“Alas!” he said, “I know and judge myself.  No one can reproach me for my infamous conduct more bitterly than does my own conscience.  I am not naturally wicked, but only a miserable fool.  At times I am like an insane man, and am not responsible for my actions.  Ah, my dear mother, I would not be what I am, if you had watched over my childhood.  But brought up among strangers, with no guide but my own evil passions, nothing to restrain me, no one to advise me, no one to love me, owning nothing, not even my stolen name, I am cursed with vanity and unbounded ambition.  Poor, with no one to assist me but you, I have the tastes and vices of a millionnaire’s son.

“Alas for me!  When I found you, the evil was done.  Your affection, your maternal love, the only true happiness of my life, could not save me.  I, who had suffered so much, endured so many privations, even the pangs of hunger, became spoiled by this new life of luxury and pleasure which you opened before me.  I rushed headlong into extravagance, as a drunkard long deprived of liquor seizes and drains to the dregs the first bottle in his reach.”

Mme. Fauvel listened, silent and terrified, to these words of despair and remorse, which Raoul uttered with vehemence.

She dared not interrupt him, but felt certain some dreadful piece of news was coming.

Raoul continued in a sad, hopeless tone: 

“Yes, I have been a weak fool.  Happiness was within my reach, and I had not the sense to stretch forth my hand and grab it.  I rejected a heavenly reality to eagerly pursue a vain phantom.  I, who ought to have spent my life at your feet, and daily striven to express my gratitude for your lavish kindness, have made you unhappy, destroyed your peace of mind, and, instead of being a blessing, I have been a curse ever since the first fatal day you welcomed me to your kind heart.  Ah, unfeeling brute that I was, to squander upon creatures whom I despised, a fortune, of which each gold piece must have cost you a tear!  Too late, too late!  With you I might have been a good and happy man!”

He stopped, as if overcome by the conviction of his evil deeds, and seemed about to burst into tears.

“It is never too late to repent, my son,” murmured Mme. Fauvel in comforting tones.

“Ah, if I only could!” cried Raoul; “but no, it is too late!  Besides, can I tell how long my good resolutions will last?  This is not the first time that I have condemned myself pitilessly.  Stinging remorse for each new fault made me swear to lead a better life, to sin no more.  What was the result of these periodical repentances?  At the first temptation I forgot my remorse and good resolutions.  I am weak and mean-spirited, and you are not firm enough to govern my vacillating nature.  While my intentions are good, my actions are villainous.  The disproportion between my extravagant desires, and the means of gratifying them, is too great for me to endure any longer.  Who knows to what fearful lengths my unfortunate disposition may lead me?  However, I will take my fate in my own hands!” he finally said with a reckless laugh.