“Did you ever see this ring?” he asked gently, as he placed on the table the pearl that the wife had given to the Breton.
Tai Lin raised his head, looked at the pearl and shuddered.
“I noticed,” continued the bishop sympathetically, “that he had this ring the very first day after his return from your wife. She made him promise not to part with it. I thought it might show a little—a very sudden—I may be wrong—but a woman’s passion.”
“My ring.” Tai Lin’s voice was almost inaudible in its calmness.
“Have you ever noticed any eagerness on her part for his coming?” asked the bishop with compassionate reluctance.
Tai Lin continued looking mutely at the ring.
“I did not know, but—I suspected it,” went on the bishop in the same pitying tones. “I noticed that when he was prevented from going to your palace she would send long letters to him—as bishop I read them. They were filled with tender endearments, the most passionate riotous words. It is difficult for me to speak of this. I hope I have not offended Your Excellency, for there is only one desire in my heart—the truth. To seek the truth and to live uprightly have been the two master wishes of my life. But, alas, how hard it is to discover truth! To do this one must pray to God. There is no other way. And since this terrible affair I have been continually on my knees. God has smiled. His smile has penetrated the darkness surrounding this mystery and all is now clear, but to understand, one must first understand women.
“It is strange the attributes men clothe women in: Some deceive themselves into looking upon her as an angel, when they ought to close their eyes and cry, Scat! Others make her a tantalising riddle, and spend their lives trying to solve it; a sweet enigma, which they do not try seriously to know, lest knowing they find out what they do not wish.
“Woman is not a riddle, she is not an angel, she is not an enigma. She is an animal—that is all.
“To understand a woman, study a feline. She has all their attributes. Like them she only ceases to want when satiated; when she desires, she does nothing else—like an animal she follows the scent of her wishes. A woman never rests except when asleep; she never sleeps unless her hungers have been satiated. Nothing is more alarming than a woman with one eye open; like animals, when they doze they think of to-morrow’s hunt. Women, as felines, have only three hungers: When these are allayed they are at peace; when not, they prowl—they cannot help it. Hunger and reason are always in conflict, but when reason is lacking there is no contention, no delay, and they hasten on the warm trail of their desires. There are no difficulties they will not surmount if the scent of the game is strong. Feline-like they are velvety-heeled, and we hear not their comings nor goings. One never suspects they have claws until they lacerate. They are not satisfied with one victim; they suck the heart’s blood, then sniff for another. Old age has not much blood—no, not very much.”