end it when he pleases."

"Why don't you write an article on suicide? It would frighten people
out of their wits!" said Mike.

"I hope he'll do nothing of the kind," said a man who had been
listening with bated breath. "We should have every one committing
suicide all around us--the world would come to an end."

"And would that matter much?" said Mike, with a scornful laugh. "You
need not be afraid. No bit of mere scribbling will terminate life;
the principle of life is too deeply rooted ever to be uprooted;
reason will ever remain powerless to harm it. Very seldom, if ever,
has a man committed suicide for purely intellectual reasons. It
nearly always takes the form of a sudden paroxysm of mind. The will
to live is an almost unassailable fortress, and it will remain
impregnable everlastingly."

The entrance of some men, talking loudly of betting and women,
stopped the conversation. The servants brought forth the card-tables.
Mike played several games of ecarte, cheating openly, braving
detection. He did not care what happened, and almost desired the
violent scene that would ensue on his being accused of packing the
cards. But nothing happened, and about one o'clock, having bade the
last guest good-night, he returned to the dining-room. The room in
its disorder of fruit and champagne looked like a human being--Mike
thought it looked like himself. He drank a tumbler of champagne and
returned to the drawing-room, his pockets full of the money he had
swindled from a young man. He threw himself on a sofa by the open
window and listened to the solitude, terribly punctuated by the
clanging of the clocks. All the roofs were defined on the blue night,
and he could hear the sound of water falling. The trees rose in vague
masses indistinguishable, and beyond was the immense brickwork which
hugs the shores. In the river there were strange reflections, and
above the river there were blood-red lamps.

"If I were to fling myself from this window! ... I shouldn't feel
anything; but I should be a shocking sight on the pavement.... Great
Scott! this silence is awful, and those whispering trees, and those
damned clocks--another half-hour of life gone. I shall go mad if
something doesn't happen."

There came a knock. Who could it be? It did not matter, anything was
better than silence. He threw open the door, and a pretty girl,
almost a child, bounded into the room, making it ring with her
laughter.

"Oh, Mike! darling Mike, I ha