"Horrible!" said Maurice.
"Is it not? Yes; you appreciate your own conduct fully, sir. It is horrible!—it is infamous!"
"You deceive yourself, sir; the conduct I term horrible and infamous is that of the man to whom the honor of a woman had been confided, who had sworn to guard this honor pure and unsullied, and who, instead of keeping his word and oath, employed her beauty as a shameful bait to ensnare a feeble heart. It was your sacred duty beyond all others to protect this woman, and instead of protecting her, you have sold her."
"What I had to do, sir," replied Dixmer, "I will tell you. I had to save my friend who united with me in this sacred cause. Even as I have sacrificed my property to this cause, so have I sacrificed my honor. As for me, I have completely forgotten, completely effaced myself. Now my friend is no more; he has died by the poniard. My queen is no more; she has died ignominiously on the scaffold. Now! now! I can think of revenge."
"Say of assassination."
"One cannot assassinate an adulteress; when she is killed, she is but punished for her crime."
"This sin you imposed upon her, therefore it was rendered lawful."
"You think so?" said Dixmer, with a sardonic smile. "Judge from her remorse if she believes she has acted lawfully."
"Those who punish strike openly. You, you do not punish; for while striking you fly, and while casting her head to the guillotine you conceal yourself."
"I fly! I hide myself! when did you see that, poor idiot that you are?" demanded Dixmer. "Is it concealing myself to be present at her condemnation? Is it flying when I go into the Salle des Morts to fling her my last adieu?"