I can't
do this, and I want to do it. The want takes me like a fit, at
uncertain intervals--suddenly, under the most incomprehensible
influences. A glance up at the blue sky--starlight over the
houses of this great city, when I look out at the night from my
garret window--a child's voice coming suddenly, I don't know
where from--the piping of my neighbor's linnet in his little
cage--now one trifling thing, now another--wakes up that want in
me in a moment. Rascal as I am, those few simple words your
sister spoke to the judge went through and through me like a
knife. Strange, in a man like me, isn't it? I am amazed at it
myself. _My_ life? Bah! I've let it out for hire to be kicked
about by rascals from one dirty place to another, like a
football! It's my whim to give it a last kick myself, and throw
it away decently before it lodges on the dunghill forever. Your
sister kept a good cup of coffee hot for me, and I give her a bad
life in return for the compliment. You want to thank me for it?
What folly! Thank me when I have done something useful. Don't
thank me for that!"
He snapped his fingers contemptuously as he spoke, and walked
away to the outer door to receive the jailer, who returned at
that moment.
"Well," inquired the hunchback, "has anybody asked for me?"
"No," answered Lomaque; "not a soul has entered the room. What
sort of wine did you get?"
"So-so! Good at a pinch, friend--good at a pinch.
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