“If,” continued he more seriously,—“if they only possessed a little confidence in themselves, if they showed the least audacity! But no! they count upon others to do for them what they ought to do for themselves. In short, their proceedings are a series of confessions of helplessness, of premature declarations of failure.”
The coffee having been served, the count made a sign, and the servants left the room.
“No,” continued he, “I see but one hope for the French aristocracy, but one plank of salvation, one good little law, establishing the right of primogeniture.”
“You will never obtain it.”
“You think not? Would you then oppose such a measure, viscount?”
Albert knew by experience what dangerous ground his father was approaching, and remained silent.
“Let us put it, then, that I dream of the impossible!” resumed the count. “Then let the nobles do their duty. Let all the younger sons and the daughters of our great families forego their rights, by giving up the entire patrimony to the first-born for five generations, contenting themselves each with a couple of thousand francs a year. By that means great fortunes can be reconstructed, and families, instead of being divided by a variety of interests, become united by one common desire.”
“Unfortunately,” objected the viscount, “the time is not favorable to such devotedness.”
“I know it, sir,” replied the count quickly; “and in my own house I have the proof of it. I, your father, have conjured you to give up all idea of marrying the granddaughter of that old fool, the Marchioness d’Arlange. And all to no purpose; for I have at last been obliged to yield to your wishes.”
“Father—” Albert commenced.