"It would be of no use; you know that every two hours I am obliged to give a bulletin of your precious health, an indirect way of hearing from us both. On not seeing me appear, they will suspect you of the murder; you will be arrested. And—But hold. I do you an injury in supposing you capable of this crime. You have sacrificed a million to save your life, and you would not risk your head for the foolish and fruitless vengeance of killing me! Come, come, you are not fool enough for that."
"It is because you know I cannot kill you that you increase my torments by your sarcasms."
"Your position is so original, you do not see it yourself; but, on my honor, it is enjoyable!"
"Oh, misfortune! misfortune irretrievable! On whatever side I turn, it is death! And what I most dread now is destruction! Curses on myself, on you, on the whole world!"
"Your misanthropy is more extensive than your philanthropy! The former embraces the whole world; the latter but one of the wards of Paris."
"Go on—rail, monster!"
"Would you prefer that I should crush you with reproaches?"
"Whose fault is it that we are reduced to this position?"
"Yours. Why preserve around your neck, suspended as a relic, that letter of mine relative to the murder which was worth a hundred thousand crowns to you—the murder which we had so adroitly passed off as a suicide?"
"Why? wretch! Did I not give you fifty thousand francs for your co-operation in the crime, and for this letter, which I required that I might have a guarantee against your denouncing me? My life and fortune were, then, dependent on its possession; that is the reason why I always wore it around my neck."