Alfred; or, The Adventures of a French Gentleman — page 172: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OF A FRENCH GENTLEMAN. 143. ceptionable security. Need we look far for the causes of so uni- versal a distrust ?”’ ‘‘ Your remarks are as true as the gospel,” said Mr. Robson, who had listened with the greatest attention to the words of his guest: ‘¢ and, as you assert, the virtuous invariably suffer for the vicious; the deeds of bad men render the actions of the con- scientious doubtful: as luxury increases, so does crime.” ‘¢ And it is terrible to be deceived by one in whom you have placed confidence,” continued De Rosann, heedless of the banker’s observations, and raising his voice to its highest key. ‘+ Friend- ship becomes a coin with which a man endeavours to cheat his neighbour: atiection—love—gratitude—are all sacrificed, in this age of corruption, on the altar of self-interest. But the day of retribution must come; the villain and the deceiver cannot long triumph in their turpitude; nor the hypocrite in his guile ;—ven- geance—justice—or the hand of Providence will assuredly overtake them in their wicked career. I knew a man who entrusted all his affairs to a treacherous partner; this partner absconded with the property, and left the business of his confiding associate in a state of utter ruin. The scoundrel fled to another country—was hospi- tably received by a worthy and open-hearted father of a family— and then had the baseness to contemplate robbing his new bene- factor. What do you think of conduct like this, gentlemen? and what would you say to the wretch who is capable of such damnable deeds? I need scarcely ask you. Well—I am the individual who placed his confidence so foolishly—that is the man,” proceeded De Rosann in a voice of thunder, as he pointed to Lebrun, “ who absconded with my property—and you, Mr. Robson, are the hos- pitable parent he would even now deceive!” ‘‘ Is it possible!” cried the banker, his hand trembling, his cheek turning pale, and his pulse beating quickly. ‘“¢°Tis as I tell you,” answered Alfred in a lower tone: ‘ the name of that villain is La Motte. Let him deny it if he can!” ‘‘M. De Rosann—I am sure—you do not mean,” began the miserable wretch, endeavouring to pacify our hero's wrath by means of a paltry excuse or apology. ! ‘* Depart—quit—leave this house directly—defile it no longer with your presence!” ejaculated Alfred, pointing towards the door. ‘Obey me, La Motte—or I shall not be able to master my indigna- tion!” The degraded Frenchman did not wait for a second bidding—he dreaded a more severe proof of De Rosann’s vindictive feelings against him, if he did not execute his command—and, without daring to raise his eyes towards a single soul, he sneaked out of the room like a malefactor detected in an infamous deed. ‘‘ I should have spared you this scene, my dear sir,” said Alfred, addressing himself to Mr. Robson, when the door had closed behind La Motte, “had not your intentions of forming a partner- ship with the villain, who has just left us, been communicated te me. I forebore to act thus summarily in the presence of your wife and daughters,—and I solicit your pardon for having taken upon CORNICLOOKS»aCO im