"I
thought you were only jesting."
The marquis lowered his head. "Yes," he answered.
His companion stood for a moment as if petrified, and then
suddenly exclaimed: "What! You have done that--you--a gentleman?"
M. de Valorsay paced the floor in a state of intense agitation.
Had he caught a glimpse of his own face in the looking-glass, it
would have frightened him. "A gentleman!" he repeated, in a tone
of suppressed rage; "a gentleman! That word is in everybody's
mouth, nowadays. Pray, what do you understand by a gentleman,
Mons. Fortunat? No doubt, you mean a heroic idiot who passed
through life with a lofty mien, clad in all the virtues, as
stoical as Job, and as resigned as a martyr--a sort of moral Don
Quixote, preaching the austerest virtue, and practising it? But,
unfortunately, nobility of soul and of purpose are expensive
luxuries, and I am a ruined man. I am no saint! I love life and
all that makes life beautiful and desirable--and to procure its
pleasures I must fight with the weapons of the age. No doubt, it
is grand to be honest; but in my case it is so impossible, that I
prefer to be dishonest--to commit an act of shameful infamy which
will yield a hundred thousand francs a year. This man is in my
way--I suppress him--so much the worse for him--he has no business
to be in my way. If I could have met him openly, I would have
dispatched him according to the accepted code of honor; but, then,
I should have had to renounce all idea of marrying Mademoiselle
Marguerite, so I was obliged to find some other way.
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