Louis paid no attention to this ironical interruption.
“Now we come to the third scene,” he went on to say, “the time when Mme. Fauvel, having Madeleine for an adviser, judged us at our true value. Oh! you need not flatter yourself that she did not fear and despise us both. If she did not hate you, Raoul, it was because a mother’s heart always forgives a sinful child. A mother can despise and worship her son at the same time.”
“She has proved it to me in so many touching ways, that!—yes, even I, hardened as I am—was moved, and felt remorse.”
“Parbleu! I have felt some pangs myself. Where did I leave off? Oh, yes! Mme. Fauvel was frightened, and Madeleine, bent on sacrificing herself, had discarded Prosper, and consented to marry me, when the existence of Gaston was suddenly revealed. And what has happened since? You have succeeded in convincing Mme. Fauvel that you are pure, and that I am blacker than hell. She is blinded by your noble qualities, and she and Madeleine regard me as your evil genius, whose pernicious influence led you astray.”
“You are right, my venerated uncle; that is precisely the position you occupy.”
“Very good. Now we come to the fifth act, and our comedy needs entire change of scenery. We must veer around.”
“Change our tactics?”
“You think it difficult, I suppose? Nothing easier. Listen attentively, for the future depends upon your skilfulness.”
Raoul leaned back in his chair, with folded arms, as if prepared for anything, and said:
“I am ready.”