Philippe, with an angry flush, said:
“Once more, enough; I am ashamed to have listened so long. Those who say that the Queen of France is a Messalina are criminal calumniators.”
“I tell you,” said the old man, “no one can hear, and I approve your plan. M. de Charny will repay your kindness some day.”
“Your logic is admirable, sir; and M. de Charny is so much my favorite that I have just passed my sword through his ribs.”
“What!” cried the old man, somewhat frightened at his son’s flashing eyes, “you have not been fighting?”
“Yes, sir; that is my method of conciliating my successors. And he turned to go away.
“Philippe, you jest.”
“I do not, sir.”
The old man rose, and tottered off to the house.
“Quick,” said he to the servant; “let a man on horseback go at once and ask after M. de Charny, who has been wounded, and let him be sure to say he comes from me.” Then he murmured to himself, “Mine is still the only head in the family.”