ed.] How did you know that?

[There is silence.]

FERRAND. [Staring into the fire.] Monsieur, while I was on the
road this time I fell ill of a fever. It seemed to me in my illness
that I saw the truth--how I was wasting in this world--I would never
be good for any one--nor any one for me--all would go by, and I
never of it--fame, and fortune, and peace, even the necessities of
life, ever mocking me.

[He draws closer to the fire, spreading his fingers to the
flame. And while he is speaking, through the doorway MRS.
MEGAN creeps in to listen.]

FERRAND. [Speaking on into the fire.] And I saw, Monsieur, so
plain, that I should be vagabond all my days, and my days short, I
dying in the end the death of a dog. I saw it all in my fever--
clear as that flame--there was nothing for us others, but the herb
of death. [WELLWYN takes his arm and presses it.] And so,
Monsieur, I wished to die. I told no one of my fever. I lay out on
the ground--it was verree cold. But they would not let me die on
the roads of their parishes--they took me to an Institution,
Monsieur, I looked in their eyes while I lay there, and I saw more
clear than the blue heaven that they thought it best that I should
die, although they would not let me. Then Monsieur, naturally my
spirit rose, and I said: "So much the worse for you. I will live a
little more." One is made like that! Life is sweet, Monsieur.

WELLWYN. Yes, Ferrand; Life is sweet.

FERRAND. That little girl you had here, Monsieur [WELLWYN nods.]
in her too there is something of wild-savage. She must have joy of
life. I have seen her since I came back. She has embraced the life
of joy. It is not quite the same thing. [He lowers his voice.]
She is lost, Monsieur, as a stone that sinks in water. I can see,
if she cannot. [As WELLWYN makes a movement of distress.] Oh! I
am not to blame for that, Monsieur. It had well begun before I knew
her.

WELLWYN. Yes, yes--I was afraid of it, at the time.

[MRS. MEGAN turns silently, and slips away.]

FEERRAND. I do my best for her, Monsieur, but look at me! Besides,
I am not good for her--it is not good for simple souls to be with
those who see things clear. For the great part of mankind, to see
anything--is fatal.

WELLWYN. Even for you, it seems.

FERRAND. No, Monsieur. To be so near to death has done me good; I
shall not lack courage any more till the wind blows on my grave.
Since