"At least Clotilde's twenty-five thousand francs are still in my pocket, and if nothing is revealed, that is a comfort. But how she treated me! But what can my father have to say to the man Petit-Jean?"
The noise of a door being double-locked made the vicomte start. His father returned to the room. His pallor had even increased.
"I fancied, father, I heard you lock the door of my cabinet?"
"Yes, I did."
"And why, my dear father?" asked Florestan, greatly amazed.
And the comte placed himself so that his son could not pass out by the secret staircase which led to the ground floor.
Florestan, greatly disquieted, now observed the sinister look of his father, and followed all his movements with mistrust. Without being able to account for it, he felt a vague alarm.
"What ails you, father?"
"This morning when you saw me, your only thought was, 'My father will not allow his name to be dishonoured; he will pay if I can but contrive to wheedle him by some feigned words of repentance.'"