“You told me you didn’t believe....” “In the immortality of the soul? Did I tell you that?... Yes; I suppose I did. But I don’t believe the contrary either, you know.” And as I was silent, he went on, nodding his head and with a sententious air: “Have you noticed that in this world God always keeps silent? It’s only the devil who speaks. Or at least, at least ...” he went on, “... however carefully we listen, it’s only the devil we can succeed in hearing. We have not the ears to hear the voice of God. The word of God! Have you ever wondered what it is like?... Oh! I don’t mean the word that has been transferred into human language.... You remember the Gospel: ‘In the beginning was the Word.’ I have often thought that the word of God was the whole of creation. But the devil seized hold of it. His noise drowns the voice of God. Oh! tell me, don’t you think that all the same it’s God who will end by having the last word?... And if, after death, time no longer exists, if we enter at once into Eternity, do you think we shall be able to hear God then ... directly?” A kind of transport began to shake him, as if he were going to fall down in convulsions, and he was suddenly seized by a fit of sobbing. “No, no!” he cried, confusedly; “the devil and God are one and the same; they work together. We try to believe that everything bad on earth comes from the devil, but it’s because, if we didn’t, we should never find strength to forgive God. He plays with us like a cat, tormenting a mouse.... And then afterwards he wants us to be grateful to him as well. Grateful for what? for what?...” Then, leaning towards me: “Do you know the most horrible thing of all that he has done?... Sacrificed his own son to save us. His son! his son!... Cruelty! that’s the principal attribute of God.” He flung himself on his bed and turned his face to the wall. For a few moments a spasmodic shudder ran through him; then, as he seemed to have fallen asleep, I left him. He had not said a word to me about Boris; but I thought that in this mystical despair was to be seen the expression of a grief too blinding to be looked at steadfastly. I hear from Olivier that Bernard has gone back to his father’s; and, indeed, it was the best thing he could do. When he learnt, from a chance meeting with Caloub, that the old judge was not well, Bernard followed the impulse of his heart. We shall meet to-morrow evening, for Profitendieu has invited me to dinner with Molinier, Pauline and the two boys. I feel very curious to know Caloub. A NOTE ON THE TYPE IN WHICH THIS BOOK IS SET