The old man grew still more incensed. “You talk as though you were my master,” he cried, “but you are not. I am master here. How dare you vex your sister? I say he shall come!”
Pascal’s anger rose again: “If you do not leave the room, I will put you out.”
“How can you speak so,” cried Vivienne, “to a weak, foolish old man?”
Manassa’s temper was equal to his age. “Hear him order me about, Clarine! Is he my master? The little good-for-nothing! Say, Clarine, is he my master?”
“Oh, Manassa, how forgetful you are getting to be! You know you were valet to Joseph, who had a son Conrad. This is Conrad’s son.”
Pascal was weary of the fruitless discussion. Why continue it? He had declared his intention of inviting Count Mont d’Oro and of requesting Lieutenant Duquesne to leave the house, and that settled the matter. Without replying to Manassa, he withdrew and proceeded to his library.
Manassa went on, apparently regardless of Pascal’s departure:
“Yes, I was Joseph’s valet. I remember now, and was I not Lady Julie’s valet?”
Clarine laughed. “Why, of course not. But you used sometimes to drive her out when the coachman was sick. How you do forget!”
“Well, whose valet am I now, Clarine?”