1 And on the morrow Justine died.
2 And yet you are still unhappy and still avoid our society.
3 And now my wanderings began which are to cease but with life.
4 And I call on you, spirits of the dead, and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work.
5 And when I received their cold answers and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed avowal died away on my lips.
6 And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections.
7 And the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also to forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had not seen for so long a time.
8 And thus for a time I was occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand contradictory theories and floundering desperately in a very slough of multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.
9 And now, behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away and are content to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to their warm firesides.