“That was the explanation of your conduct?”
“Yes, that was my reason for giving up public life, ambitious as I was. That was the reason why I withdrew from the world; for I thought everybody smiled as I passed. That is why I gave up to you the management of our house and the education of your son, why I became a passionate collector, a half-mad original. And you find out only to-day that you have ruined my life?”
There was more compassion than resentment in the manner in which the marchioness looked at her husband.
“You had mentioned to me your unjust suspicions,” she replied; “but I felt strong in my innocence, and I was in hope that time and my conduct would efface them.”
“Faith once lost never comes back again.”
“The fearful idea that you could doubt of your paternity had never even occurred to me.”
The marquis shook his head.
“Still it was so,” he replied. “I have suffered terribly. I loved Jacques. Yes, in spite of all, in spite of myself, I loved him. Had he not all the qualities which are the pride and the joy of a family? Was he not generous and noble-hearted, open to all lofty sentiments, affectionate, and always anxious to please me? I never had to complain of him. And even lately, during this abominable war, has he not again shown his courage, and valiantly earned the cross which they gave him? At all times, and from all sides, I have been congratulated on his account. They praised his talents and his assiduity. Alas! at the very moment when they told me what a happy father I was, I was the most wretched of men. How many times would I have drawn him to my heart! But immediately that terrible doubt rose within me, if he should not be my son; and I pushed him back, and looked in his features for a trace of another man’s features.”
His wrath had cooled down, perhaps by its very excess.
He felt a certain tenderness in his heart, and sinking into his chair, and hiding his face in his hands, he murmured,—