know,
some have been killed, and the rest are so altered that I hardly
recognise them. They have trampled on all that made life worth having
to me; my hope of progress, my faith in a future of brotherly reason.

"I was ready to die in my despair, when a paper in which you were
spoken of insultingly, drew my attention to your articles: _To the
Dead_ and _To Her Whom We Loved_. I wept with joy as I read them; I
am not then left alone to suffer? I am not solitary?--You do believe;
then, my dear Sir, tell me that you still have faith in these things.
They really exist, and cannot be destroyed? I must tell you how much
good it does me to know that; for I had begun to doubt. You must
forgive me, but I am old and alone and very weary.... God bless you,
Sir! I can die in peace, now that, thanks to you, I know that I have
not been deceived."

Instantly it was as if a window had been opened to the air;
Clerambault's lungs were filled, his heart beat strongly again, life
seemed to be renewed, and to flow once more in a full channel. How
deep is the need we have of love from one another!... A hand stretched
out in the hour of my agony makes me feel that I am not a branch torn
from the tree, but a living part of it; we save each other. I give my
strength, which would be nothing if it were not taken. Truth alone is
like a spark struck from a stone; dry, harsh, ephemeral. Will it die
out? No, for it has kindled another soul, and a new star has risen on
the horizon.

The new star was seen but for a few moments, then a cloud covered it,
and it vanished forever.

Clerambault wrote the same day to his unknown friend, telling him
effusively of all his trials and dangerous opinions, but no answer
came. Some weeks later, Clerambault wrote again, but without success.
Such was his longing for a friend with whom to share his troubles and
his hopes that he took the train to Grenoble, and from there made his
way on foot to the village of which he had the address; but when,
joyful with the surprise he brought, he knocked at the door of the
schoolhouse, the man who opened it evidently understood nothing of his
errand. After some explanation it appeared that this was a newcomer
in the village; that his predecessor had been dismissed in disgrace a
month before and ordered to a distance, but that the trouble of the
journey had been spared him, for he had died of pneumonia the day
before he was to have left the place where he had lived for