wife
or children?'

"And I began to see clearly into myself. I understood why all the
small miseries of each day assumed in my eyes the importance of a
catastrophe; I saw that I was organized in such a way that I suffered
dreadfully from everything, that every painful impression was
multiplied by my diseased sensibility, and an atrocious fear of life
took possession of me. I was without passions, without ambitions; I
resolved to sacrifice possible joys in order to avoid sure sorrows.
Existence is short, but I made up my mind to spend it in the service
of others, in relieving their troubles and enjoying their happiness.
By having no direct experience of either one or the other, I would
only be conscious of passionless emotions.

"And if you only knew how, in spite of this, misery tortures me,
ravages me! But what would be for me an intolerable affliction has
become commiseration, pity.

"These sorrows which I have every day to concern myself about I could
not endure if they fell on my own heart. I could not have seen one of
my children die without dying myself. And I have, in spite of
everything, preserved such an obscure and penetrating fear of
circumstances, that the sight of the postman entering my house makes a
shiver pass every day through my veins, and yet I have nothing to be
afraid of now."

The Abbe Mauduit ceased speaking. He stared into the fire in the huge
grate, as if he saw there mysterious things, all the unknown portion
of existence which he would have been able to live if he had been more
fearless in the face of suffering.

He added, then, in a subdued tone:

"I was right. I was not made for this world."

The Comtesse said nothing at first; but at length, after a long
silence, she remarked:

"For my part, if I had not my grand-children, I believe I would not
have the courage to live."

And the cure rose up without saying another word.

As the servants were asleep in the kitchen, she conducted him herself
to the door which looked out on the garden, and she saw his tall
shadow lit up by the reflection of the lamp disappearing through the
gloom of night.

Then she came back and sat down before the fire, and she pondered over
many things on which we never think when we are young.

A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS

Maitre Saval, notary at Vernon, was passionately fond of music. Still
young, though already bald, always carefully shaved, a little
corpulent, as it was fitting, wearing a gold pi