“Was it courage you lacked?” asked the old man, turning for the first time to his son. “Did you not know that ten drops instead of one of the medicine I was taking would have freed you from me for ever?”
Gaston did not seem at all overwhelmed. Indeed, he was wondering how the matter had reached his father’s ears, and how Catenac had discovered the rough draft of the agreement.
The contractor had imagined that his son would implore forgiveness; but seeing that he remained obdurate, his violence burst forth again. “And do you know what use my son would make of my fortune? He would squander it on a creature he picked up out of the streets,—a woman he called Madame de Chantemille,—a fit companion for a noble count!”
The shaft had penetrated the impassability which Gaston had up to this displayed. “You should not insult Zora,” said he.
“I shall not,” returned his father with a grim laugh, “take the trouble to do that; you are not of age, and I shall clap your friend Madame de Chantemille into prison.”
“You would not do that!”
“Would I not? You are a minor; but your Zora, whose real name is Rose, is much older; the law is wholly on my side.”
“But father—”
“There is no use in crying; my lawyer has the matter in hand, and by nightfall your Zora will be securely caged.”
This blow was so cruel and unexpected, that the young man could only repeat,—