Gustavo’s lips were bloodless, his hands trembled and his eyes flashed as Leon spoke; and then, not knowing what to say, he hesitated a few minutes before he spoke.
“You are a skilful antagonist,” he said, “and have turned the point against my own breast. Well—I do not deny it; you may learn from me at any rate the virtue of candour, the merits of confession, of which an atheist is incapable. I plead guilty; the giddy whirl of the world, the weakness of Man’s nature, the blandishments of flattery and applause have led me, I own, into antagonism to those laws, human and divine, which I acknowledge and respect. I am the first to accuse myself, as I was the first to cast a stone at the scandals of my family, and the first to defend you so long as I believed in your integrity—you know that. But there is no sort of comparison between your crime and mine, between your treachery and mine. We have both sinned; you, out of sheer cynicism and absolute ignoring of right, I out of weakness of will. In you there is nothing but evil, there is no door by which good can enter into your darkened soul; in me, though my deeds have been evil, faith is still left—a way by which good may come in. Your sin stands alone in its hideous blackness; mine has brought with it the precious grace of repentance. You are not capable of any amendment; I am. You see nothing beyond; I see salvation, because I see amendment. To me, the very idea of sin suggests that of pardon. I do not know my own destiny, but I do know that of the human race, and the fact that Heaven exists is enough for me. You know nothing, and evil has no terrors for you because you do not believe in the existence of Hell.”
“This is sophistry, and mere juggling with words. What can you know of what I think or am? Do you believe that men and souls are at the mercy of your apostolic dogmatism, of your insolent and official interpretation of the gospel by which you issue death-warrants or reprieves? You fancy yourself a sort of inspector of passports to Heaven! But do you suppose that there really is an office where our luggage is examined to see if we are smuggling tobacco—that is to say anything prohibited in your manufactories of lies where ideas are stamped and then sold, all cut and dried, to hypocrites?—Do me the favour and honour of relieving me of your presence or I cannot answer for observing the respect due to this house and to the tie which unites us.”
“You are the murderer of an angel!” bellowed Gustavo, mad with fury.
“I shall really lose patience with your follies,” said Leon, taking three steps forward with so threatening a gesture that Gustavo involuntarily retreated, but he was no coward and at once made a stand. “Be silent or you will find out that my endurance has an end and see what a man can do when he can bear no more.” And pointing to the window Leon extended an arm which, though by no means Herculean, was capable of exerting no small strength.
“And if you continue to provoke me, although I am no advocate of duelling, and have no practice with pistols or swords, and no skill in preaching sermons, I will promise you a pleasant half-hour. I will show you how an apostle flies out of window and no earthly power can prevent it.”
“Indulge if you choose in such an abuse of brute strength!” retorted Gustavo with a glare of defiance. “You have murdered my sister as it is.”
“You cannot aggravate my rage by saying that,” cried Leon beside himself. “Your sister and yourself, your father and your mother, are to me no more than the birds that fly past. You have ceased to exist for me.—Now choose—the door or the window.”
The dispute might have terminated in a fray and perhaps some act of violence, but the marquesa came rushing in with loud cries, and behind her Don Agustin in evident dismay and alarm.