“Who? Yourself, viscount?”
“Yourself, sir. The day when he wishes it, you will betray us. Suppose you were summoned before a tribunal, and that there, under oath, you should be required to speak the truth, what answer would you make?”
M. de Commarin’s face darkened at this very natural supposition. He hesitated, he whose honour was usually so great.
“I would save the name of my ancestors,” he said at last.
Albert shook his head doubtfully. “At the price of a lie, my father,” he said. “I never will believe it. But let us suppose even that. He will then call Madame Gerdy.”
“Oh, I will answer for her!” cried the count, “her interests are the same as ours. If necessary, I will see her. Yes,” he added with an effort, “I will call on her, I will speak to her; and I will guarantee that she will not betray us.”
“And Claudine,” continued the young man; “will she be silent, too?”
“For money, yes; and I will give her whatever she asks.”
“And you would trust, father, to a paid silence, as if one could ever be sure of a purchased conscience? What is sold to you may be sold to another. A certain sum may close her mouth; a larger will open it.”
“I will frighten her.”