“Well,” he said, “tell him who I am, you!  Tell him that my name is Henri Parent, that I am his father because his name is George Parent, because you are my wife, because you are all three living on my money, on the allowance of ten thousand francs which I have made you, since I drove you out of my house.  Will you tell him also why I drove you out?  Because I surprised you with this beggar, this wretch, your lover!  Tell him what I was, an honorable man, whom you married for my money, and whom you deceived from the very first day.  Tell him who you are, and who I am ...”

He stammered and panted for breath, in his rage, and the woman exclaimed in a heartrending voice:  “Paul, Paul, stop him; make him be quiet; do not let him say this before my son!” Limousin had also got up, and he said in a quite low voice:  “Hold your tongue!  Hold your tongue!  Do understand what you are doing!” But Parent continued furiously:  “I quite know what I am doing, and that is not all.  There is one thing that I will know, something that has tormented me for twenty years.”  And then turning to George, who was leaning against a tree in consternation, he said:  “Listen to me.  When she left my house, she thought it was not enough to have deceived me, but she also wanted to drive me to despair.  You were my only consolation, and she took you with her, swearing that I was not your father, but that he was your father!  Was she lying?  I do not know, and I have been asking myself the question for the last twenty years.”

He went close up to her, tragic and terrible, and pulling away her hands with which she had covered her face, he continued:  “Well, I call upon you now to tell me which of us two is the father of this young man; he or I, your husband or your lover.  Come!  Come! tell us.”  Limousin rushed at him, but Parent pushed him back, and sneering in his fury, he said:  “Ah! you are brave now!  You are braver than you were that day when you ran downstairs because I was going to half murder you.  Very well!  If she will not reply, tell me yourself.  You ought to know as well as she.  Tell me, are you this young fellow’s father?  Come!  Come!  Tell me!”

Then he turned to his wife again:  “If you will not tell me, at any rate tell your son.  He is a man, now, and he has the right to know who is his father.  I do not know, and I never did know, never, never!  I cannot tell you, my boy.”  He seemed to be losing his senses, his voice grew shrill and he worked his arms about as if he had an epileptic attack.  “Come!...  Give me an answer....  She does not know....  I will make a bet that she does not know ...  No ... she does not know, by Jove!...  She used to go to bed with both of us!  Ha! ha! ha!... nobody knows ... nobody....  How can any one know such things?...  You will not know, either, my boy, you will not know any more than I do.... never....  Look here....  Ask her ... you will find that she does not know....  I do not know either....  You can choose ... yes, you can choose ... him or me....  Choose....  Good evening....  It is all over....  If she makes up her mind to tell you, come and let me know, will you?  I am living at the Hotel des Continents....  I should be glad to know....  Good evening....  I hope you will enjoy yourselves very much....”