“It is the common fate of fathers to be disappointed in their offspring, and to see the sons who ought to have been their honor and glory the scourge to punish their worldly aspirations,” exclaimed the old man.
“Good! that is really a very telling speech,” murmured Gaston approvingly, “considering that you have not made a special study of elocution.”
Fortunately his father did not catch these words, and continued in a voice broken by emotion, “That, M. Andre, is my son, who for twenty years has been my sole care. Well, believe it or not, as you like, he has been speculating on my death, as you might speculate on a race-horse at Vincennes.”
“No, no,” put in Gaston, but his father stopped him with a disdainful gesture.
“Have at least the courage to acknowledge your fault. You thought me blind because I said nothing, but your past conduct has opened my eyes.”
“But, father!”
“Do not attempt to deny it. This very morning my man of business, M. Catenac, wrote to me, and with that real courage which only true friends possess, told me all. I must tell you, M. Andre,” resumed the contractor, “I was ill. I had a severe attack of the gout, such as a man seldom recovers from, and my son was constant in his attendance at my sick couch. This consoled me. ‘He loves me after all,’ said I. But it was only my testamentary arrangements that he wanted to discover, and he went straight to a money-lender called Clergot and raised a hundred thousand francs assuring the blood-sucker that I had not many hours to live.”
“It is a lie!” cried Gaston, his face crimsoning with shame.
The old man raised the leg of the chair in his hand, and made so threatening a movement that Andre flung himself between father and son. “Great heavens!” cried he, “think what you are doing, sir, and forbear.”
The old man paused, passed his hand round his brow, and flung the weapon into a remote corner of the room. “I thank you,” said he, grasping Andre’s hand; “you have saved me from a great crime. In another moment I should have murdered him.”