ndness, have made you unhappy, destroyed your peace of
mind, and, instead of being a blessing, I have been a curse ever since
the first fatal day you welcomed me to your kind heart. Ah, unfeeling
brute that I was, to squander upon creatures whom I despised, a fortune,
of which each gold piece must have cost you a tear! Too late, too late!
With you I might have been a good and happy man!"

He stopped, as if overcome by the conviction of his evil deeds, and
seemed about to burst into tears.

"It is never too late to repent, my son," murmured Mme. Fauvel in
comforting tones.

"Ah, if I only could!" cried Raoul; "but no, it is too late! Besides,
can I tell how long my good resolutions will last? This is not the first
time that I have condemned myself pitilessly. Stinging remorse for each
new fault made me swear to lead a better life, to sin no more. What was
the result of these periodical repentances? At the first temptation I
forgot my remorse and good resolutions. I am weak and mean-spirited,
and you are not firm enough to govern my vacillating nature. While
my intentions are good, my actions are villainous. The disproportion
between my extravagant desires, and the means of gratifying them, is too
great for me to endure any longer. Who knows to what fearful lengths my
unfortunate disposition may lead me? However, I will take my fate in my
own hands!" he finally said with a reckless laugh.

"Oh, Raoul, my dear son," cried Mme. Fauvel in an agony of terror,
"explain these dreadful words; am I not your mother? Tell me what
distresses you; I am ready to hear the worst."

He appeared to hesitate, as if afraid to crush his mother's heart by the
terrible blow he was about to inflict. Then in a voice of gloomy despair
he replied:

"I am ruined."

"Ruined?"

"Yes, ruined; and I have nothing more to expect or hope for. I am
dishonored, and all through my own fault; no one is to be blamed but
myself."

"Raoul!"

"It is the sad truth, my poor mother; but fear nothing: I shall not
trail in the dust the name which you bestowed upon me. I will at least
have the courage not to survive my dishonor. Come, mother, don't pity
me, or distress yourself; I am one of those miserable beings fated to
find no peace save in the arms of death. I came into the world with
misfortune stamped upon my brow. Was not my birth a shame and disgrace
to you? Did not the memory of my existence haunt you day and night,
filling your soul with remorse