“That is not your business, my child,” said the old gentleman.

“Oh!”

“That is the business of his mother, the Marchioness of Boiscoran.  Whatever Blangin agrees to venture for your sake, he will do as well for her sake.  Let the marchioness go and spend the night at the jail.  I agree to that.  Let her see her son.  That is her duty.”

“But surely she will never shake Jacques’s resolution.”

“And you think you have more influence over him than his mother?”

“It is not the same thing, dear papa.”

“Never mind!”

This “never mind” of Grandpapa Chandore was as positive as his “impossible;” but he had begun to discuss the question, and to discuss means to listen to arguments on the other side.

“Do not insist, my dear child,” he said again.  “My mind is made up; and I assure you”—­

“Don’t say so, papa,” said the young girl.

And her attitude was so determined, and her voice so firm, that the old gentleman was quite overwhelmed for a moment.

“But, if I am not willing,” he said.

“You will consent, dear papa, you will certainly not force your little granddaughter, who loves you so dearly, to the painful necessity of disobeying you for the first time in her life.”

“Because, for the first time in her life I am not doing what my granddaughter wants me to do?”

“Dear papa, let me tell you.”

“Rather listen to me, poor child, and let me show you to what dangers, to what misfortunes, you expose yourself.  To go and spend a night at this prison would be risking, understand me well, your honor,—­that tender, delicate honor which is tarnished by a breath, which involves the happiness and the peace of your whole life.”

“But Jacques’s honor and life are at stake.”

“Poor imprudent girl!  How do you know but he would be the very first to blame you cruelly for such a step?”

“He?”

“Men are made so:  the most perfect devotion irritates them at times.”

“Be it so.  I would rather endure Jacques’s unjust reproaches than the idea of not having done my duty.”

M. de Chandore began to despair.

“And if I were to beg you, Dionysia, instead of commanding.  If your old grandfather were to beseech you on his knees to abandon your fatal project.”

“You would cause me fearful pain, dear papa:  but it would be all in vain; for I must resist your prayers, as I must resist your orders.”

“Inexorable!” cried the old gentleman.  “She is immovable!” And suddenly changing his tone, he cried,—­

“But, after all, I am master here.”

“Dear papa, pray!”

“And since nothing can move you, I will speak to Mechinet, I will let Blangin know my will.”

Dionysia, turning as pale as death, but with burning eyes, drew back a step, and said,—­

“If you do that, grandpapa, if you destroy my last hope”—­