"Do I not know all your objections beforehand?
You are going to tell me that it is a revolting injustice, a wicked robbery.
I confess it, and grieve over it more than you possibly can.

Do you think that I now for the first time repent of my youthful folly?
For twenty years, sir, I have lamented my true son; for twenty years I have cursed the wickedness of which he is the victim.

And yet I learnt how to keep silence, and to hide the sorrow and remorse which have covered my pillow with thorns.

In a single instant, your senseless yielding would render my long sufferings of no avail.

No, I will never permit it!" The count read a reply on his son's lips: he stopped him with a withering glance.
"Do you think," he continued, "that I have never wept over the thought of my legitimate son passing his life struggling for a competence?
Do you think that I have never felt a burning desire to repair the wrong done him?
There have been times, sir, when I would have given half of my fortune simply to embrace that child of a wife too tardily appreciated.
The fear of casting a shadow of suspicion upon your birth prevented me.
I have sacrificed myself to the great name I bear.