"He told me that I had still a 'heart' and 'honor,' although I had been to
the hulks--not for having robbed, it is true. Oh! that, never, but for what
is worse, perhaps--for having killed. Yes," said the Slasher, in a sad
tone, "yes, killed in a moment of anger, because from my childhood, brought
up like a brute, without father or mother, abandoned in the streets of
Paris, I knew neither God nor the devil, nor good nor evil, nor strong nor
weak. Sometimes the blood rushed to my eyes, I saw red, and if I had a
knife in my hand, I stabbed--I stabbed! I was like a wolf; I could not
frequent any other places than those where I met beggars and ruffians; I
did not put crape on my hat for that. I was obliged to live in the mire; I
did not even know I was there. But, when M. Rudolph told me that since in
spite of the contempt of the world and misery, instead of stealing, as
others did, I had preferred to work as much as I could, and at what I
could, that showed I had a heart and honor. Thunder! those two words had
the same effect upon me as if some one had caught me by the hair, and
raised me a thousand feet in the air above the beggars with whom I lived,
and showed me in what mire I wallowed. Then, of course, I said, 'Thank you,
I have enough.' Then my heart beat with something besides anger, and I
swore to myself always to preserve this honor of which M. Rudolph had
spoken. You see, M. Germain, by telling me with kindness that I was not as
bad as I thought, M. Rudolph encouraged me, and, thanks to him, I have
become better than I was."

On hearing this language, Germain comprehended still less how the Slasher
could have committed the robbery of which he accused himself.

"No," thought Germain, "it is impossible; this man, who suffers himself to
be thus carried away by the simple words honor and heart, cannot have
committed this robbery of which he speaks with such ease."