He has never
forgotten. I saw him weeping one day--it was where she used to sing to
the flax-beaters by the Beau Cheval. I put my hand on his shoulder, and
said, 'I know, I comprehend; but be a philosopher, Jean Jacques.'"
"What did he say?" asked the Judge.
"He drew himself up. 'In my mind, in my soul, I am philosopher always,'
he said, 'but my eyes are the windows of my heart, m'sieu'. They look
out and see the sorrow of one I loved. It is for her sorrow that I weep,
not for my own. I have my child, I have money; the world says to me,
"How goes it, my friend?" I have a home--a home; but where is she, and
what does the world say to her?'"
The Judge shook his head sadly. "I used to think I knew life, but I come
to the belief in the end that I know nothing. Who could have guessed
that he would have spoken like that!"
"He forgave her, monsieur."
The Judge nodded mournfully. "Yes, yes, but I used to think it is such
men who forgive one day and kill the next. You never can tell where they
will explode, philosophy or no philosophy.
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