elves the story of the Universe in an Apocalypse that reveals the
past. After the tremendous resurrection that took place at the voice
of this man, the little drop in the nameless Infinite, common to all
spheres, that is ours to use, and that we call Time, seems to us a
pitiable moment of life. We ask ourselves the purpose of our triumphs,
our hatreds, our loves, overwhelmed as we are by the destruction of so
many past universes, and whether it is worth while to accept the pain of
life in order that hereafter we may become an intangible speck. Then we
remain as if dead, completely torn away from the present till the _valet
de chambre_ comes in and says, "_Madame la comtesse_ answers that she is
expecting _monsieur_."

All the wonders which had brought the known world before the young man's
mind wrought in his soul much the same feeling of dejection that besets
the philosopher investigating unknown creatures. He longed more than
ever for death as he flung himself back in a curule chair and let his
eyes wander across the illusions composing a panorama of the past.
The pictures seemed to light up, the Virgin's heads smiled on him, the
statues seemed alive. Everything danced and swayed around him, with a
motion due to the gloom and the tormenting fever that racked his brain;
each monstrosity grimaced at him, while the portraits on the canvas
closed their eyes for a little relief. Every shape seemed to tremble
and start, and to leave its place gravely or flippantly, gracefully or
awkwardly, according to its fashion, character, and surroundings.

A mysterious Sabbath began, rivaling the fantastic scenes witnessed
by Faust upon the Brocken. But these optical illusions, produced by
weariness, overstrained eyesight, or the accidents of twilight, could
not alarm the stranger. The terrors of life had no power over a soul
grown familiar with the terrors of death. He even gave himself up, half
amused by its bizarre eccentricities, to the influence of this moral
galvanism; its phenomena, closely connected with his last thoughts,
assured him that he was still alive. The silence about him was so deep
that he embarked once more in dreams that grew gradually darker and
darker as if by magic, as the light slowly faded. A last struggling ray
from the sun lit up rosy answering lights. He raised his head and saw a
skeleton dimly visible, with its skull bent doubtfully to one side, as
if to say, "The dead will none of thee as yet."

He pass