"What are misfortunes and despair?"
Toward the end of the carnival license has no limit, and each one is eagerly drinking the cup of pleasure and rushing thoughtlessly into all kinds of amusements. Yet there is in this mélange of ranks, manners, and customs something so fantastic and extraordinary that Robert, unaccustomed to scenes of this kind, is perfectly confounded. He is dragged on by the popular current, which, in its course, made a thousand circuits, and carried him along, in spite of his wish to the contrary. He was, perhaps, the only person who was serious in the midst of all this nonsense—the only one who did not exchange a phrase or word with others—the only one who did not reply to the provoking questions put him by the laughing crowd abandoned to the freest gayety.
As night came on, exhausted with fatigue, be returns to his hotel, and, hearing cries not far from him, started in the direction from whence they came. The darkness was profound, and he could scarcely distinguish what passed him at any distance. But a few moments accustomed him to it, and, following the cries, he found a woman struggling to release herself from a man who was trying to drag her toward a gondola he had near. He advanced to defend her, when a fourth person appeared and struck the man with a poniard. He staggered and fell, uttering a horrible groan, and as Robert went to his assistance, the man, and the woman he had avenged, disappeared, leaving him alone to help their victim. Seeing no one near, he carried the wounded man to the door of his hotel, and what was his surprise to find it was Gustave de Vernanges, the son of his loved benefactress. Although he had nothing but painful remembrances of this young man, he was not the less sorrowfully affected in seeing the end to which his wickedness had brought him, nor less prodigal in his care of Gustave. The more he saw that his soul was exposed to peril, the more he desired to save his body, that both might at last be saved. But the days of the wicked are numbered, and God strikes them down. Woe unto them then if they are unprepared for their doom. Gustave sank rapidly, and the physician's art could not avail. Robert unceasingly prayed to God to give a few more days to this poor sinner, that he might be reconciled to his Judge before appearing in his presence. He wept with anguish when he found the shades of death were fast drawing round him. A deep-drawn sigh was heard in the room, and the unfortunate young man opened his eyes and looked round him. A second sigh, then a horrible groan, and thinking he was not recognized, he articulated in a feeble voice, "Who are you? Where am I?"
"Be tranquil," replied Robert sweetly, "you are at the house of a friend. You have been wounded, and, not knowing where you lived, I brought you here. You must be perfectly calm and quiet, for your wound is dangerous. If you have any messages to send your friends, I will faithfully execute them."
"Yes," replied Gustave painfully, "I feel that I am badly wounded, and will, perhaps, die, and so young too. I have no parents, but had a number of friends, who shared my pleasures and excited me to do foolish things, but where are they now? Oh! it is frightful to die when one is rich and has so much pleasure to look forward to. Must I give up all these things, my titles, my wealth, and all, to go— where? I, the rich Gustave de Vernanges, must I die at twenty-seven, struck by the hand of a common man?"
"You must not speak so," replied Robert. "In God's hand is the life you so much regret to give up, and, if he wills it, you will be saved; his power and goodness are great, but you must submit yourself to his divine will, and repent in all sincerity of heart. You are not without sin, for we are all sinners; but ask God's pardon for them, and you will then be tranquil, and peace of mind is necessary to health of body."
"For what must I repent," said the troubled voice of the unhappy Gustave. "What have I done? What are my faults? They are only what thousands of others have done. I have amused myself, and laughed at the sorrows of my victim. I gave them gold and rejoiced in their tears; passing my years in feasts and follies, and never trying to dry the tears I caused. Oh!" he cried in delirium, "I see it now through the mists of death. My mother! oh! how I treated her! The veil falls from my eyes! Remorse! remorse! I have sinned, and my mother that I did not love calls me now to repent. O God, my God, pardon me!" And in his fever and on his bed of sickness and pain he called upon his mother, whom he had killed by his wickedness, and upon God, whom be had renounced all his life, to save him.
The physician came in at this moment, and, looking at him, shook his head sadly, saying to Robert that death was near, and a priest had better be sent for to prepare him for the last change. He soon arrived, but Gustave was in a violent delirium, and could not understand his saintly exhortations.
"Pray the Lord," said the man of God to Robert, "pray that he will give this unfortunate young man enough consciousness that he may confess and receive absolution; and may his example, my son, teach you to fly from the vain pleasures of this world and its impure passions."
Robert then told him of the obligations he was under to the mother of Gustave, and how well he had known her for two years, and how he had since been separated from her son.