“Unhappy wretch,” cried M. Bertomy, “do not blaspheme!”

He seemed overcome by tender thoughts of the past, and in a weak, broken voice, he added: 

“Your mother is dead, Prosper, and little did I think that the day would come when I could thank God for having taken her from me.  Your crime would have killed her, would have broken her heart!”

After a painful silence, Prosper said: 

“You overwhelm me, father, and at the moment when I need all my courage; when I am the victim of an odious plot.”

“Victim!” cried M. Bertomy, “victim!  Dare you utter your insinuations against the honorable man who has taken care of you, loaded you with benefits, and had insured you a brilliant future!  It is enough for you to have robbed him; do not calumniate him.”

“For pity’s sake, father, let me speak!”

“I suppose you would deny your benefactor’s kindness.  Yet you were at one time so sure of his affection, that you wrote me to hold myself in readiness to come to Paris and ask M. Fauvel for the hand of his niece.  Was that a lie too?”

“No,” said Prosper in a choked voice, “no.”

“That was a year ago; you then loved Mlle. Madeleine; at least you wrote to me that you—­”

“Father, I love her now, more than ever; I have never ceased to love her.”

M. Bertomy made a gesture of contemptuous pity.

“Indeed!” he cried, “and the thought of the pure, innocent girl whom you loved did not prevent your entering upon a path of sin.  You loved her:  how dared you, then, without blushing, approach her presence after associating with the shameless creatures with whom you were so intimate?”

“For Heaven’s sake, let me explain by what fatality Madeleine—­”

“Enough, monsieur, enough.  I told you that I know everything.  I saw M. Fauvel yesterday; this morning I saw the judge, and ’tis to his kindness that I am indebted for this interview.  Do you know what mortification I suffered before being allowed to see you?  I was searched and made to empty all of my pockets, on suspicion of bringing you arms!”

Prosper ceased to justify himself, but in a helpless, hopeless way, dropped down upon a seat.

“I have seen your apartments, and at once recognized the proofs of your crime.  I saw silk curtains hanging before every window and door, and the walls covered with pictures.  In my father’s house the walls were whitewashed; and there was but one arm-chair in the whole house, and that was my mother’s.  Our luxury was our honesty.  You are the first member of our family who has possessed Aubusson carpets; though, to be sure, you are the first thief of our blood.”

At this last insult Prosper’s face flushed crimson, but he remained silent and immovable.

“But luxury is necessary now,” continued M. Bertomy, becoming more excited and angry as he went on, “luxury must be had at any price.  You must have the insolent opulence and display of an upstart, without being an upstart.  You must support worthless women who wear satin slippers lined with swan’s-down, like those I saw in your rooms, and keep servants in livery—­and you steal!  And bankers no longer trust their safe-keys with anybody; and every day honest families are disgraced by the discovery of some new piece of villainy.”