She stopped him and burst forth:--
"Would you be willing to share his burden? Would you take upon your
shoulders his sin? He may have committed the one unpardonable sin, for
he discovered the true philosopher's stone, that can transmute metals,
make mountains nod, the stars to stop, and command the throne of
Jehovah--oh, what blasphemy has been his in his daring music! If he
could persuade one other soul besides mine to help him, he might be
released from his woe. Will you be that other?"
She put this question as if she were proposing a commonplace human
undertaking. Ferval in his confusion fancied that she was provoking him
to a declaration. To grasp his receding reason he fatuously exclaimed:--
"Is this a Salvation Army fantasy?"
With that she called out, in harsh resentment:
"Not salvation for you!"
She then thrust him from her so violently that he tumbled backward down
the steps to the very bottom, where, unnerved by the ferocity of the
attack and his head bruised by the fall, he felt his consciousness
escape like gas from a punctured balloon.
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