“If you were not an angel you would know that it is not a question of love. But if it annoys you so much I will leave Gemma.”
“Do so, do so, my son.”
“Nevertheless, I shall soon take another. And after her a third and a fourth.”
“You never used to be so, sonny! You have never before said such things to me.”
Her tone was so sorrowful, that it smote the son. He half raised himself in bed, exclaiming—
“It is true, it is true, mother! But there is nothing left for me to do but to become a dissolute.”
“What horror!” and she hid her face in her hands.
“A horror, is it not? I cause you horror, my sainted mother, my angelic mother! See to what life has brought me. A great, powerful, and beautiful love has only lasted a short time with me, and has left my heart dead to every fresh ardour. Mother, no one will take the place of Maria Guasco in my existence; she has been all, and that all has descended into the tomb. Afterwards I tried to attach myself to an idea, to a sentiment, to a loving duty, but the creature herself for whom I wished to live, for whom I wished to fight my life, spurned me and fled from me. What more have I to do? I have no love, I have no affection, I have no son, and I have no family risen from me. Nothing remains but to become a vicious and perverse person, to allow all my wicked instincts to pour from me; to give myself to women and play; to lose my fortune; to abase my name; to be a trivial pleasure-lover, and to cause you horror, my mother.”
Desperately the mother took him in her arms, pressed him to herself and kissed him, as if to defend him against life itself.
“You are good, you are noble, you are loyal, and you will not do this.”