have said, "No." He had said, "Yes."

From that "Yes," uttered in a moment of dizziness, everything had
sprung. Gwynplaine realized this now in the bitter aftertaste of that
consent.

Nevertheless--for he debated with himself--was it then so great a wrong
to take possession of his right, of his patrimony, of his heritage, of
his house; and, as a patrician, of the rank of his ancestors; as an
orphan, of the name of his father? What had he accepted? A restitution.
Made by whom? By Providence.

Then his mind revolted. Senseless acceptance! What a bargain had he
struck! what a foolish exchange! He had trafficked with Providence at a
loss. How now! For an income of L80,000 a year; for seven or eight
titles; for ten or twelve palaces; for houses in town, and castles in
the country; for a hundred lackeys; for packs of hounds, and carriages,
and armorial bearings; to be a judge and legislator; for a coronet and
purple robes, like a king; to be a baron and a marquis; to be a peer of
England, he had given the hut of Ursus and the smile of Dea. For
shipwreck and destruction in the surging immensity of greatness, he had
bartered happiness. For the ocean he had given the pearl. O madman! O
fool! O dupe!

Yet nevertheless--and here the objection reappeared on firmer ground--in
this fever of high fortune which had seized him all had not been
unwholesome. Perhaps there would have been selfishness in renunciation;
perhaps he had done his duty in the acceptance. Suddenly transformed
into a lord, what ought he to have done? The complication of events
produces perplexity of mind. This had happened to him. Duty gave
contrary orders. Duty on all sides at once, duty multiple and
contradictory--this was the bewilderment which he had suffered. It was
this that had paralyzed him, especially when he had not refused to take
the journey from Corleone Lodge to the House of Lords. What we call
rising in life is leaving the safe for the dangerous path. Which is,
thenceforth, the straight line? Towards whom is our first duty? Is it
towards those nearest to ourselves, or is it towards mankind generally?
Do we not cease to belong to our own circumscribed circle, and become
part of the great family of all? As we ascend we feel an increased
pressure on our virtue. The higher we rise, the greater is the strain.
The increase of right is an increase of duty. We come to many
cross-ways, phantom roads perchance, and we imagine that we see the
finger of co