"A thousand times unworthy, poor deluded one. It was not for the sake of the abandoned wretch who was presented to my mind, that I bought her life and freedom. It was not for her, it was not even for her cause that I spent the last drop of my power."
"It was not, then, a divine magnanimity that taught you to forget my stains?"
"No."
"It was not that you drew your sword for a marvellous gospel—for a gospel that dazzled the poor outcast in the dock with its magnificence?"
"No, no."
"Then why did your voice seem to wail like a flute? Why did you pluck the back of your hands until the blood flowed from them? Why did you conclude in a whisper so gentle that it could only be heard by the spirit?"
"I was in a frenzy of avarice. I was fighting for myself."
"No, no! Your words were inspired from heaven."
"No, no! It was no more than the baleful power of the earth. I was fighting for a roof over my head, regular meals, a reputation, material needs."
A thrill passed through the eyes of the woman. They seemed suddenly to be blinded by a thousand black thoughts she had half-forgotten. She sprang to her feet, possessed by an excitement that he who had made his pitiful confession was afraid to plumb. She placed her hands on his shoulders and peered into his face; and he did not shrink from contact with her, for by some occult power, which
