on his knees, all his muscles giving way
under him. And with hands despairingly outstretched he stammered:

"This is more than I can bear, my God! More than I can bear!"

He had accepted every situation but he could do so no longer. He had
come to the end of his strength and was plunged in the dark void where
man and his reason are together overthrown. In an extravagant access of
faith he raised his hands ever higher and higher, searching for heaven,
calling on God.

"Oh no, I do not desire it! Oh, come to me, my God! Succor me; nay, let
me die sooner! Oh no, not that man, my God! It is over; take me, carry
me away, that I may not see, that I may not feel any longer! Oh, I
belong to you, my God! Our Father which art in heaven--"

And burning with faith, he continued his supplication, and an ardent
prayer escaped from his lips. But someone touched him on the shoulder.
He lifted his eyes; it was M. Venot. He was surprised to find him
praying before that closed door. Then as though God Himself had
responded to his appeal, the count flung his arms round the little old
gentleman's neck. At last he could weep, and he burst out sobbing and
repeated:

"My brother, my brother."

All his suffering humanity found comfort in that cry. He drenched
M. Venot's face with tears; he kissed him, uttering fragmentary
ejaculations.

"Oh, my brother, how I am suffering! You only are left me, my brother.
Take me away forever--oh, for mercy's sake, take me away!"

Then M. Venot pressed him to his bosom and called him "brother" also.
But he had a fresh blow in store for him. Since yesterday he had been
searching for him in order to inform him that the Countess Sabine, in
a supreme fit of moral aberration, had but now taken flight with the
manager of one of the departments in a large, fancy emporium. It was a
fearful scandal, and all Paris was already talking about it. Seeing
him under the influence of such religious exaltation, Venot felt the
opportunity to be favorable and at once told him of the meanly tragic
shipwreck of his house. The count was not touched thereby. His wife had
gone? That meant nothing to him; they would see what would happen later
on. And again he was seized with anguish, and gazing with a look of
terror at the door, the walls, the ceiling, he continued pouring forth
his single supplication:

"Take me away! I cannot bear it any longer! Take me away!"

M. Venot took him away as though he had been a child. From