_Marco._ My father died, and I was left dependent on the charity of my relations. (_With savage scorn._) Charity! I wore their cast clothes, waited on their will,--their servant, their encumbrance, their hopeless slave. One happy day, Providence came to my relief: I was left a small fortune. (_Rising._) From that moment I became a statue. The recollection of my days of misery extinguished the glowing impulses of my youth; and I lived on the surface of the world, mixing in all its gay pleasures, caressed and _fêted_, the idol of the hour, hating and despising the smiling monster, and devising means to secure my independence. A wealthy marriage was the only course; and for that I have devoted myself, heart and mind; for that I have been cruel, false, and pitiless; for that I am deaf to reproaches, dead to remorse. (_Sits._)
_Raph._ (_In amazement._) I hear you, Marco, and disbelieve my ears: I see you, and doubt my eyes. Those fearful words, those evil looks,--is it possible such hideousness can dwell in such a heavenly shrine? (_Growing gradually frantic._) But I am glad, very glad, you have at last been candid with me: it relieves me from a world of sorrow, it rescues me from despair. Yet I hoped you had some regard for me, some little regret for--Ah, well! it was my accursed vanity. How could I ever hope to?-- (_Laughing hysterically, and speaking in a hoarse whisper._) I, too, am a deception: I have pretended to devote to you my heart, my life, my soul--no such thing! I, too, wore a mask--ha, ha, ha! When my eyes looked fondest, my heart was plotting treachery; when I swore you were my happiness, I felt you were my curse; when I vowed I could not live without you, I was devising means to break with you--ha, ha, ha! We owe each other nothing; we are both demons: but the comedy is over now, and the actors have returned to their every-day costumes and natures. I wish to be a gentleman, like Monsieur Veaudore. Mademoiselle Marco, I ask pardon for having annoyed you so long. I leave you to your pleasures. (_He endeavors to kiss her hand; but she recoils, alarmed by the wildness of his tone and looks._) What do you fear? (_With a burst of maniac laughter._) There is no venom on my lips: it is in my heart! (_Kisses her hand._)