Then he added gravely:
"Yes, I shall only be read for another seven years; and I shall live for less--perhaps for six. But don"t go and tell that to the newspaper reporters."
He was wrong there: he did not live for six years....
He died peacefully without suffering in the stillness and beauty of a summer"s dawn which he had always loved. When he was dead a look of happiness came upon his face, and it looked like the face of a very young man. There came to my mind the words of Leconte de Lisle:
Moi, je l"envie, au fond du tombeau calme et noir D"etre affranchi de vivre et de ne plus savoir La honte de penser et l"horreur d"etre un homme!