me."

"My pity--my pity!"

"Yes, it is to conceal nothing from you. Ah, well! I acknowledge it with
affright. I no longer recognize myself. I have good reason to despise, to
fly these wretches. Their presence, their contact affects me, in spite of
myself. One would say that they have the fatal power to vitiate the
atmosphere they breathe. It seems to me that I feel the corruption entering
through every pore. If they absolve me from the fault I have committed, the
sight, the acquaintance of honest men will fill me with confusion and
shame. I have not yet had the enjoyment of pleasant companions; but I dread
the day when I shall find myself among honorable people, because I have the
consciousness of my weakness."

"Of your weakness?"

"Of my cowardice!"

"Of your cowardice? but what unjust ideas you have of yourself!"

"Ah! is it not to be cowardly and culpable to compound with one's duty and
probity? And that I have done!"

"You! you!"

"I! On entering here I did not extenuate the magnitude of my fault, all
excusable as it was, perhaps. Well! now it appears to me less, from hearing
these robbers and these murderers speak of their crimes with obscene jests
or ferocious pride. I surprise myself sometimes envying them their