This thought insensibly took possession of his mind, to the exclusion of all besides.  The poor girl was as forlorn as himself; she had become accustomed to the deformity of the hunchback, and she seemed to look on him with an affectionate sympathy!  What more could he wish for?  Until then, the hopes of making himself acceptable to a helpmate had been repelled by Maurice as a dream; but chance seemed willing to make it a reality.  After much hesitation he took courage, and decided to speak to her.

It was evening; the little hunchback, in much agitation, directed his steps toward the work-woman’s garret just as he was about to enter, he thought he heard a strange voice pronouncing the maiden’s name.  He quickly pushed open the door, and perceived Toinette weeping, and leaning on the shoulder of a young man in the dress of a sailor.

At the sight of my uncle, she disengaged herself quickly, and ran to him, crying out: 

“Ah! come in—­come in!  It is he that I thought was dead:  it is Julien; it is my betrothed!”

Maurice tottered, and drew back.  A single word had told him all!

It seemed to him as if the ground shook and his heart was about to break; but the same voice that he had heard by his mother’s deathbed again sounded in his ears, and he soon recovered himself.  God was still his friend!

He himself accompanied the newly-married pair on the road when they left the town, and, after wishing them all the happiness which was denied to him, he returned with resignation to the old house in the suburb.

It was there that he ended his life, forsaken by men, but not as he said by the Father which is in heaven.  He felt His presence everywhere; it was to him in the place of all else.  When he died, it was with a smile, and like an exile setting out for his own country.  He who had consoled him in poverty and ill-health, when he was suffering from injustice and forsaken by all, had made death a gain and blessing to him.

Eight o’clock.—­All I have just written has pained me!  Till now I have looked into life for instruction how to live.  Is it then true that human maxims are not always sufficient? that beyond goodness, prudence, moderation, humility, self-sacrifice itself, there is one great truth, which alone can face great misfortunes? and that, if man has need of virtues for others, he has need of religion for himself?

When, in youth, we drink our wine with a merry heart, as the Scripture expresses it, we think we are sufficient for ourselves; strong, happy, and beloved, we believe, like Ajax, we shall be able to escape every storm in spite of the gods.  But later in life, when the back is bowed, when happiness proves a fading flower, and the affections grow chill-then, in fear of the void and the darkness, we stretch out our arms, like the child overtaken by night, and we call for help to Him who is everywhere.

I was asking this morning why this growing confusion alike for society and for the individual?  In vain does human reason from hour to hour light some new torch on the roadside:  the night continues to grow ever darker!  Is it not because we are content to withdraw farther and farther from God, the Sun of spirits?