at the dead man who had been his disciple, sleeping the sleep which
Charlotte de Jussat was also sleeping; and, for the first time, feeling
his mind powerless to sustain him, this analyst, almost inhuman by
force of logic, bowed before the impenetrable mystery of destiny. The
words of the only prayer he remembered: “Our Father who art in heaven,”
came to his mind. Surely he did not pronounce them. Perhaps he never
will pronounce them. But if he exist, then the only father toward whom
they could turn in their hours of distress and in whom was their only
resource, was their heavenly father. And voices of prayer the most
touching went up. And if this heavenly father did only exist, should we
have this hunger and not insist for him in such hours as this? “Thou
wouldst not sent me if thou hadst not found me!” At that very moment,
thanks to the lucidity of mind which accompanies the scholar into all
crises, Adrien Sixte recalled this admirable sentence of Pascal in
his “Mystère de Jésus”, and when the mother arose from her knees the
philosopher was also weeping.
THE END.