Bressant's voice, which had been growing hoarser and more rapid as he went on, abruptly sank, at this last sentence, into a whisper; yet, had any one been there to listen, the whisper would have sounded louder and more terrible than the most violent vociferation of angry passion. It breathed a sudden concentration of evil intelligence, that startled like the hiss of a serpent. He stopped his short, passionate walk, and leaned against his table, with his arms once more folded. The idea that he had been tampered with had gained possession of him, and nothing tends more to demoralize a man, and make him unmanageably angry. His was an uncandid position, without doubt: he was attempting to lay upon others the responsibility which--the greater part of it, at least--should have been borne by himself; but still, the vein of reasoning he pursued was connected, and comprehensible, and was rendered awkward by an ugly little thread of something like truth and justice, which showed here and there along its course. "They've taught me to love; did they think they could stop there? that I shouldn't learn to lie, as well? and to hate, and be revengeful? and to be afraid? Was I so bad when I came here, that all this has made me no worse? I was happy, at any rate; my brain was clear; my mind had no fear, and no weariness--it was like an athlete; my blood was cool. Look at me now! Am not I ruined by this patching and mending? I can do no work. When I think, it's no longer of how I might become great, and wise, and powerful--of nothing inspiring--nothing noble; but all about these petty, heated, miserable affairs, that have twisted themselves around me, and are choking me up. I don't ask myself, any more, whether my name will be as highly honored and as long remembered as the Christian Apostles', and Mohammed's, and Luther's. My only question is, whether I'm to turn out more of a fool, or of a liar! And _I_ love Sophie Valeyon! I'm to be her husband." The young man came to a sudden stop, and slowly lifted his head. Through the sullen, unhappy, and resentful cloud that darkened his eyes, there glimmered doubtfully a light such as can be reflected only from what is most divine in man. It was a strange moment for it to appear, for at no time had Bressant's moral level been so low as now; but, happily, the phenomenon is by no means without precedent in human nature. God is never ashamed to declare the share He holds in a sinner's heart, however black the heart may be. "No, no!" said he; and, as he said it, the first tears that he had ever known glistened for a moment in his eyes; "such as I am, I must never marry her."