Antoine was sorely embarrassed to reply, and his anger, which had almost disappeared, reawoke, as always happened when he had no charge to make which would bear the test of common sense.
"Ah! so you don't think you have insulted me?" he said. "Very good, mordi! you shall ask my pardon in so many words if you don't want Julien to have to pay for you."
"Must I ask your pardon on my knees?" queried Julie, with a heartrending attempt at arrogance.
"Suppose that I should demand that?" retorted the old man, dizzy with anger when he felt that he was defied.
"Here I am!" said Madame d'Estrelle, kneeling before him.
That was for her the last station on the road of martyrdom, the apology which the innocent victim was compelled to make, with the rope about the neck and the torch in the hand, before ascending the scaffold. At that moment of sublime self-immolation, her angered heart suddenly overflowed, her face became transfigured, she smiled the ecstatic smile of the saints, and the ineffable beauty of heaven revealed was reflected in her eyes.
Antoine did not understand, but he was dazzled. His anger subsided, not under the influence of emotion, but before a sort of superstitious terror.
"That is all right," he said. "I am satisfied and I forgive Julien. Adieu!"
He turned his back and fled.
Marcel said to Julie a few encouraging words, which she did not hear or did not try to understand; then he ran after Monsieur Antoine.