"Mon Dieu!" said Miretta; "the man must present a terrifying appearance, in very truth! But what have I to do with this robber? I am not afraid that he will take my gold. And why do you tell me of all his doughty deeds?"
Giovanni rose without replying; he went to an old chest secured by a stout padlock, opened it, and took out the olive-green cloak, the cap with the boar's hair, and the enormous black beard. He threw them all at the girl's feet, saying:
"See! here is the costume that this redoubtable brigand assumes every night; for this man whom the police seek and pursue to no purpose, this man who spreads terror and dismay throughout Paris—is I—your lover—Giovanni!"
Miretta covered her face with her hands.
"You!" she murmured; "you! Oh! it is impossible!"
"I have told you the truth, Miretta; indeed, why should I tell you this story, if it were untrue?"
"O mon Dieu! But what can have induced you to take up this horrible trade?"
"Oh! it goes back a long way! Alas! in life, one thing leads to another, all things are connected. The child who refuses to study, the youth who leads a vagabond life, the young man who seeks only to enjoy himself and to gratify his passions—all these are insensibly marching on to the goal which I have reached. They approach it less openly, perhaps! Some become swindlers, others Greeks—that is to say, they cheat at cards in fashionable society. I consider myself as good as they are; I run greater risks, that is all the difference! Yes, the man who seeks nothing but pleasure comes to this, unless he has the strength, the common sense, to stop in time. But I did not stop. I determined to indulge myself with all the forms of pleasure which the favorites of fortune enjoy—or those men whose talents raise them to the highest positions, to the greatest honors. But I had neither fortune nor talent. I might tell you that it was the decree of fate, that my destiny was written in advance, that I could not avoid it. I will not say that, because I do not believe it; because, on the contrary, everything tends to prove that men make themselves what they are.—Besides, why should I seek to excuse myself? I had a momentary respite from my passions—a moment of calm and almost unalloyed happiness; that was when I knew you, Miretta! Your sincere love made me think, for a brief period, that to love was all that was necessary to be happy. But soon those passions, which you had had the art to lull to sleep, reawoke in my being; it was impossible for me to resist them. You yourself unsuspectingly aroused them sometimes; for when I saw you dressed so simply, so shabbily, I would say to myself:
"'Ah! how lovely she would be in a handsome silk dress! in the jewels with which so many old and ugly women bedeck themselves! What joy to drive with her in a fine carriage! to see everyone admire her and envy my good fortune!'"
"Ah! did I need fine clothes to love you, Giovanni?"