"Not now--not now; the good God has made me sound. I remember, and am not
terrified."

I closed the door and took a seat by his bedside. There, with my hand
shading my eyes from the level glory of sunset that flamed into the room,
I listened to the strange tale of Camille's seizure.

* * * * *

"Once, Monsieur, I lived in myself and was exultant with a loneliness of
fancied knowledge. My youth was my excuse; but God could not pardon me
all. I read where I could find books, and chance put an evil choice in my
way, for I learned to sneer at His name, His heaven, His hell. Each man
has his god in self-will, I thought in my pride, and through it alone he
accepts the responsibility of life and death. He is his own curse or
blessing here and hereafter, inheriting no sin and earning no doom but
such as he himself inflicts upon himself. I interpret this from the world
about me, and knowing it, I have no fear and own no tyrant but my own
passions. Monsieur, it was through fear the most terrible that God
asserted Himself to me."

The light was fading in the west, and a lance of shadow fell upon the
white bed, as though the hushed day were putting a finger to its lips as
it withdrew.

"I was no coward then, Monsieur--that at least I may say. I lived among
the mountains, and on their ledges the feet of my own goats were not
surer. Often, in summer, I spent the night among the woods and hills,
reading in them the story of the ages, and exploring, exploring till my