Seine, the willows and plants on the island. A misty atmosphere hung
over the waters like a smokey floor.

On seeing the view, to him so heartbreaking, he folded his hands over
his bosom, and stood in an attitude of despair; the Exile came up to
him with astonishment on his face.

"You meant to kill yourself?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Godefroid, while the stranger passed his hand about his
neck again and again to feel the place where the rope had tightened on
it.

But for some slight bruises, the young man had been but little hurt.
His friend supposed that the nail had given way at once under the
weight of the body, and the terrible attempt had ended in a fall
without injury.

"And why, dear lad, did you try to kill yourself?"

"Alas!" said Godefroid, no longer restraining the tears that rolled
down his cheeks, "I heard the Voice from on high; it called me by
name! It had never named me before, but this time it bade me to
Heaven! Oh, how sweet is that voice!--As I could not fly to Heaven,"
he added artlessly, "I took the only way we know of going to God."

"My child! oh, sublime boy!" cried the old man, throwing his arms
round Godefroid, and clasping him to his heart. "You are a poet; you
can boldly ride the whirlwind! Your poetry does not proceed from your
heart; your living, burning thoughts, your creations, move and grow in