A fine, estimable young man, the only prop of his widowed mother too, forgets himself, his position, his duty to that mother--everything; and goes and gets himself killed like this.

It is infernally sad.

On my soul it is sad." He produced a handkerchief, and blew his nose with vehemence.
Andre-Louis felt a tightening of his heart, a lessening of the hopes, never too sanguine, which he had founded upon his godfather.
"Your criticisms," he said, "are all for the conduct of the dead, and none for that of the murderer.

It does not seem possible that you should be in sympathy with such a crime." "Crime ?" shrilled M.de Kercadiou.

"My God, boy, you are speaking of M.
de La Tour d'Azyr." "I am, and of the abominable murder he has committed..." "Stop!" M.de Kercadiou was very emphatic.