“His words haunted me and I began to see my condition clearly.  I understood why all the small miseries of each day assumed in my eyes the importance of a catastrophe; I saw that I was organized in such a way that I suffered dreadfully from everything, that every painful impression was multiplied by my diseased sensibility, and an atrocious fear of life took possession of me.  I was without passions, without ambitions; I resolved to sacrifice possible joys in order to avoid sure sorrows.  Existence is short, but I made up my mind to spend it in the service of others, in relieving their troubles and enjoying their happiness.  Having no direct experience of either one or the other, I should only experience a milder form of emotion.

“And if you only knew how, in spite of this, misery tortures me, ravages me!  But what would formerly have been an intolerable affliction has become commiseration, pity.

“These sorrows which cross my path at every moment, I could not endure if they affected me directly.  I could not have seen one of my children die without dying myself.  And I have, in spite of everything, preserved such a mysterious, overwhelming fear of events that the sight of the postman entering my house makes a shiver pass every day through my veins, and yet I have nothing to be afraid of now.”

The Abbe Mauduit ceased speaking.  He stared into the fire in the huge grate, as if he saw there mysterious things, all the unknown of the existence he might have passed had he been more fearless in the face of suffering.

He added, then, in a subdued tone: 

“I was right.  I was not made for this world.”

The comtesse said nothing at first; but at length, after a long silence, she remarked: 

“For my part, if I had not my grandchildren, I believe I would not have the courage to live.”

And the cure rose up without saying another word.

As the servants were asleep in the kitchen, she accompanied him herself to the door, which looked out on the garden, and she saw his tall shadow, lit up by the reflection of the lamp, disappearing through the gloom of night.

Then she came back and sat down before the fire, and pondered over many things we never think of when we are young.

FORGIVENESS

She had been brought up in one of those families who live entirely to themselves, apart from all the rest of the world.  Such families know nothing of political events, although they are discussed at table; for changes in the Government take place at such a distance from them that they are spoken of as one speaks of a historical event, such as the death of Louis XVI or the landing of Napoleon.

Customs are modified in course of time, fashions succeed one another, but such variations are taken no account of in the placid family circle where traditional usages prevail year after year.  And if some scandalous episode or other occurs in the neighborhood, the disreputable story dies a natural death when it reaches the threshold of the house.  The father and mother may, perhaps, exchange a few words on the subject when alone together some evening, but they speak in hushed tones—­for even walls have ears.  The father says, with bated breath: