drawing long sighs (for his tongue at this point began to refuse its
functions), I said, "What are they?" "Grand, grand!" he replied. "I
have never yet failed," returned I, "to have the honour of hearing your
conceptions and imaginations communicated to me; will you not now still
let me enjoy them?" "I would indeed," he answered; "but, my brother,
I am not able to do so; they are admirable, infinite, and unspeakable."
We stopped short there, for he could not go on. A little before, indeed,
he had shown a desire to speak to his wife, and had told her, with as gay
a countenance as he could contrive to assume, that he had a story to tell
her. And it seemed as if he was making an attempt to gain utterance;
but, his strength failing him, he begged a little wine to resuscitate it.
It was of no avail, for he fainted away suddenly, and was for some time
insensible. Having become so near a neighbour to death, and hearing the
sobs of Mademoiselle de la Boetie, he called her, and said to her thus:
"My own likeness, you grieve yourself beforehand; will you not have pity
on me? take courage. Assuredly, it costs me more than half the pain I
endure, to see you suffer; and reasonably so, because the evils which we
ourselves feel we do not actually ourselves suffer, but it certain
sentient faculties which God plants in us, that feel them: whereas what
we feel on account of others, we feel by consequence of a certain
reasoning process which goes on within our minds. But I am going away"
--That he said because his strength was failing him; and fearing that he
had frightened his wife, he resumed, observing: "I am going to sleep.
Good night, my wife; go thy way." This was the last farewell he took of
her.

After she had left, "My brother," said he to me, "keep near me, if you
please;" and then feeling the advance of death more pressing and more
acute, or else the effect of some warm draught which they had made him
swallow, his voice grew stronger and clearer, and he turned quite with