, and healthy humanity; to hasten the coming of happiness, the
future kingdom of perfection and felicity, by intervening and giving
health to all! And he possessed the liquor of life, the universal
panacea which opened up this immense hope!

Pascal was silent for a moment. Then he murmured:

"It is true. I cured myself, I have cured others, and I still think that
my injections are efficacious in many cases. I do not deny medicine.
Remorse for a deplorable accident, like that of Lafouasse, does not
render me unjust. Besides, work has been my passion, it is in work that
I have up to this time spent my energies; it was in wishing to prove to
myself the possibility of making decrepit humanity one day strong and
intelligent that I came near dying lately. Yes, a dream, a beautiful
dream!"

"No, no! a reality, the reality of your genius, master."

Then, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, he breathed this
confession:

"Listen, I am going to say to you what I would say to no one else in
the world, what I would not say to myself aloud. To correct nature, to
interfere, in order to modify it and thwart it in its purpose, is this
a laudable task? To cure the individual, to retard his death, for his
personal pleasure, to prolong his existence, doubtless to the injury of
the species, is not this to defeat the aims of nature? And have we the
right to desire a stronger, a healthier humanity, modeled after our idea
of health and strength? What have we to do in the matter? Why should we
interfere in this work of life, neither the means nor the end of which
are known to us? Perhaps everything is as it ought to be. Perhaps we
should risk killing love, genius, life itself. Remember, I make the
confession to you alone; but doubt has taken possession of me, I tremble
at the thought of my twentieth century alchemy. I have come to believe
that it is greater and wiser to allow evolution to take its course."

He paused; then he added so softly that she could scarcely hear him:

"Do you know that instead of nerve-substance I often use only water with
my patients. You no longer hear me grinding for days at a time. I told
you that I had some of the liquor in reserve. Water soothes them,
this is no doubt simply a mechanical effect. Ah! to soothe, to prevent
suffering--that indeed I still desire! It is perhaps my greatest
weakness, but I cannot bear to see any one suffer. Suffering puts me
beside myself, it seems a monstrous and useless cru