"Oh, my life!" he cried, "that fair life of mine. Never to know a
kindly thought again, to love no more; nothing is left to me!"
He turned to the professor and went on in a gentle voice--"The harm is
done, my old friend. Your services have been well repaid; and my
misfortune has at any rate contributed to the welfare of a good and
worthy man."
His tones betrayed so much feeling that the almost unintelligible
words drew tears from the two old men, such tears as are shed over
some pathetic song in a foreign tongue.
"He is epileptic," muttered Porriquet.
"I understand your kind intentions, my friend," Raphael answered
gently. "You would make excuses for me. Ill-health cannot be helped,
but ingratitude is a grievous fault. Leave me now," he added.
"To-morrow or the next day, or possibly to-night, you will receive
your appointment; Resistance has triumphed over Motion. Farewell."
The old schoolmaster went away, full of keen apprehension as to
Valentin's sanity. A thrill of horror ran through him; there had been
something supernatural, he thought, in the scene he had passed
through. He could hardly believe his own impressions, and questioned
them like one awakened from a painful dream.
"Now attend to me, Jonathan," said the young man to his old servant.
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