"One who knows whereof he speaks," replied the Prince producing a packet of letters.
"But Ferdinand, my son, why do you credit such calumniators?" interposed the King.
"Sire, these are not calumnies. If you consider them such, why not turn upon them the light of day? To me they have ample confirmation in the face of Monsieur the Superintendent of Police, or in your own, Sire, or in that of Madame my cousin and sister-in-law. I have seen her swoon on hearing the name of the man whose personal history contains the tragic episodes enacted last summer in Versailles park. The life of that true knight and gentleman, my dear friend, René de Giac, there paid the penalty for his loyalty—he, the son of one of the most valiant of Condé's officers—"
"Ferdinand," stammered the King, his face growing paler and paler, "your words are audacious and unwarranted. From any other than you, I should pronounce them the ravings of a madman. What inference is to be drawn from your asseverations? None other than that we are a usurper, that the Restoration was a robbery and that as restitution, we must deliver up the throne, after having played the role of thief, and retire into private life amid the jeers of the spectators. What would follow then, think you? Nothing less than an armed intervention of Europe to restore order in France a second time and clear the bandit caves of their booty."
"We are not speaking of an impostor," insisted Ferdinand bravely.
"Dare you call us usurper, then?" shrieked the King.
The smile on Lecazes's lips was a discharge of gall and the gleam in his eyes was Satanic.
"For my part, Sire," retorted the nephew, "I believe you to be such. I refuse—O more than the glory of thrones and crowns do I cherish honor and the religion of Knighthood. I may or may not have a right to the tide Royal Highness, but beyond question I am a soldier, and notwithstanding certain gallantries, a Christian. I do not proclaim my virtue as does my brother Louis, but neither do I ravish another man of his rights. I will not longer live this life. I have tried to make light of these letters. Does Your Majesty know why? Because in all of them breathes a threat, and no man shall think me coward. If God gives me life and France wars,'twill be demonstrated whether or not I am such. My coming to you now has for object that of declaring to your Majesty that if this matter be not adjudicated according to law and justice and in a manner befitting our family dignity, I shall be forced to the alternative of going to Holland and offering my services to my cousin, as a partial reparation for the iniquity practised upon him."
"And I should not be surprised at your extravagance, my dear nephew," replied the King, irate and sarcastic. "Your action would be in keeping with the conduct of a man who never considers the consequences of his acts, a man who married a London woman of base extraction,—the plebeian Amy Brown, a man who disregards court etiquette so far as to imitate the Corsican in his policy of acquiring popularity with the army, a man whose language in public is such as to undermine the established regime. You would be more satisfactory nephew, were you to fulfill your office, of furnishing France with a male heir of whom we stand in so great need."
Ferdinand, far from evincing annoyance at the burst of wrath, answered serenely: