“You are delirious, sir,” said the marchioness, loosing the arm of her daughter; and going to the right of the marquis, she whispered—“be silent!”
“No, madam, no, I am not now delirious,” replied the marquis, “No! no! Say rather, say that,—and it will be the truth,—say that I am now between an angel who would recall me to reason, and a demon who wishes me again to become insane. No! No! I am not mad. Do you wish that I should prove it to you?” He rose, supporting himself on the arms of his chair. “Must I speak to you of letters, of adultery, of a duel?”
“I say,” said the marchioness, grasping his arm, “I tell you that you are more forsaken by heaven than ever, when you utter such things, without reflecting as to whose ears are listening. Cast down your eyes, sir—look who is standing yonder, and then dare assert that you are not mad!”
“You are right;” said the marquis, falling back in his chair. “Your mother is right,” continued he, addressing Marguerite—“I am mad, and you must not believe what I say, but what she says. Your mother is devotedness, virtue itself, and therefore, she has not sleepless nights, nor remorse, nor madness. What does your mother wish?”
“My misery, father; my everlasting misery.”
“And how can I prevent this misery?” said the unhappy old man, with a most heart-rending anguish; “how can I, a poor, insane old man, prevent it? who thinks he always sees the blood issuing from a wound—who thinks he constantly hears a voice proceeding from a tomb!”
“Oh you can do all; say but one word and I am saved! They wish me to marry—”
The marquis listlessly reclined his head on the back of his chair.
“Listen to me! they wish to marry me to a man whom I do not love—do you understand me?—to a wretch!—and you have been brought here—placed in that arm-chair, before the table—you, you my father! to sign this infamous contract—this contract which I now hand to you.”
“Without consulting me,” said the marquis, taking the contract; “without asking me whether I will, or I will not! Do they believe me dead? And if they think me dead, do they fear me less than they would a spectre? This marriage would cause your misery, you say?”