an; she thinks
him genuine. She is mistaken; he deceives her, as he deceives everybody.
Yes, I know: he is a man who has not any of this (and Patience put his
hand to his heart). He is a man who is always proclaiming: 'In me behold
the champion of virtue, the champion of the unfortunate, the champion
of all the wise men and friends of the human race, etc., etc.' While
I--Patience--I know that he lets poor folk die of hunger at the gates
of his chateau. I know that if any one said to him, 'Give up your castle
and eat black bread, give up your lands and become a soldier, and then
there will be no more misery in the world, the human race--as you call
it--will be saved,' his real self would answer, 'Thanks, I am lord of
my lands, and I am not yet tired of my castle.' Oh! I know them so well,
these sham paragons. How different with Edmee! You do not know that. You
love her because she is as beautiful as the daisy in the meadows, while
I--I love her because she is good as the moon that sheds light on all.
She is a girl who gives away everything that she has; who would not wear
a jewel, because with the gold in a ring a man could be kept alive for a
year. And if she finds a foot-sore child by the road-side, she takes off
her shoes and gives them to him, and goes on her way bare-footed. Then,
look you, hers is a heart that never swerves. If to-morrow the village
of Saint-Severe were to go to her in a body and say: 'Young lady, you
have lived long enough in the lap of wealth, give us what you have, and
take your turn at work'--'That is but fair, my good friends,' she would
reply, and with a glad heart she would go and tend the flocks in the
fields. Her mother was the same. I knew her mother when she was quite
young, young as yourself; and I knew yours too. Oh, yes. She was a lady
with a noble mind, charitable and just to all. And you take after her,
they say."

"Alas, no," I answered, deeply touched by these words of Patience. "I
know neither charity nor justice."

"You have not been able to practise them yet, but they are written in
your heart. I can read them there. People call me a sorcerer, and so I
am in a measure. I know a man directly I see him. Do you remember what
you said to me one day on the heath at Valide? You were with Sylvain
and I with Marcasse. You told me that an honest man avenges his wrongs
himself. And, by-the-bye, Monsieur Mauprat, if you are not satisfied
with the apologies I made you at Gazeau Tower, you