He saw him shun the daylight, and sleep its hours away, and
then by night abandon himself like another Cagliostro to strange
experiments with alembic and crucible, breathing acrid and poisonous
vapours, seeking to extort from Nature her yet undiscovered
secrets,--the Philosophers Stone, and the Elixir of Life. He saw him
turn for a little from his strange and deadly experiments, and venture
forth to show his blanched and worn face among the throngs of men; but
even there he still pursued his anxious quest of life in the midst of
death. He saw him wander up and down, in and out, among the evening
crowd, delighting in contact with such of his fellow-creatures as had
health and youth, and seeking, seeking--he knew not what. From this
phantasmagoria he dozed off into the dark plains of sleep; but even
there the terribly blanched and emaciated face was with him, bending
wistful worn eyes upon him and melting him to pity. And still again the
vision of the streets would arise about the face, and the sleeper would
be aware of the man to whom the face belonged walking quickly and
sinuously, seeking and enjoying contact with the throng, and strangely
causing many to resent his touch as if they had been pricked or stung,
and yet urged onward in some further quest,--an anxious quest it
sometimes resolved itself into for Julius, who ever evaded him.
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