not to receive any reproaches from the Count, I pretended to be asleep.
When he shook me, I begged his pardon for having fallen asleep. He excused me politely and conducted me back to his room without saying a word about Wanda. The next morning the Count came to wake me himself and had been thoughtful enough to have my breakfast brought to me in bed.
I rose and he conducted me to his bath. We talked of a thousand and one things and his conversation was very animated; he seemed much happier and livelier than was his wont.
'Come,' said he, 'I am going to show you my library.'
He led the way to a room whose style was most severe, but where all the erotic works of French, English and Spanish authors were arranged on shelves.
While I admired the handsome collection, the Count pressed a spring and a little drawer flew open which contained some volumes carefully wrapped in silk. He took them from their hiding place with the greatest care and handed them to me one by one. I read their titles:
A Youthful Adventurer
The Comtessa Marga
The Perfumed Garden
Venus in India
Adventures of Lais Lovecock
A Spanish Gallant
Memories of a Voluptuary and numerous other works of a similar character.
The British Museum contains some of these works, which are not only very rare but also masterpieces of erotic-literature.
The collector who could obtain any of them would be fortunate and find their perusal most entertaining. They rank high in their line, and will make many a one stand.
'I must absent myself for some hours,' he continued, 'but you can spend your time here pleasantly and read anything you like.'
As soon as he left, I began to read the rarest of these works. The rest were already known to me, at least those in English and French. The Horn Book is a remarkable work and also The Open Chamber.
When he returned it seemed to me as if he had only been gone a few moments, so much was I interested in my reading. He announced that he had prepared everything for an agreeable evening, but he would not tell me anything more. He expressed his regrets at not being able to spend the rest of the day with me and added that he had to go out and make a few calls.
I had forgotten Paris, Madame Benoit, Madame Cuchond and the rest!
I must go too, or they would send out a general alarm. The Count held me back, smiling, and assured me that everything would be all right, as he would go himself to see Madame Benoit and the others and explain everything.
I preferred it so and agreed to remain. I resumed my erotic reading which caused the remainder of the day to pass very quickly. When five o'clock struck and it began to get dark, I had devoured a large part of the contents of the secret drawer.
The Count returned a little before six o'clock and soon we partook of an excellent supper.
After supper-we took our supper in the parlour-I perceived that my friend was in the best of humours. He had been to Madame X-, had seen Pauline, Clemence, the Abbe, and a few others. They did not know what to think of my absence; he had given them some kind of an explanation and they were convinced that I had gone on a hunting expedition some miles away.
The parlour, I now perceived, had been robbed of its furniture, and there was an open space in the middle of the room. The Count invited me to be seated on a sort of ottoman, low but delightfully comfortable, while he on another, just opposite to mine.
The atmosphere is perfumed, while the light is so arranged as to be of every imaginable colour. I feel that my friend is reserving a surprise for me. What can it be?
In answer to his call, Ivan, his faithful servant, brings in two Turkish pipes with their long stems. I would have preferred a good cigar, but for the novelty of the thing I accept the pipe.
We are sitting quietly, when the curtain over the door moves and a woman or girl with a musical instrument enters the room. I say woman or girl, for she is so wrapped up that I cannot see her face. The Count smokes on without manifesting either surprise or curiosity, and I do the same.
The woman begins the entertainment, and sits down on a cushion and commences to play a lazy, monotonous
