He was so sure of being alone that he at once gave vent to his suppressed feelings, and, dropping his mask of impassibility, burst into a flood of tears. His long-restrained anger now flashed out like a smouldering fire.
In a paroxysm of rage he uttered imprecations and curses. He dashed himself against the prison-walls like a wild beast in a cage.
Prosper Bertomy was not the man he appeared to be.
This haughty, correct gentleman had ardent passions and a fiery temperament.
One day, when he was about twenty-four years of age, he had become suddenly fired by ambition. While all of his desires were repressed, imprisoned in his low estate, like an athlete in a strait-jacket, seeing around him all these rich people with whom money assumed the place of the wand in the fairy-tale, he envied their lot.
He studied the beginnings of these financial princes, and found that at the starting-point they possessed far less than himself.
How, then, had they succeeded? By force of energy, industry, and assurance.
He determined to imitate and excel them.
From this day, with a force of will much less rare than we think, he imposed silence upon his instincts. He reformed not his morals, but his manners; and so strictly did he conform to the rules of decorum, that he was regarded as a model of propriety by those who knew him, and had faith in his character; and his capabilities and ambition inspired the prophecy that he would be successful in attaining eminence and wealth.
And the end of all was this: imprisoned for robbery; that is, ruined!