It was dishonour, yes, dishonour complete, palpable, avowed, dishonour that flowed with his. daughter's tears, and covered her face with shame. The agony of the father was augmented by that of the head of the family, whose record of austerity and uprightness was thus dragged in the mud.
The young man, having regained his self-possession, was about to speak, but Monsieur de Pontivy gave him no time.
"Silence!" he thundered. "Not a word! Do you hear, sir? Not a word! To your room, and await my orders!"
The command was accompanied with such a gesture that Robespierre could only obey, and silently moved towards the staircase.
Then, turning towards Clarisse, he continued, "As to you ..."
But she lay lifeless on the floor. He bent down, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to her room; exhausted by her weight, he laid her on the first armchair.
The young girl regained consciousness. She opened her eyes and recognised her father, and a sob rose in her throat, suffocating her. She could not speak, but a word she had not pronounced for ten years, a word from her far-off childhood, came to her lips, and she murmured softly through her tears, "Papa! papa!"
CHAPTER II
THE VOICE OF THE PAST
Under what irresistible spell had she fallen? Through what intricate windings had the subtle poison entered the young girl's pure and innocent soul, then steeped in the fresh dew of life's dawning hopes? What sweet vision had the young man held out to her, to which she had yielded in all innocence, her eyes dreamily fixed on the vague unknown, and from which she had awaked, all pale and trembling, her heart smitten with unspeakable dismay?