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 ings which stung him into a philosophic reaction. The charities, for the most part quixotic, went on as long as his small fortune lasted.

Following are extracts from significant entries:

"Drawing-room in Passy, Nov. 5, 1920. Luigi Pessaro says he lives for and by virtue of music, yet his rose-festooned piano, under my fingers, is out of tune, and neither he nor his mother nor the Principessa seems aware of it. Moreover, he has just sung a Scarlatti ditty and sentimentalized it out of all conscience. Then how account for that opera score there, inscribed by the composer himself, a 'cordial souvenir to a magnificent artist?' Was Massenet sub-consciously thinking of the artist's eyes! And are all composers as fallible as Massenet? Did a certain 'vieux musicien' sub-consciously think of Aunt Verona's eyes when he waxed eloquent about her performances? As one grows older one grows into the habit of believing by contraries. In a way that's novel and refreshing; gives one a sense of living one's past backwards."

"Night café, rue St. Marc, 4 a.m., December 3, 1920.

"Last night Suzy showed me two snapshots of her little boy in the country. She swore her only reason for being in such company in such a place at such an hour was the necessity of providing an education and prospects for her baby. She wept and leaned her blond head on the beer-stained table and finally tucked the photographs into her powder-dusted bag among notes from a legion of lovers. I half believed her, 'lent' her fifty francs again, for luck, and helped her on with her satin cloak when the American lieutenant invited himself to her apartment. She danced her way out, wreathed in smiles.

"To-night, or rather this morning, a chauffeur and a market porter went home with Suzy, and the patronne