He did not, however, allow his anger to be manifest in his features; besides, the sight of the blood, with which his son’s face was still smeared, caused him to feel excessively uncomfortable.
“Norbert, my son,” said he, “are you suffering? Why have you not had that cut attended to?”
The young man made no reply, and the Duke continued,—
“Why have you not washed the blood away? Is it left there as a reproach to me? There is no need for that, I assure you; for deeply do I deplore my violence.”
Norbert still made no answer, and the Duke became more and more embarrassed. To give himself time for reflection, more than because he was thirsty, he took a glass, and filled it from his own special bottle.
Norbert trembled from head to foot as he saw this act.
“Come, my son,” continued the Duke, “just try if you cannot find some palliation for what your old father has done. I am ready to ask your forgiveness, and to apologize, for a man of honor is never ashamed to acknowledge when he has been in the wrong.”
He raised his glass, and raised it up to the light half mechanically. Norbert held his breath; the whole world seemed turning round.
“It is hard, very hard,” continued the Duke, “for a father thus to humiliate himself in vain before his son.”
It was useless for Norbert to turn away his head; he saw the Duke place the glass to his lips. He was about to drink, but the young man could endure it no longer, and with a bound he sprang forward, snatched the glass from his father’s hand, and hurled it from the window, shouting in a voice utterly unlike his own,—