he spoke in English, the next and he seemed to answer himself in an unknown tongue; and the faint glow of the lamp striking full upon his face I saw those same wondrous changes come and go. When he spoke in English it was Maurice's face which was turned toward me, his deep voice which uttered the words; but when he suddenly broke out in what Walla called gibberish, the face grew almost feminine in its beauty and the voice changed to that of a woman. It is so! I swear it! It was a most marvelous thing to watch those transformations come and go.
“But what was he saying?
The first I heard was:
“For God’s sake tell me the worst. Can there never be a change?”
Strange words in that other voice followed.
“But what am I to do?”
Again the answer. Let me give something of this most peculiar conversation. The words spoken in the unknown tongue I must represent by dashes. I can do nothing else.
“I can never live so. I feel a sense of suffocation as though I was going to burst.”
“ ”
“Will time make it easier?”
“ ”
“No; I cannot rise. The weight holds me down.”
“ ”
“I will try to walk if you insist upon it; but I know I shall fall.”
He tottered to his feet, and staggered a few steps, precisely as a man might walk who was bearing a heavy burden. It was painful to watch him. I should have spoken now but something appeared to restrain me. In a moment he seemed to give it up, and retreating to the stone bench, sank down panting.
“It is no use. I can’t do it. I can never walk this way!”
“ ”
“Can we not return?”
“ ”
“But what about my friends? I can never control myself. If I escape from this place and return to my own country they will put me into a lunatic asylum, for I cannot hope to make them understand.”
“ ”
