But it appears he was picked up by fishermen, and carried to France, where he has remained ever since, and where it would have been well for him if he had remained altogether. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. " "I wish I could have foreseen. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction.
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