I will go to the
Nicaragua. I'll go at once.
CHAPTER III.
THE SUDDENNESS OF DEATH.
The Nicaragua, March 29.
How could I have known that he would die?
I had never seen any one die. It was as if life were a precious wine
rushing from an overturned glass that I could not put right again. I did
not dream a man could be so fragile.
For weeks I have not added a word to this record. But now I have looked
upon death, and I must write. There is no one to confide in but this
little book, stained by so many tears, confident of so many sorrows, so
many disappointments.
Prof. Darmstetter is dead.
Dead, but not by my fault. I was not the thousandth part to blame. Yet I
tremble like a leaf to think of it. I shall get no sleep to-night and to-
morrow look like a fright to pay for it--no! I can never do that now,
thank God! Thank God for that!
Yes, I'm glad; when I try to be calm, I am glad he's dead--no, not that--
sorry he's dead, of course, but glad that my rights are safe--when I am
calm.
But I can't be calm; it was too horrible!
It happened yesterday in the laboratory; we were alone together.
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