to imprisonment does little credit to the land of
his fathers."

"There are exceptions," remarked Pradel.

"Few," replied Dr. Trublet.

But Nanteuil, pursuing her idea, remarked.

"My little Socrates, you can very well certify that he was insane. It is
the truth. He was not sane, I know it only too well."

"No doubt he was mad, my dear child. But it is a question of determining
whether he was madder than other men. The entire history of humanity,
replete with tortures, ecstasies, and massacres, is the history of
raving, demented creatures."

"Doctor," inquired Constantin Marc, "are you by chance one of those who
do not admire War? It is nevertheless a magnificent thing, when you come
to think of it. The animals merely eat one another. Men have conceived
the idea of beautiful massacres. They have learnt to kill one another in
glittering cuirasses, in helmets topped with plumes, or maned with
scarlet. By the use of artillery, and the art of fortification, they
have introduced chemistry and mathematics among the necessary means of
destruction. War is a sublime invention. And, since the extermination of
human beings appears to us the only object of life, the wisdom of man
resides in this, that he has made this extermination a delight and a
splendour. After all, doctor, you cannot deny that murder is a law of
nature, and that it is consequently divine."

To which Dr. Socrates replied:

"We are only miserable animals, and yet we are our own providence and
our own gods. The lower animals, whose immemorial reign preceded our own
upon this planet, have transformed it by their genius and their courage.
The insects have traced roads, excavated the soil, hollowed the trunks
of trees and rocks, built dwellings, founded cities, metamorphosed the
soil, the air, and the waters. The labour of the humblest of these, that
of the madrepores, has created islands and continents. Every material
change produces a moral change, since morals depend upon environment.
The transformation to which man in his turn has subjected the earth is
undoubtedly more profound and more harmonious than the transformation
wrought by other animals. Why should not humanity succeed in changing
nature to the extent of making it pacific? Why should not humanity,
miserably puny though it is and will be, succeed, some day, in
suppressing, or at least in controlling the struggle for life? Why
indeed should not humanity abolish the law of murder? We may expect a