oor, he would suffer."

"Then," said Zilah, "the question of bread comes up everywhere, even in
insanity."

"And money is perhaps happiness, since it allows of the purchase of
happiness."

"Oh!" said the Prince, "for me, happiness would be--"

"What?"

"Forgetfulness."

And he followed with his eyes Vivian's lover, who now had his ear glued
to the trunk of the tree, and was listening to the voice which spoke
only to him.

"That man yonder," said Dr. Sims, indicating a man, still young, who
was coming toward them, "is a talented writer whose novels you have
doubtless read, and who has lost all idea of his own personality. Once
a great reader, he now holds all literature in intense disgust; from
having written so much, he has grown to have a perfect horror of words
and letters, and he never opens either a book or a newspaper. He drinks
in the fresh air, cultivates flowers, and watches the trains pass at the
foot of the garden."

"Is he happy?" asked Andras.

"Very happy."

"Yes, he has drunk of the waters of Lethe," rejoined the Prince.

"I will not tell you his name," whispered Dr. Sims, as the man, a thin,
dark-haired, delicate-featured fellow, approached them; "but, if you
should speak to him and chance to mention his name, he would respond
'Ah! yes, I knew him. He was a man of talent, much talent.' There is
nothing left to him of his former life."

And Zilah thought again that it was a fortunate lot to be attacked by
one of these cerebral maladies where the entire being, with its burden
of sorrows, is plunged into the deep, dark gulf of oblivion.

The novelist stopped before the two physicians.

"The mid-day train was three minutes and a half late," he said, quietly:
"I mention the fact to you, doctor, that you may have it attended to.
It is a very serious thing; for I am in the habit of setting my watch by
that train."

"I will see to it," replied Dr. Sims. "By the way, do you want any
books?"

In the same quiet tone the other responded:

"What for?"

"To read."

"What is the use of that?"

"Or any newspapers? To know--"

"To know what?" he interrupted, speaking with extreme volubility.
"No, indeed! It is so good to know nothing, nothing, nothing! Do the
newspapers announce that there are no more wars, no more poverty,
illness, murders, envy, hatred or jealousy? No! The newspapers do
not announce that. Then, why should I read the newspapers? Good-day,
gentlemen."

The Prince shuddered