“No, sir.  I have seen Mademoiselle Claire; I have explained my unhappy position to her.  Whatever happens, she has sworn to be my wife.”

“And do you think that Madame d’Arlange will give her granddaughter to M. Gerdy?”

“We hope so, sir.  The marchioness is sufficiently infected with aristocratic ideas to prefer a nobleman’s bastard to the son of some honest tradesman; but should she refuse, we would await her death, though without desiring it.”

The calm manner in which Albert said this enraged the count.

“Can this be my son?” he cried.  “Never!  What blood have you then in your veins, sir?  Your worthy mother alone might tell us, provided, however, she herself knows.”

“Sir,” cried Albert menacingly, “think well before you speak!  She is my mother, and that is sufficient.  I am her son, not her judge.  No one shall insult her in my presence, I will not permit it, sir; and I will suffer it least of all from you.”

The count made great efforts to keep his anger within bounds, but Albert’s behavior thoroughly enraged him.  What, his son rebelled, he dared to brave him to his face, he threatened him!  The old fellow jumped from his chair, and moved towards the young man as if he would strike him.

“Leave the room,” he cried, in a voice choking with rage, “leave the room instantly!  Retire to your apartments, and take care not to leave them without my orders.  To-morrow I will let you know my decision.”

Albert bowed respectfully, but without lowering his eyes and walked slowly to the door.  He had already opened it, when M. de Commarin experienced one of those revulsions of feeling, so frequent in violent natures.

“Albert,” said he, “come here and listen to me.”

The young man turned back, much affected by this change.

“Do not go,” continued the count, “until I have told you what I think.  You are worthy of being the heir of a great house, sir.  I may be angry with you; but I can never lose my esteem for you.  You are a noble man, Albert.  Give me your hand.”

It was a happy moment for these two men, and such a one as they had scarcely ever experienced in their lives, restrained as they had been by cold etiquette.  The count felt proud of his son, and recognised in him himself at that age.  For a long time their hands remained clasped, without either being able to utter a word.

At last, M. de Commarin resumed his seat.

“I must ask you to leave me, Albert,” he said kindly.  “I must be alone to reflect, to try and accustom myself to this terrible blow.”

And, as the young man closed the door, he added, as if giving vent to his inmost thoughts, “If he, in whom I have placed all my hope, deserts me, what will become of me?  And what will the other one be like?”

Albert’s features, when he left the count’s study, bore traces of the violent emotions he had felt during the interview.  The servants whom he met noticed it the more, as they had heard something of the quarrel.