LITMIR.BIZ

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he was filled with rage and resentment, which was all the more violent for reason of the refusal of Madame Dutertre, who declined to enter into his impossible plans; but he restrained himself with a view of attempting a last effort. Failing in that, he resolved to take a terrible revenge. So, with apparent calmness, he replied:

      "Ah, so Mlle. Antonine is in love! Well, so be it; but we know, my dear Madame Dutertre, what these grand passions of young girls are, — a straw fire. You can blow it out; this beautiful love could not resist your influence."

      "I assure you, M. Pascal, I would not try to influence Antonine upon this subject, for it would be useless."

      "You think so?"

      "I am certain of it."

      "Bah! it is always worth while to try."

      "But I tell you, sir, that Antonine — "

      "Is in love! I understand, and more, the good old bachelor Pascal is thirty-eight, and evidently not handsome, but on the other hand he has some handsome little millions, and when this evening (for you will see her this evening, will you not? I count on it) you make this unsophisticated maiden comprehend that, if love is a good thing, money is still better, for love passes and money stays, she will follow your counsel, dismiss her lover to-morrow, and I will have no more to say but 'Glory and thanks to you, my dear Madame Dutertre!'"

      Sophie stared at M. Pascal in amazement. Her womanly sensitivity was deeply shocked, and her instinct told her that a man who could talk as M. Pascal had done was not the man of good feeling and rectitude that she had believed him to be.

      At this moment, too, Dutertre rose from his chair, showing in his countenance the perplexity which agitated his mind; for the first time, his wife observed the alteration of his expression, and exclaimed as she advanced to meet him:

      "My God! Charles, how pale you are! Are you in pain?"

      "No, Sophie, nothing is the matter with me, — only a slight headache."

      "But I tell you something else is the matter. This pallor is not natural. Oh, M. Pascal, do look at Charles!"

      "Really, my good Dutertre, you do not appear at your ease."

      "Nothing is the matter, sir," replied Dutertre, with an icy tone which increased Sophie's undefined fear.

      She looked in silence, first at her husband, and then at M. Pascal, trying to discern the cause of the change that she saw and feared.

      "Well, my dear Dutertre," said M. Pascal, "you have heard our conversation; pray join me in trying to make your dear and excellent wife comprehend that mademoiselle, notwithstanding her foolish, childish love, could not find a better party than myself."

      "I share my wife's opinion on this subject, monsieur."

      "What! You wicked man! you, too!"

      "Yes, monsieur."

      "Pray consider that — "

      "My wife has told you, sir. We made a marriage of love, and, like her, I believe that love marriages are the only happy ones."

      "To make merchandise of Antonine! I, counsel her to be guilty of an act of shocking meanness, a marriage of interest! to sell herself, in a word, when but an hour ago she confessed her pure and noble love to me! Ah, monsieur, I thought you had a higher opinion of me!"

      "Come, come, now, my dear Dutertre, you are a man of sense, confess that these reasons are nothing but romance; help me to convince your wife."

      "I repeat, monsieur, that I think as she does."

      "Ah," exclaimed M. Pascal, "I did not expect to find here friends so cold and indifferent to what concerned me."

      "Sir," exclaimed Sophie, "that reproach is unjust."

      "Unjust! alas, I wish it were; but, indeed, I have too much reason to think differently. But a moment ago, your husband refused one of my requests, and now it is you. Ah, it is sad — sad. What can I rely upon after this?"

      "Refused what?" said Sophie to her husband, more and more disquieted. "What does he mean, Charles?"

      "It is not necessary to mention it, my dear Sophie."

      "I think, on the contrary," replied Pascal, "that it would be well to tell your wife, my dear Dutertre, and have her opinion."

      "Sir!" exclaimed Dutertre, clasping his hands in dismay.

      "Come! is it not a marriage of love?" said Pascal, "you do not have any secrets from each other!"

      "Charles, I beseech you, explain to me the meaning of all this. Ah, I saw plainly enough that you were suffering. Monsieur, has anything happened between you and Charles?" said she to Pascal, in a tone of entreaty. "I implore you to tell me."

      "My God! a very simple thing happened. You can judge of it yourself, madame — "

      "Monsieur!" cried Dutertre, "in the name of the gratitude we owe you, in the name of pity, not one word more, I beseech you, for I can never believe that you will persist in your resolution. And then, what good does it do to torture my wife with needless alarm?"

      Then, turning to Madame Dutertre, he said:

      "Compose yourself, Sophie, I beg you."

      The father Dutertre, hearing the sound of voices as he sat in his chamber, suddenly opened his door, made two steps into the parlour, extending his hands before him, and cried, trembling with excitement:

      "Charles! Sophie. My God! what is the matter?"

      "My father!" whispered Dutertre, wholly overcome.

      "The old man!" said Pascal. "Good! that suits me!"

      CHAPTER IX

      A moment's silence followed the entrance of the old blind man into the parlour.

      Dutertre went quickly to meet his father, took hold of his trembling hand, and said, as he pressed it tenderly:

      "Calm yourself, father, it is nothing; a simple discussion, a little lively. Let me take you back to your chamber."

      "Charles," said the old man, shaking his head sadly, "your hand is cold, you are nervous, your voice is changed; something has happened which you wish to hide from me."

      "You are not mistaken, sir," said Pascal to the old man. "Your son is hiding something from you, and in his interest, in yours, and in the interest of your daughter-in-law and her children, you ought not to be ignorant of it."

      "But M. Pascal, can nothing touch your heart?" cried Charles Dutertre. "Are you without pity, without compassion?"

      "It is because I pity your obstinate folly, and that of your wife, my dear Dutertre, that I wish to appeal from it, to the good sense of your respectable father."

      "Charles," cried Sophie, "however cruel the truth may be, tell it. This doubt, this agony, is beyond my endurance!"

      "My son," added the old man, "be frank, as you have always been, and we will have courage."

      "You see, my dear Dutertre," persisted M. Pascal, "your worthy father himself wishes to know the truth."

      "Monsieur," answered Dutertre, in a broken voice, looking at Pascal with tears which he could hardly restrain, "be good, be generous, as you have been until to-day. Your power is immense, I know; with one word you can plunge us in distress, in disaster; but with one word, too, you can restore to us the peace and happiness which we have owed to you. I implore you, do not be pitiless."

      At the sight of the tears, which, in spite of his efforts to control, rose to the eyes of Dutertre, a man so resolute and energetic, Sophie detected the greatness of the danger, and, turning to M. Pascal, said, in a heartrending voice:

      "My God! I do not know the danger

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