He drew himself up, thinking honestly. He believed that he would live if
he married Christine; that his "cold" would get better; that the hole in
his lung would heal. It was only a matter of climate; he was sure of it.
Christine had a few hundred dollars--she had told him so. Suppose he
took three hundred dollars of the five thousand dollars: that would leave
four thousand seven hundred dollars for his sister. He could go away
south with Christine, and could live on five or six hundred dollars a
year; then he'd be fit for something. He could go to work. He could
join the Militia, if necessary. Anyhow, he could get something to do
when he got well.

He drank some more whiskey and milk. "Self-preservation, that's the
thing; that's the first law," he said. "And more: if the only girl I
ever loved, ever really loved--loved from the crown of her head to the
sole of her feet--were here to-day, and Christine stood beside her,
little plebeian with a big heart, by Heaven, I'd choose Christine.
I can trust her, though she is a little liar. She loves, and she'll
stick; and she's true where she loves. Yes; if all the women in the
world stood beside Christine this morning, I'd look them all over, from
duchess to danseuse, and I'd say, 'Christine Lavilette, I'm a scoundrel.
I haven't a penny in the world. I'm a thief; a thief who believes in
you. You know what love is; you know what fidelity is. No matter what I
did, you would stand by me to the end. To the last day of my life, I'll
give you my heart and my hand; and as you are faithful to me, so I will
be faithful to you, so help me God!'

"I don't believe I ever could have run straight in life. I couldn't have
been more than four years old when I stole the peaches from my mother's
dressing-table; and I lied just as coolly then as I could now. I made