No longer can I look upon her brow; the light of it is insupportable.

I skirt the borders of the abyss of madness too closely to be longer silent.

I must speak.

I seize this moment, when courage comes to me, to resist the power which drags me onward without inquiring whether or not I have the force to follow.

Who is she?
Did you know her young?
What of her birth?
Had she father and mother, or was she born of the conjunction of ice and sun?
She burns and yet she freeze; she shows herself and then withdraws; she attracts me and repulses me; she brings me life, she gives me death; I love her and yet I hate her! I cannot live thus; let me be wholly in heaven or in hell!" Holding his refilled pipe in one hand, and in the other the cover which he forgot to replace, Monsieur Becker listened to Wilfrid with a mysterious expression on his face, looking occasionally at his daughter, who seemed to understand the man's language as in harmony with the strange being who inspired it.