lovable, generous men. They clung to life, as I do; they were made in order to enjoy life, and be happy. They, too, had their dear Luciles. Oh, Lucile, let us go away, far from this butchery that is so terrible to others, and perhaps to ourselves! What if we—you— our little Horace—? Oh, why can't I be a stranger once more to all men? Where can I hide myself from the sight of the world, with my wife and child and my books! Ubi campi Guisiaque!
Philippeaux. You're in the cyclone, and you cannot escape.
Hérault. Don't force him to remain in a struggle which he was not intended for.
Philippeaux. But as he himself just said, we must do our duty.
Hérault [pointing to Camille, who kisses Lucile]. Look at him: does not Camille's duty seem to be the pursuit of happiness?
Camille. True, I have a wonderful vocation for happiness. Some people are made for suffering, but suffering disgusts me: I want none of it.
Lucile. Did I spoil your vocation?
Camille. My Vesta, my little one! You are very much to blame! You have made me too happy!
Lucile. Coward! He pities himself.
Camille. You see, I have lost all strength, all my faith.
Lucile. How?
Camille. I used to believe in the immortality of the soul. When I saw the misery of the world, I said to myself that life would be too absurd if virtue were not
