he depths of my
heart. The prayers of a penitent soul that thirsted for righteousness
and for all things lovely and of good report, had been rejected by these
religious people. At first, the wildest resolutions and most frantic
thoughts surged through my mind, but happily for me the sight of my son
brought self-control. I felt all the more strongly drawn towards him for
the misfortunes of which he was the innocent cause, and for which I had
in reality only myself to blame. In him I found all my consolation.

"At the age of thirty-four I might still hope to do my country noble
service. I determined to make a name for myself, a name so illustrious
that no one should remember the stain on the birth of my son. How many
noble thoughts I owe to him! How full a life I led in those days while
I was absorbed in planning out his future! I feel stifled," cried
Benassis. "All this happened eleven years ago, and yet to this day, I
cannot bear to think of that fatal year.... My child died, sir; I lost
him!"

The doctor was silent, and hid his face in his hands; when he was
somewhat calmer he raised his head again, and Genestas saw that his eyes
were full of tears.

"At first it seemed as if this thunderbolt had uprooted me," Benassis
resumed. "It was a blow from which I could only expect to recover after
I had been transplanted into a different soil from that of the social
world in which I lived. It was not till some time afterwards that I saw
the finger of God in my misfortunes, and later still that I learned to
submit to His will and to hearken to His voice. It was impossible that
resignation should come to me all at once. My impetuous and fiery nature
broke out in a final storm of rebellion.

"It was long before I brought myself to take the only step befitting
a Catholic; indeed, my thoughts ran on suicide. This succession of
misfortunes had contributed to develop melancholy feelings in me, and I
deliberately determined to take my own life. It seemed to me that it was
permissible to take leave of life when life was ebbing fast. There
was nothing unnatural, I thought about suicide. The ravages of mental
distress affected the soul of man in the same way that acute physical
anguish affected the body; and an intelligent being, suffering from a
moral malady, had surely a right to destroy himself, a right he shares
with the sheep, that, fallen a victim to the 'staggers,' beats its head
against a tree. Were the soul's diseases in tru