"Ah no! I am sure you would not! Poor dear little Rose, God bless her," cried the commander, "she deserves all tenderness. But if you did what they want, you would mar her happiness too, boy. Now let me hear what they sought of you. Then I will tell my tale."
De Montigni recapitulated, as well as he could, all that had passed between himself, his uncle, and the priest. He knew he could trust to those with whom he spoke; and he strove to give the words that had been uttered as nearly as possible without change. He might indeed add a running commentary of his own conclusions, but he falsified nothing, he exaggerated nothing. As he proceeded, his good uncle leaned his chin upon his stick, and listened without replying a word, though once or twice he struck the point of the staff sharply on the floor.
Old Estoc, however, was not so patient or so taciturn; for more than once, he uttered a quick oath, and murmured from time to time "Pardie!--Morbleu!--Coquin!" in tones which showed that he was not at all edified with the reported discourse of Monsieur de la Tremblade.
But when the young nobleman had done all, the good commander's smothered fire broke forth in a blaze, "Curses upon them forever!" he exclaimed; "now they wonder there are Huguenots, and yet to see a Catholic priest playing knave and hypocrite in this way is enough to make any honest man turn Turk! I am ashamed of my brother, Louis, I am ashamed of my family, but I am still more ashamed of my religion. It's not honest, my boy! It's not honest, if it suffers its clergy to go playing such a double game, telling what suits them, and keeping back what does not suit them to speak. Now you shall hear the plain truth. You are heir of Liancourt, pure and undoubted. It was settled so long since, and nothing but your own act can deprive you of the lands."
"I suspected that such was the case," replied the young nobleman, "as soon as I saw such anxiety to induce me to sign papers in haste, and without explanation."
"Suspected!" cried the old commander. "Why you should have known it long ago, if there had been honest men amongst us. I made my renunciation in poor Louise's favour--my sister--your mother, boy--when she married your good father--God rest his soul--and I took the Order of St. John. You are the heir, then, beyond all doubt; but Jacqueline, your aunt, my sister--she's a devil if ever one was--has never ceased working at my poor weak brother Anthony to deprive you of your right."
"She never loved me, I know," replied De Montigni. "I remember when I was a mere boy--"
"Loved you! that's not the point," exclaimed the commander. "She loves you just as well as anything else that stands in her way. It is that she loves herself, and loves herself in her son--the coxcomb! She has set her mind upon seeing him wealthy and powerful. She always looked upon money as the best of blessings. That is why she married old Chazeul, a man she hated and despised, only that she might be richer than her elder sister; and now this fellow has squandered half his father's estate, she thinks to patch up a greater fortune still by getting for him Marennes and Liancourt. The last she never can get if you are not a fool, Louis, and the first she cannot get without she gets the last."
"This seems to me a riddle, Sir," said De Montigni, thoughtfully. "I understand that this marriage is fully settled, with the consent and approbation of all parties; and surely the hand of Mademoiselle d'Albret, with her hereditary property, must be an object well worth striving for, even in the eyes of one who values wealth so much as my aunt De Chazeul."
"Ay boy! ay!" cried the old commander, "so it would be, if she could get it. But the contract between the good Count de Marennes and your uncle is, that Rose is to marry his nephew, the subsisting heir of Liancourt. No name is mentioned, lest the heir should die in the meantime; but you were then, you are still, the subsisting heir of Liancourt, in virtue of your mother's rights as eldest daughter of my father, and my renunciation in her favour. If you put your hand to that paper you are worse than Esau, for you not only sell your birthright, but your bride, for a mess of pottage."