My new acquaintance, St. Louis, the friend of the poor and plague-stricken, receives the homage of young theologians. Can it be, after all, that he is my patron, my guardian angel, who drove me to the hospital, so that I, purified by the fire of mental suffering, should win again that glory which leads to dishonour and contempt? Was it he who directed me to Blanchard's book-shop and hither also? See how superstitious the atheist has become!
As I survey the memorial tablets which record successful experiments, I vow, in the case of my success, to receive no worldly honour.
The hour has struck, and I run the gauntlet of the young students who regard my undertaking with scorn and prejudice.
About fourteen days have passed, and I have discovered incontrovertible proofs that sulphur is a threefold combination of carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen. I thank the Director of the laboratory, who, as it appears, takes no interest in my affairs, and leave this new purgatory full of deep, unspeakable joy.
In the mornings when I do walk in the churchyard of Montparnasse, I visit the park of the Palais Luxembourg. A few days after my departure from the Sorbonne I discover, in the centre of the churchyard, a monument of classical beauty. A white marble medallion shows the noble features of an old man of science, whom the inscription on the pedestal describes as "Orfila: Chemist and Physiologist." It was my friend and protector who, in later years, has so often guided me through the labyrinth of chemical experiments.
A week later, passing through the Rue d'Assas, I stop to admire a house which looks like a convent. A large shield on the wall informs me that it is "Hôtel Orfila."
Again and again Orfila!