"Can you indeed think—"
"Do not interrupt me. I have not been your dupe; you have neither shame, regret, nor remorse. You are vicious to the very core, you have never felt one honest aspiration, you have not robbed as long as you have been in possession of wherewithal to gratify your caprices,—that is what is called the probity of rich persons of your stamp. Then came the want of delicate feeling, then meannesses, then crime, then forgery. This is but the first period of your life,—it is bright and pure in comparison with that which would be yet to come."
"If I did not change my conduct, assuredly; but I shall change it, father, I have sworn to you."
"You will not change it."
"But—"
"You will not change it! Expelled from society in which you have hitherto lived, you would become very quickly criminal, like the wretches amongst whom you would be cast, a thief inevitably, and, if your need were, an assassin. That would be your future life."
"I an assassin?—I?"
"Yes, because you are a coward!"
"I have had duels, and have evinced—"
"I tell you, you are a coward! You have already preferred infamy to death. A day would come in which you would prefer the impunity for fresh crimes to the life of another. This must not be,—I will not allow it. I have come in time, at least, to save my name from public dishonour hereafter. There must be an end to this."