He placed his hand, which was already cold, on my forehead, and continued: "Poor dear child! Wherefore deny that which is self-evident,--why try to escape the inexorable law of our race? In this series of changes which, starting at violent grief, ends by forgetfulness, there is nothing as I see it either odious or guilty. Nothing is more natural, nothing is more consistent with our human nature. More than this, one of these days you will be able to enjoy the wealth I am leaving you without the slightest feeling of sadness. You will remember me, I hope and desire, from time to time, but seldom, and without anguish. The remembrance of me will never interfere with your enjoyments, your pleasures, the pursuits of your daily existence; so at last I shall count in your bright young life only as the dust of the old tree, which, having lived its time, now only serves as a nourishment to its young shoots. Nothing is more simple, more human, more natural, I tell you so once more." "Ah, never believe such a thing as that," I cried out in terror. "This fortune will be hateful to me,--nothing will ever be any consolation to me." But my father added: "Make no foolish promises, my son; eighty thousand francs a year can never be hateful, and the most poignant grief is capable of consolation. Do I not know it from my own experience? Did not I feel thus when my father died? Will your sentiments not be the same as mine were? And if you ever have a son, will he not feel the same grief when you die? Believe me, my child, true wisdom consists in being thus able to envisage the inexorable reality of things, and never to indulge in vain hopes. When you once understand this truth, when it once causes the phantom of falsehood to dissolve, then you will neither hate nor despise men for being thus constituted, because you know yourself to be like them,--you will then pity them and help them, for you will often feel greatly unhappy! If you find men ungrateful, alas! look into the depth of your own soul, and you will often see such base ingratitude that you will be enabled to forgive others. Understand this, my poor child, that to forgive all is to know all. Finally, a time will come when the sight of their unknown or hidden vices will be so saddening or repugnant to you that you will do as I did, you will leave them and live alone. Then, my child, instead of having constantly before your eyes the harrowing sight of the moral infirmities of mankind, you will only have your own, and in the contemplation of a splendid nature, in meditation, in the inexhaustible and maternal sweetness of study, you will be able to forget and forgive the sins of our poor humanity." The day after this conversation, my father was no more. CHAPTER V HÉLÈNE