He does not believe me.

And then what does he care whether the brigand's name is Count 'd'Artigas or Ker Karraje?
Is not he, Thomas Roch, master of Back Cup?
Is he not the owner of these riches accumulated by twenty years of murder and rapine?
Disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how I can touch his ulcerated, irresponsible heart, I turn towards the door.

It only remains for me to withdraw.

What is to be, will be, since it is out of my power to prevent the frightful _denouement_ that will occur in a few hours.
Thomas Roch takes no more notice of me.

He seems to have forgotten that I am here.