ndeed, they
exist already. They exist to such a degree that we know them in part.
And, if that part is infinitesimal in proportion to their immensity, it
is none the less very appreciable in proportion to the part of
accomplished things of which we can have any knowledge. It is
permissible to say that, for us, the future is not much more obscure
than the past. We know that generations will follow generations in
labour, joy and suffering. I look beyond the duration of the human race.
I see the constellations slowly changing in the heavens those forms of
theirs which seem immutable; I see the Wain unharnessed from its ancient
team, the shield of Orion broken in twain, Sirius extinguished. We know
that the sun will rise to-morrow and that for a long time to come it
will rise every morning amid the dense clouds or in light mists."

Adolphe Meunier entered discreetly on tiptoe.

The doctor grasped his hand warmly.

"Good day, Monsieur Meunier. We can see next month's new moon. We do not
see her as distinctly as to-night's new moon, because we do not know in
what grey or ruddy sky she will reveal her old saucepan-lid over my
roof, amid the stove-flues capped with pointed hats and romantic hoods,
to the gaze of the amorous cats. But this coming rising of the moon--if
we were expert enough to know it in advance, in its most minute
particulars, every one of which is essential, we should conceive as
clear an idea of the night whereof I speak as of the night now with us;
both would be equally present to us.

"The knowledge that we have of the facts is the sole reason which leads
us to believe in their reality. We know that certain facts are bound to
occur. We must therefore believe them to be real. And, if they are real,
they are realized. It is therefore credible, my dear Constantin Marc,
that your play has been played a thousand years ago, or half an hour
ago, which comes absolutely to the same thing. It is credible that we
have all been dead for some time past. Think it, and your mind will be
at rest."

Constantin Marc, who had paid scant attention to his remarks and who did
not perceive their relevance or their propriety, answered, in a somewhat
irritable tone, that all that was to be found in Bossuet.

"In Bossuet!" exclaimed the indignant physician. "I challenge you to
show me anything resembling it in his works. Bossuet knew nothing of
philosophy."

Nanteuil turned to the doctor. She was wearing a big lawn bonnet wi