.

.

"An object of scorn, contumely, and forgetfulness; to dream what might and should have been; to be proved guilty of a crime we did not commit; to be laughed at!" Spots of red blurred his sight; his nails sank into his palms; his breath came painfully; there was a straining at the roots of his hair.
"Monsieur," he cried hoarsely, "take care! Are you not telling me some dreadful lie ?" "It would be.

.

.