"A thousand thanks, mother, for coming," said the hypocritical convict.
"Oh, I desired to come, it was necessary for me to see you again," stammered the poor woman.
"How good you are! Are you aware that my father pursued me even on his death-bed? He sent his daughter, my sister, here; she brought me his last regards, but she did not give me her hand nor call me brother."
"My son, forget everything bad that has been done to you; forgive your enemies, as you desire to be yourself forgiven," implored the poor mother.
"For your sake, then. But, tell me, mother, are you really going to leave France?"
"Yes; to-morrow, at this hour, I shall sail."
"But you are not going alone; the journey is so far, and I fear danger for you."
"Thanks, Benedetto, for your anxiety. How happy you make me. But calm yourself, I shall dwell in the society of pious women, who will protect me."
"Yes, I forgot. You gave your fortune to buy this protection—the price you paid was pretty steep."