He reproached himself for having shown her how he suffered; for having cast a shadow upon her life.

He could not forgive himself for having spoken of his love.

Ought he not to have foreseen what had happened ?--that she would refuse him, that he would thus deprive himself of the happiness of seeing her, of hearing her, and of silently adoring her?
"A young and romantic girl," pursued he, "must have a lover she can dream of,--whom she can caress in imagination, as an ideal, gratifying herself by seeing in him every great and brilliant quality, imagining him full of nobleness, of bravery, of heroism.

What would she see, if, in my absence, she dreamed of me?
Her imagination would present me dressed in a funeral robe, in the depth of a gloomy dungeon, engaged with some vile criminal.

Is it not my trade to descend into all moral sinks, to stir up the foulness of crime?
Am I not compelled to wash in secrecy and darkness the dirty linen of the most corrupt members of society?
Ah! some professions are fatal.