y well for me to reason with myself, to stiffen my
backbone, so to say; but I cannot remain at home because I know he is
there. I know I shall not see him again; he will not show himself again;
that is all over. But he is there, all the same, in my thoughts. He
remains invisible, but that does not prevent his being there. He is
behind the doors, in the closed cupboard, in the wardrobe, under the bed,
in every dark corner. If I open the door or the cupboard, if I take the
candle to look under the bed and throw a light on the dark places he is
there no longer, but I feel that he is behind me. I turn round, certain
that I shall not see him, that I shall never see him again; but for all
that, he is behind me.

It is very stupid, it is dreadful; but what am I to do? I cannot help it.

But if there were two of us in the place I feel certain that he would not
be there any longer, for he is there just because I am alone, simply and
solely because I am alone!

LEGEND OF MONT ST. MICHEL

I had first seen it from Cancale, this fairy castle in the sea. I got an
indistinct impression of it as of a gray shadow outlined against the
misty sky. I saw it again from Avranches at sunset. The immense stretch
of sand was red, the horizon was red, the whole boundless bay was red.
The rocky castle rising out there in the distance like a weird,
seignorial residence, like a dream palace, strange and beautiful-this
alone remained black in the crimson light of the dying day.

The following morning at dawn I went toward it across the sands, my eyes
fastened on this, gigantic jewel, as big as a mountain, cut like a cameo,
and as dainty as lace. The nearer I approached the greater my admiration
grew, for nothing in the world could be more wonderful or more perfect.

As surprised as if I had discovered the habitation of a god, I wandered
through those halls supported by frail or massive columns, raising my
eyes in wonder to those spires which looked like rockets starting for the
sky, and to that marvellous assemblage of towers, of gargoyles, of
slender and charming ornaments, a regular fireworks of stone, granite
lace, a masterpiece of colossal and delicate architecture.

As I was looking up in ecstasy a Lower Normandy peasant came up to me and
told me the story of the great quarrel between Saint Michael and the
devil.

A sceptical genius has said: "God made man in his image and man has
returned the compliment."

This saying is an eter