hat I do not come here to defend
my election. If you believe that electoral morals have not always been
the same in Corsica, that all the irregularities committed must be
attributed to the corrupting influence of my money and not to the
uncivilized and passionate nature of a people, reject me; it will be
justice and I shall not murmur. But there is something else than my
election involved in this matter; accusations have been made which
attack my honor, which bring it directly in question, and to those alone
I propose to reply." His voice gradually became stronger, still
trembling and indistinct, but with now and then a thrilling note such as
we sometimes hear in voices whose original harshness has undergone some
changes. He sketched his life very rapidly, his early days, his
departure for the Orient. You would have said that it was one of the
eighteenth century tales of barbarian pirates scouring the Latin seas,
of beys and fearless Provencaux, dark as crickets, who always end by
marrying some sultana and "taking the turban," according to the old
Marseillais expression. "For my part," said the Nabob, with his
ingenuous smile, "I had no need to take the turban to enrich myself, I
contented myself with importing into that land of indolence and utter
heedlessness the activity, the pliability of a Frenchman from the South,
and I succeeded in a few years in making one of the fortunes that are
made nowhere else except in those infernally hot countries where
everything is huge, hurried, out of proportion, where flowers grow in a
night, where a single tree produces a whole forest. The excuse for such
fortunes lies in the use that is made of them, and I undertake to say
that no favorite of destiny ever tried harder than I did to earn
forgiveness for his wealth. I did not succeed."--No, indeed, he had not
succeeded. From all the gold he had sown with such insane lavishness he
had reaped naught but hatred and contempt. Hatred! Who else could boast
of having stirred up so much of that as he, as a vessel stirs up the mud
when its keel touches bottom? He was too rich; that took the place in
him of all sorts of vices, of all sorts of crimes, and singled him out
for anonymous acts of vengeance, for cruel and persistent animosities.

"Ah! Messieurs," cried the poor Nabob, raising his clenched fists, "I
have known poverty, I have struggled with it hand to hand, and it is a
terrible struggle, I give you my word. But to struggle against we