“Yes,” replied Godefroid, while the stranger passed his hand about his neck again and again to feel the place where the rope had tightened on it. But for some slight bruises, the young man had been but little hurt. His friend supposed that the nail had given way at once under the weight of the body, and the terrible attempt had ended in a fall without injury. “And why, dear lad, did you try to kill yourself?” “Alas!” said Godefroid, no longer restraining the tears that rolled down his cheeks, “I heard the Voice from on high; it called me by name! It had never named me before, but this time it bade me to Heaven! Oh, how sweet is that voice!--As I could not fly to Heaven,” he added artlessly, “I took the only way we know of going to God.” “My child! oh, sublime boy!” cried the old man, throwing his arms round Godefroid, and clasping him to his heart. “You are a poet; you can boldly ride the whirlwind! Your poetry does not proceed from your heart; your living, burning thoughts, your creations, move and grow in your soul.--Go, never reveal your ideas to the vulgar! Be at once the altar, the priest, and the victim! “You know Heaven, do you not? You have seen those myriads of angels, white-winged, and holding golden sistrums, all soaring with equal flight towards the Throne, and you have often seen their pinions moving at the breath of God as the trees of the forest bow with one consent before the storm. Ah, how glorious is unlimited space! Tell me.” The stranger clasped Godefroid’s hand convulsively, and they both gazed at the firmament, whence the stars seemed to shed gentle poetry which they could bear. “Oh, to see God!” murmured Godefroid. “Child!” said the old man suddenly, in a sterner voice, “have you so soon forgotten the holy teaching of our good master, Doctor Sigier? In order to return, you to your heavenly home, and I to my native land on earth, must we not obey the voice of God? We must walk on resignedly in the stony paths where His almighty finger points the way. Do not you quail at the thought of the danger to which you exposed yourself? Arriving there without being bidden, and saying, ‘Here I am!’ before your time, would you not have been cast back into a world beneath that where your soul now hovers? Poor outcast cherub! Should you not rather bless God for having suffered you to live in a sphere where you may hear none but heavenly harmonies? Are you not as pure as a diamond, as lovely as a flower?