"I will throw my sword away; but I shall then have reason to hate you, and the first time I find you in the wrong, I will kill you."
Ernanton sheathed his sword. "You are a strange man," said he, "and I pity you."
"You pity me!"
"Yes, for you must suffer."
"Horribly."
"Do you never love?"
"Never."
"Have you no passions?"
"One alone, jealousy; but that includes all others to a frightful degree. I adore a woman, as soon as she loves another; I love gold, when another possesses it;—yes, you are right, I am unhappy."
"Have you never tried to become good?"