"I allowed the poor old deaf fellow to have his say," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, "for it would have been of no use to try to interrupt him. But don't take me for a coward from his story. I am not afraid of death, Emile; I used to long for it; now I await it calmly. I have been conscious of its approach for a long time; but it comes slowly, and I shall die as I have lived, without haste. I am subject to intermittent fevers which take away my appetite and my sleep, but which no one ever discovers because they leave me enough strength for the little I have to do. I do not believe in medicine; thus far it has found no means of curing disease without attacking the vital principle. In whatever form it assumes, it is empiricism, and I prefer bending under God's hand to leaping and capering under the hand of a man. This time I was harder hit than usual; I felt weaker mentally, and I will confess without shame, Emile, that I realized that I could no longer live alone. Old men are like children for falling in love with a new pleasure; but when it comes to losing it, they are not easily consoled like children. They become old men again and die. Don't be embarrassed by what I say: it is the fever that makes me so talkative. When I am cured, I shall not say it, I shall not even think it; but I shall always feel it as an instinct beneath my apathy. Do not feel that you are chained henceforth to my sad old age. It is of little importance whether I live a year more or less, or whether a friendly hand closes the eyes of him who has lived alone. But I thank you for coming again. Let us talk no more of me, but of you. What have you been doing during these sad days?" "I have been sad myself because I have passed them away from you," Emile replied. "Is it possible! Such is life, such is man. To make oneself suffer by making others suffer! That is a convincing proof of the brotherhood of souls." Emile passed two hours with the marquis, and found him more confidential and more affectionate than he had ever been. He felt that his attachment to him became stronger, and he determined that he would cause him no more suffering. And when, upon taking his leave, he expressed some anxiety because he had allowed him to talk so earnestly, the marquis replied: "Never fear. Come again to-morrow and you will find me on my feet. That is not the kind of thing that tires one; it is the absence of opportunities for pouring out one's heart that dries up and kills." XX THE FORTRESS OF CROZANT