We must, nevertheless, do him justice; malice was probably not innate in him. From his very first intercourse with men he had felt, and then had seen, himself repulsed, branded, despised. Human speech had never been to him aught but mockery and curses. As he grew up, he had found around him nothing but hatred. What wonder that he should have caught it! He had contracted it - he had but picked up the weapon that had wounded him.

That which he loved about all in the maternal edifice - that which awakened his soul, and made it stretch forth its poor pinions, that otherwise remained so miserably folded up in its cavern - that which even sometimes made him happy - was, the bells. He loved them, caressed them, talked to them, understood them. From the chimes in the central steeple to the great bell over the doorway, they all shared his affections. The belfry of the transept and the two towers were to him three great cages, in which the birds taught by himself sang for him alone. It was, however, those same bells that had deafened him. But a mother is often fondest of that child which has cost her the most suffering.