“Whom I should never love!”

“And what of that?  She would have brought you four millions in her apron,—­more than the kings of to-day give their daughters.  Besides which she had great expectations.”

The discussion upon this subject would have been interminable, had Albert taken an active share in it; but his thoughts were far away.  He answered from time to time so as not to appear absolutely dumb, and then only a few syllables.  This absence of opposition was more irritating to the count than the most obstinate contradiction.  He therefore directed his utmost efforts to excite his son to argue.

However he was vainly prodigal of words, and unsparing in unpleasant allusions, so that at last he fairly lost his temper, and, on receiving a laconic reply, he burst forth:  “Upon my word, the butler’s son would say the same as you!  What blood have you in your veins?  You are more like one of the people than a Viscount de Commarin!”

There are certain conditions of mind in which the least conversation jars upon the nerves.  During the last hour, Albert had suffered an intolerable punishment.  The patience with which he had armed himself at last escaped him.

“Well, sir,” he answered, “if I resemble one of the people, there are perhaps good reasons for it.”

The glance with which the viscount accompanied his speech was so expressive that the count experienced a sudden shock.  All his animation forsook him, and in a hesitating voice, he asked:  “What is that you say, viscount?”

Albert had no sooner uttered the sentence than he regretted his precipitation, but he had gone too far to stop.

“Sir,” he replied with some embarrassment, “I have to acquaint you with some important matters.  My honour, yours, the honour of our house, are involved.  I intended postponing this conversation till to-morrow, not desiring to trouble you on the evening of your return.  However, as you wish me to explain, I will do so.”

The count listened with ill-concealed anxiety.  He seemed to have divined what his son was about to say, and was terrified at himself for having divined it.

“Believe me, sir,” continued Albert slowly, “whatever may have been your acts, my voice will never be raised to reproach you.  Your constant kindness to me—­”

M. de Commarin held up his hand.  “A truce to preambles; let me have the facts without phrases,” said he sternly.

Albert was some time without answering, he hesitated how to commence.

“Sir,” said he at length, “during your absence, I have read all your correspondence with Madame Gerdy.  All!” added he, emphasising the word, already so significant.

The count, as though stung by a serpent, started up with such violence that he overturned his chair.

“Not another word!” cried he in a terrible voice.  “I forbid you to speak!” But he no doubt soon felt ashamed of his violence, for he quietly raised his chair, and resumed in a tone which he strove to render light and rallying:  “Who will hereafter refuse to believe in presentiments?  A couple of hours ago, on seeing your pale face at the railway station, I felt that you had learned more or less of this affair.  I was sure of it.”