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An Attic Philosopher in Paris — Volume 3 by Emile Souvestre
page 50 of 51 (98%)

This was too much. After so many instances of affection, this filled up
the measure. I could not restrain my tears.

Thus the few services I had been able to do for others had been
acknowledged by them a hundredfold! I had sown a little seed, and every
grain had fallen on good ground, and brought forth a whole sheaf. Ah!
this completes the lesson the doctor gave me. If it is true that the
diseases, whether of the mind or body, are the fruit of our follies and
our vices, sympathy and affection are also the rewards of our having done
our duty. Every one of us, with God's help, and within the narrow limits
of human capability, himself makes his own disposition, character, and
permanent condition.

Everybody is gone; the old soldier has brought me back my flowers and my
birds, and they are my only companions. The setting sun reddens my half-
closed curtains with its last rays. My brain is clear, and my heart
lighter. A thin mist floats before my eyes, and I feel myself in that
happy state which precedes a refreshing sleep.

Yonder, opposite the bed, the pale goddess in her drapery of a thousand
changing colors, and with her withered garland, again appears before me;
but this time I hold out my hand to her with a grateful smile.

"Adieu, beloved year! whom I but now unjustly accused. That which I
have suffered must not be laid to thee; for thou wast but a tract through
which God had marked out my road--a ground where I had reaped the harvest
I had sown. I will love thee, thou wayside shelter, for those hours of
happiness thou hast seen me enjoy; I will love thee even for the
suffering thou hast seen me endure. Neither happiness nor suffering came
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