’Yes, I do not disguise it:  woman is the main object, the great appetite, of my soul.  As you feed the victim for the slaughter, I love to rear the votaries of my pleasure.  I love to train, to ripen their minds—­to unfold the sweet blossom of their hidden passions, in order to prepare the fruit to my taste.  I loathe your ready-made and ripened courtesans; it is in the soft and unconscious progress of innocence to desire that I find the true charm of love; it is thus that I defy satiety; and by contemplating the freshness of others, I sustain the freshness of my own sensations.  From the young hearts of my victims I draw the ingredients of the caldron in which I re-youth myself.  But enough of this:  to the subject before us.  You know, then, that in Neapolis some time since I encountered Ione and Apaecides, brother and sister, the children of Athenians who had settled at Neapolis.  The death of their parents, who knew and esteemed me, constituted me their guardian.  I was not unmindful of the trust.  The youth, docile and mild, yielded readily to the impression I sought to stamp upon him.  Next to woman, I love the old recollections of my ancestral land; I love to keep alive—­to propagate on distant shores (which her colonies perchance yet people) her dark and mystic creeds.  It may be, that it pleases me to delude mankind, while I thus serve the deities.  To Apaecides I taught the solemn faith of Isis.  I unfolded to him something of those sublime allegories which are couched beneath her worship.  I excited in a soul peculiarly alive to religious fervor that enthusiasm which imagination begets on faith.  I have placed him amongst you:  he is one of you.’

‘He is so,’ said Calenus:  ’but in thus stimulating his faith, you have robbed him of wisdom.  He is horror-struck that he is no longer duped:  our sage delusions, our speaking statues and secret staircases dismay and revolt him; he pines; he wastes away; he mutters to himself; he refuses to share our ceremonies.  He has been known to frequent the company of men suspected of adherence to that new and atheistical creed which denies all our gods, and terms our oracles the inspirations of that malevolent spirit of which eastern tradition speaks.  Our oracles—­alas! we know well whose inspirations they are!’

‘This is what I feared,’ said Arbaces, musingly, ’from various reproaches he made me when I last saw him.  Of late he hath shunned my steps.  I must find him:  I must continue my lessons:  I must lead him into the adytum of Wisdom.  I must teach him that there are two stages of sanctity—­the first, faith—­the next, delusion; the one for the vulgar, the second for the sage.’

’I never passed through the first, I said Calenus; ’nor you either, I think, my Arbaces.’

‘You err,’ replied the Egyptian, gravely.  ’I believe at this day (not indeed that which I teach, but that which I teach not).  Nature has a sanctity against which I cannot (nor would I) steel conviction.  I believe in mine own knowledge, and that has revealed to me—­but no matter.  Now to earthlier and more inviting themes.  If I thus fulfilled my object with Apaecides, what was my design for Ione?  Thou knowest already I intend her for my queen—­my bride—­my heart’s Isis.  Never till I saw her knew I all the love of which my nature is capable.’