Read it through once

But ever mingled with his kindness there was a something cold and remorseless. When he would show the misery or the folly of men, he would do it with a smile that had no warmth, and sometimes his eyes seemed to have dropped the veil of pity. He would say, in a tone of serene conviction, that what we call virtue and vice are mere play; that the atoms and the forces are indifferent; and that our moral praise and blame are the inventions of weakness.