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"That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail.

My revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a

vice, I confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my

soul. My rage is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer,

whom I have turned loose upon society, still exists. You refuse

my just demand; I have but one resource, and I devote myself,

either in my life or death, to his destruction."

I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a

frenzy in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty

fierceness which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed.

But to a Genevan magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other

ideas than those of devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind

had much the appearance of madness. He endeavoured to soothe me

as a nurse does a child and reverted to my tale as the effects of

delirium.

"Man," I cried, "how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom!

Cease; you know not what it is you say."