"I hate him," said the Countess, which was most unjust, for he had done nothing at all to deserve such an expression on her part.
"Hate is the passion of old age," said the Marquis slowly, "love that of youth. I told you that my race would soon be run. I am an old man. I have suffered much. I shall be content to die if I can serve my King here a little after all these years of weary waiting. The title-deeds that young man gave back do not cover much. The estate has been divided and granted to strangers. It is practically all gone but the old château. I have little or nothing to leave you beyond those small amounts which your father used to send me, which I never would touch because they came from a disloyal France. The Yeovils are true and worthy people. The boy is a gallant lad, a brave soldier, even if not overly acute. Sir Gervaise is a man of consideration and of great wealth. You are portionless. He is most generous. I am very happy in the thought that you will be taken care of. I know what it is to be alone and poor."
"I cannot bear——"
"We have to bear a great many things that we do not wish to in this life. You owe me some consideration. I still retain my faith and confidence in you. I have not pressed you to the wall with hard questions about last night."
"I know, I know, but——"
"And, as the head of the house, I must have even from the children the obedience which is my due."
"I do not wish to fail in my duty toward you, monsieur, but——"
"And your word, the word of a d'Aumenier, has been plighted. You entered into this engagement of your own free will. There was no constraint."
"But there was pressure."
"Yes, certainly, I know what is best for you, but you were not forced in any way, and your troth, having been plighted, your word given"—the old man stopped, looked at her solemnly, his long fingers tapping lightly on the table—"it must be kept," he said, with that air of absolute finality which none could assume better than he.