He loves to kill. He loves only that,
monsieur. He gives life but to destroy it! God, monsieur, is a murderer!
He needs death every day. And He makes it of every variety, in order the
better to be amused. He has invented sickness and accidents in order
to give Him diversion all through the months and the years; and when He
grows tired of this, He has epidemics, the plague, cholera, diphtheria,
smallpox, everything possible! But this does not satisfy Him; all these
things are too similar; and so from time to time He has wars, in order
to see two hundred thousand soldiers killed at once, crushed in blood
and in the mud, blown apart, their arms and legs torn off, their heads
smashed by bullets, like eggs that fall on the ground.

"'But this is not all. He has made men who eat each other. And then, as
men become better than He, He has made beasts, in order to see men hunt
them, kill them and eat them. That is not all. He has made tiny little
animals which live one day, flies who die by the millions in one hour,
ants which we are continually crushing under our feet, and so many, many
others that we cannot even imagine. And all these things are continually
killing each other and dying. And the good Lord looks on and is amused,
for He sees everything, the big ones as well as the little ones, those
who are in the drops of water and those in the other firmaments. He
watches them and is amused. Wretch!

"'Then, monsieur, I began to kill children played a trick on Him. He
did not get those. It was not He, but I! And I would have killed many
others, but you caught me. There!

"'I was to be executed. I! How He would have laughed! Then I asked for a
priest, and I lied. I confessed to him. I lied and I lived.

"'Now, all is over. I can no longer escape from Him. I no longer fear
Him, monsieur; I despise Him too much.'

"This poor wretch was frightful to see as he lay there gasping, opening
an enormous mouth in order to utter words which could scarcely be heard,
his breath rattling, picking at his bed and moving his thin legs under a
grimy sheet as though trying to escape.

"Oh! The mere remembrance of it is frightful!

"'You have nothing more to say?' I asked.

"'No, monsieur.'

"'Then, farewell.'

"'Farewell, monsieur, till some day----'

"I turned to the ashen-faced priest, whose dark outline stood out
against the wall, and asked: 'Are you going to stay here, Monsieur
l'Abbe?'

"'Yes.'

"Then the dying man sneered: