His voice grew more grave, indeed almost solemn.

“Adrien, I am an old man, nearing the grave, and, as is only natural, my thoughts turn to the future of our race.  You are the last of our line, it is to you I look to carry it on.  You are no longer a boy, with a youth’s follies and tastes; it is time you took up your responsibilities.”

Adrien made as if to speak; but his father checked him, with a gesture of his hand.

“Stay, hear me out,” he said.  “When I was your age, your mother was at my side, I had given the House of Leroy its son and heir.  I was married, and had left the lighter loves of the world for a more lasting and responsible one.  You know I have never interfered much with your life; but though I am no longer of the gay world, I yet hear something of its doings.  You ‘live the pace,’ they tell me, and are the idol of the smart set.  Barminster Castle, Adrien, looks for something higher than that in its lord and master.  I repeat, sir, at your age I was married.”

“And loved,” said Adrien softly.

“Yes, indeed,” exclaimed Lord Barminster, his face lighting up at the thought of the woman whom he had lost, and mourned so long.  “Your mother was that which ranks above rubies, a good and virtuous woman, worthy of any man’s love.”

Adrien turned his pale face away, as if to avoid scrutiny, then he said gently: 

“I admit your right to speak like this, sir, and if it rested with me I would obey you at once.”

“It does rest with you, Adrien,” returned his father quickly.  “Surely you are blind, not to see that Constance Tremaine loves you with her whole heart.”

Adrien started up, his face alight and quivering with excitement.

“Impossible, sir!” he exclaimed.  “Would to heaven it were true; for I know no other woman to whom I would so gladly devote my life.”

The grim old face softened and relaxed.  He had not expected such an overwhelming victory.

“Why do you say it is impossible?” he asked.

Adrien did not answer for a moment, then he slip hoarsely: 

“She is already engaged to Lord Standon.”

An exclamation of astonishment burst from the old man’s lips.  He put out his hand in involuntary sympathy, and the two so strangely alike, yet so wide apart in years, clasped hands.  Then, as if ashamed of the momentary emotion, the old man turned away, saying quietly: 

“This is, of course, a surprise to me.  Its truth yet remains to be proved, but I should feel inclined to doubt it myself.”  With which he went back to his own apartments.

Left alone once more, Adrien walked restlessly to and fro.

“If Constance really cared for me,” he said to himself, “nothing else in the world would matter.  Lucky Standon!  I dare not think of the future, it what Jasper said was true.”

At last he, too, returned to his room; but it was almost morning before he fell into a troubled slumber.