“But, Marquis—”
“No other mortal man,” interrupted Norbert sternly, “will ever know from me that we have ever exchanged words together.”
An expression passed over the features of the Counsellor which cast a ray of hope upon the young man’s heart.
“Upon my word,” said he, “any one would judge from my hesitation that I had some wrong motive in acting as I am doing, but I never give bad advice, and any one will tell you the same about me, and this is the breviary by which I regulate all my actions.”
As he spoke, he took a book from his desk, and waved it aloft.
Norbert looked puzzled and angry.
“What do you mean?” asked he.
“Nothing, Marquis, nothing; have patience; your majority is not far off, and you have only a few years to wait. Remember that your father is an old man; let him carry out his plan for a few years longer, and——”
Norbert struck his fist savagely upon the table, crying out furiously. “It was not worth my coming here if this was all that you had to say;” and, whistling to Bruno, the young man prepared to quit the room.
“Ah, Marquis! you are far too hasty,” said the Counsellor humbly.