A PASSION IN THE DESERT
by HONORE DE BALZAC
"The whole show is dreadful," she cried coming out of the menagerie of
M. Martin. She had just been looking at that daring speculator
"working with his hyena,"--to speak in the style of the programme.
"By what means," she continued, "can he have tamed these animals to
such a point as to be certain of their affection for----"
"What seems to you a problem," said I, interrupting, "is really quite
"Oh!" she cried, letting an incredulous smile wander over her lips.
"You think that beasts are wholly without passions?" I asked her.
"Quite the reverse; we can communicate to them all the vices arising
in our own state of civilization."