“Is he happy?” asked Andras.

“Very happy.”

“Yes, he has drunk of the waters of Lethe,” rejoined the Prince.

“I will not tell you his name,” whispered Dr. Sims, as the man, a thin, dark-haired, delicate-featured fellow, approached them; “but, if you should speak to him and chance to mention his name, he would respond ’Ah! yes, I knew him.  He was a man of talent, much talent.’  There is nothing left to him of his former life.”

And Zilah thought again that it was a fortunate lot to be attacked by one of these cerebral maladies where the entire being, with its burden of sorrows, is plunged into the deep, dark gulf of oblivion.

The novelist stopped before the two physicians.

“The mid-day train was three minutes and a half late,” he said, quietly:  “I mention the fact to you, doctor, that you may have it attended to.  It is a very serious thing; for I am in the habit of setting my watch by that train.”

“I will see to it,” replied Dr. Sims.  “By the way, do you want any books?”

In the same quiet tone the other responded: 

“What for?”

“To read.”

“What is the use of that?”

“Or any newspapers?  To know—­”

“To know what?” he interrupted, speaking with extreme volubility.  “No, indeed!  It is so good to know nothing, nothing, nothing!  Do the newspapers announce that there are no more wars, no more poverty, illness, murders, envy, hatred or jealousy?  No!  The newspapers do not announce that.  Then, why should I read the newspapers?  Good-day, gentlemen.”

The Prince shuddered at the bitter logic of this madman, speaking with the shrill distinctness of the insane.  But Vogotzine smiled.

“Why, these idiots have rather good sense, after all,” he remarked.

When they reached the end of the garden, Dr. Sims opened a gate which separated the male from the female patients, and Andras perceived several women walking about in the alleys, some of them alone, and some accompanied by attendants.  In the distance, separated from the garden by a ditch and a high wall, was the railway.

Zilah caught his breath as he entered the enclosure, where doubtless among the female forms before him was that of the one he had loved.  He turned to Dr. Sims with anxious eyes, and asked: 

“Is she here?”

“She is here,” replied the doctor.

The Prince hesitated to advance.  He had not seen her since the day he had felt tempted to kill her as she lay in her white robes at his feet.  He wondered if it were not better to retrace his steps and depart hastily without seeing her.

“This way,” said Fargeas.  “We can see through the bushes without being seen, can we not, Sims?”

“Yes, doctor.”

Zilah resigned himself to his fate; and followed the physicians without saying a word; he could hear the panting respiration of Vogotzine trudging along behind him.  All at once the Prince felt a sensation as of a heavy hand resting upon his heart.  Fargeas had exclaimed: