“Who desires to make her his mistress—is that what you mean? Oh, say the word. But what does that matter? I am sure of Marie-Anne.”
M. d’Escorval shuddered.
“In other words,” said he, in bitter indignation, “you make your daughter’s honor and reputation your stake in the game you are playing.”
This was too much. Lacheneur could restrain his furious passion no longer.
“Well, yes!” he exclaimed, with a frightful oath, “yes, you have spoken the truth. Marie-Anne must be, and will be, the instrument of my plans. A man situated as I am is free from the considerations that restrain other men. Fortune, friends, life, honor—I have been forced to sacrifice all. Perish my daughter’s virtue—perish my daughter herself—what do they matter, if I can but succeed?”
He was terrible in his fanaticism; and in his mad excitement he clinched his hands as if he were threatening some invisible enemy; his eyes were wild and bloodshot.
The baron seized him by the coat as if to prevent his escape.
“You admit it, then?” he said. “You wish to revenge yourself on the Sairmeuse family, and you have made Chanlouineau your accomplice?”
But Lacheneur, with a sudden movement, freed himself.
“I admit nothing,” he replied. “And yet I wish to reassure you——”