Albert bowed respectfully, but without lowering his eyes and walked slowly to the door. He had already opened it, when M. de Commarin experienced one of those revulsions of feeling, so frequent in violent natures.
“Albert,” said he, “come here and listen to me.”
The young man turned back, much affected by this change.
“Do not go,” continued the count, “until I have told you what I think. You are worthy of being the heir of a great house, sir. I may be angry with you; but I can never lose my esteem for you. You are a noble man, Albert. Give me your hand.”
It was a happy moment for these two men, and such a one as they had scarcely ever experienced in their lives, restrained as they had been by cold etiquette. The count felt proud of his son, and recognised in him himself at that age. For a long time their hands remained clasped, without either being able to utter a word.
At last, M. de Commarin resumed his seat.
“I must ask you to leave me, Albert,” he said kindly. “I must be alone to reflect, to try and accustom myself to this terrible blow.”
And, as the young man closed the door, he added, as if giving vent to his inmost thoughts, “If he, in whom I have placed all my hope, deserts me, what will become of me? And what will the other one be like?”
Albert’s features, when he left the count’s study, bore traces of the violent emotions he had felt during the interview. The servants whom he met noticed it the more, as they had heard something of the quarrel.
“Well,” said an old footman who had been in the family thirty years, “the count has had another unhappy scene with his son. The old fellow has been in a dreadful passion.”