“That is no reason for bestowing upon society one scoundrel the more,” said Lucan.

“However,” rejoined Julia, who hastened to be no longer of her own opinion as soon as her step-father seemed to have rallied to it, “it is a well acknowledged fact that spoiled children are those who turn out the best.”

“There are at least some exceptions,” said Lucan, coldly.

“I know of none,” said Julia.

“Mon Dieu!” said the Count de Moras in a tone of conciliation, “right or wrong, it is quite the fashion, nowadays, to spoil children.”

“It is a criminal fashion,” said Lucan.  “Formerly their parents whipped them, and thus made men of them.”

“When a man has such a disposition as that,” said Julia, “he does not deserve to have any children—­and he has none!” she added with a direct look that further aggravated the unkind and even cruel intention of her words.

Monsieur de Lucan turned very pale.  Clotilde’s eyes filled with tears.  Julia, embarrassed at her triumph, left the room.  Her mother, after remaining for a few moments, her face covered with her hands, rose from the table and went to join her.

“Now, mon cher,” said Monsieur de Moras as soon as he found himself alone with Lucan, “what the mischief took place between you two last night?  You did tell me something about it this morning, but I was so much absorbed in my own selfish preoccupations, that I paid no attention to it.  But tell me, what did take place between you?”

“Nothing serious.  Only I was able to satisfy myself that she had not yet forgiven my occupying a place which, according to her ideas, should never have been filled.”

“What would you advise me to do, George?” rejoined Monsieur de Moras.  “I am ready to do whatever you say.

“My dear friend,” said Lucan, laying gently his hands upon Pierre’s shoulders, “don’t be offended, but life in common, under such conditions, becomes a very difficult matter.  It is best not to wait until some irreparable scene.  In Paris we will be able to see each other without difficulty.  I advise you to take her away.”

“Suppose she is not willing.”

“I should speak firmly,” said Lucan, looking him straight in the eyes; “I have some work to do this evening; it happens well and will give you a good opportunity.  In the meantime, au revoir.”

Monsieur de Lucan locked himself up in his library.  An hour later, Clotilde came to join him.

He could see that she had wept a great deal; but she held out her forehead to him with her sweetest smile.  While he was kissing her, she murmured simply and in a whisper: 

“Forgive her for my sake!”

And the charming creature withdrew in haste to hide her emotions.

The next morning, Monsieur de Lucan, who, as usual, had risen quite early, had been writing for some time near the library window, which opened at quite a moderate height on the garden.  He was not a little surprised to see his step-daughter’s face appear among the honeysuckle vines that crept over the iron trellis of the balcony: