The thin lips of Andre’s long mouth twisted into a queer smile.  Into his mind had flashed the memory of their last parting.  He saw himself again, standing burning with indignation upon the pavement of Nantes, looking after her carriage as it receded down the Avenue de Gigan.

She was coming towards him now with outstretched hands, a heightened colour in her cheeks, a smile of welcome on her lips.  He bowed low and kissed her hand in silence.

Then with a glance and a gesture she dismissed Benoit, and in her imperious fashion constituted herself Andre’s advocate against that harsh dismissal which she had overheard.

“Uncle,” she said, leaving Andre and crossing to M. de Kercadiou, “you make me ashamed of you!  To allow a feeling of peevishness to overwhelm all your affection for Andre!”

“I have no affection for him.  I had once.  He chose to extinguish it.  He can go to the devil; and please observe that I don’t permit you to interfere.”

“But if he confesses that he has done wrong... "

“He confesses nothing of the kind.  He comes here to argue with me about these infernal Rights of Man.  He proclaims himself unrepentant.  He announces himself with pride to have been, as all Brittany says, the scoundrel who hid himself under the sobriquet of Omnes Omnibus.  Is that to be condoned?”

She turned to look at Andre across the wide space that now separated them.

“But is this really so?  Don’t you repent, Andre — now that you see all the harm that has come?”

It was a clear invitation to him, a pleading to him to say that he repented, to make his peace with his godfather.  For a moment it almost moved him.  Then, considering the subterfuge unworthy, he answered truthfully, though the pain he was suffering rang in his voice.

“To confess repentance,” he said slowly, “would be to confess to a monstrous crime.  Don’t you see that?  Oh, monsieur, have patience with me; let me explain myself a little.  You say that I am in part responsible for something of all this that has happened.  My exhortations of the people at Rennes and twice afterwards at Nantes are said to have had their share in what followed there.  It may be so.  It would be beyond my power positively to deny it.  Revolution followed and bloodshed.  More may yet come.  To repent implies a recognition that I have done wrong.  How shall I say that I have done wrong, and thus take a share of the responsibility for all that blood upon my soul?  I will be quite frank with you to show you how far, indeed, I am from repentance.  What I did, I actually did against all my convictions at the time.  Because there was no justice in France to move against the murderer of Philippe de Vilmorin, I moved in the only way that I imagined could make the evil done recoil upon the hand that did it, and those other hands that had the power but not the spirit to punish.  Since then I have come to see that I was wrong, and that Philippe de Vilmorin and those who thought with him were in the right.