number of human beings born to the highest joys and the deepest
sorrows; whose feeling qualities vibrate in unison and echo each other
inwardly; whose sensitive natures are in harmony with the principle of
things. Put such beings among surroundings where all is discord and
they suffer horribly, just as their happiness mounts to exaltation
when they meet ideas, or feelings, or other beings who are congenial
to them. But there is still a third condition, where sorrows are known
only to souls affected by the same distress; in this alone is the
highest fraternal comprehension. It may happen that such souls find no
outlet either for good or evil. Then the organ within us endowed with
expression and motion is exercised in a void, expends its passion
without an object, utters sounds without melody, and cries that are
lost in solitude,--terrible defeat of a soul which revolts against the
inutility of nothingness. These are struggles in which our strength
oozes away without restraint, as blood from an inward wound. The
sensibilities flow to waste and the result is a horrible weakening of
the soul; an indescribable melancholy for which the confessional
itself has no ears. Have I not expressed our mutual sufferings?"

She shuddered, and then without removing her eyes from the setting
sun, she said, "How is it that, young as you are, you know these
things? Were you once a woman?"

"Ah!" I replied, "my childhood was like a long illness--"

"I hear Madeleine coughing," she cried, leaving me abruptly.

The countess showed no displeasure at my constant visits, and for two
reasons. In the first place she was pure as a child, and her thoughts
wandered into no forbidden regions; in the next I amused the count and