character. I have the
best intentions in the world, yet my actions are those of a scoundrel.
The gap between my position and my nature is too wide for me to
reconcile them. Who knows where my deplorable character may lead me?"

He gave a gesture expressing recklessness, and added, "I myself will
bring justice upon myself."

Madame Fauvel was too deeply agitated to follow Raoul's sudden moods.

"Speak!" she cried; "explain yourself. Am I not your mother? You must
tell me the truth; I must hear all."

He appeared to hesitate, as if he feared to give so terrible a shock
to his mother. Finally, in a hollow voice he said, "I am ruined!"

"Ruined!"

"Yes, and I have nothing more to wait for nor to hope for. I am
dishonored, and through my own fault, my own grievous fault!"

"Raoul!"

"It is true. But fear not, mother; I will not drag the name that you
bestowed upon me in the dirt. I have the vulgar courage not to survive
my dishonor. Go, waste no sympathy on me. I am one of those creatures
of destiny who have no refuge save death. I am the victim of fate.
Have you not been forced to deny my birth? Did not the memory of me
haunt you and deprive your nights of sleep? And now, having found you,
in exchange for your devotion I bring into your life a bitter curse."

"Ungrateful child! Have I ever reproached you?"

"Never. And therefore with your blessing, and with your loved name on
his lips, your Raoul will--die!"

"Die? You?"

"Yes, mother: honor bids it. I am condemned by inexorable judges--my
will and my conscience."

An hour earlier Madame Fauvel would have sworn that Raoul had made her
suffer all that a woman could endure; and now he had brought her a new
grief so acute that the former ones seemed naught in comparison.

"What have you done?" she stammered.

"Money was intrusted to me. I played, and lost it."

"Was it a large amount?"

"No, but neither you nor I can replace it. Poor mother, have I not
taken everything from you? Haven't you given me your last jewel?"

"But M. De Clameran is rich; he has put his fortune at my disposal. I
will order the carriage and go to him."

"M. De Clameran, mother, is absent for eight days; and I must have the
money to-night, or I am lost. Go! I have thought of everything before
deciding. But one loves life at twenty!"

He drew a pistol half out of his pocket, saying with a grim smile,
"This will arrange everything."

Madame Fauvel was too unnerved in reflecting