I told him the whole shameful story, every word, from my lightning vision to my gossip with Marcel in the antechamber, he listening in hopeless silence. At length I finished. It seemed hours since he had spoken. At last he said, "Then it is true." The grayness of his face drew the cry from me:
"The villain! the black-hearted villain!"
"Take care, Félix, he is my son!"
I got hold of my cross and tore it off, breaking the chain.
"See, Monsieur. That is the cross on which he swore the plot was not against you. He swore it, and Gervais de Grammont laughed! I swore, too, never to betray them! Two perjuries!"
I flung the cross on the floor and stamped on it, splintering it.
"Profaner!" cried Monsieur.
"It is no sacrilege!" I retorted. "That is no holy thing since he has touched it. He has made it vile—scoundrel, assassin, parricide!"
Monsieur struck the words from my lips.
"It is true," I muttered.