At this moment a new arrival glided into the room quietly, with the manifest intention of disturbing no one; but Crozat, who was seated near the door, stopped him and shook hands.

“‘Tiens’, Saniel!  Good-day, doctor.”

“Good-evening, my dear sir.”

“Come to the table; the beer is good to-day.”

“Thank you; I am very well here.”

Without taking the chair that Crozat designated, he leaned against the wall.  He was a tall, solid man about thirty, with tawny hair falling on the collar of his coat, a long, curled beard, a face energetic, but troubled and wan, to which the pale blue eyes gave an expression of hardness that was accentuated by a prominent jaw and a decided air.  A Gaul, a true Gaul of ancient times, strong, bold, and resolute.

Brigard continued: 

“It is incontestable”—­this was his formula, because everything he said was incontestable to him, simply because he said it—­“it is incontestable that in the struggle for existence the dogma of conscience must be established, its only sanction being the performance of duty and inward satisfaction—­”

“Duty accomplished toward whom?” interrupted Saniel.

“Toward one’s self.”

“Then begin by stating what are our duties, and codify what is good and what is bad.”

“That is easy,” some one replied.

“Easy if you admit a certain innate regard for human life, for property, and for the family.  But you must acknowledge that not all men have this regard.  How many believe that it is not a fault to run away with the wife of a friend, not a crime to appropriate something that they want, or to kill an enemy!  Where are the duties of those who reason and feel in this way?  What is their inward satisfaction worth?  This is why I will not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our actions.”

There were several exclamations at this, which Brigard checked.

“What guide, then, shall men obey?” he demanded.

“Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life!”

“That which leads to a wise and progressive extermination.  Is this what you desire?”

“Why not?  I do not shrink from an extermination that relieves humanity of idlers that it drags about without power to advance or to free itself, finally sinking under the load.  Is it not better for the world to be rid of such people, who obstruct the advancement of others?”

“At least the idea is bizarre coming from a doctor,” interrupted Crozat, “since it would put an end to hospitals.”

“Not at all; I would preserve them for the study of monsters.”

“In placing society on this antagonistic footing,” said Brigard, “you destroy society itself, which is founded on reciprocity, on good fellowship; and in doing so you can create for the strong a state of suspicion that paralyzes them.  Carthage and Venice practised the selection by force, and destroyed themselves.”