Under any other circumstances, Emile would have postponed his departure in order to prove, or at least to make him believe that the rebuke was not merited; but he was beginning to understand that it was his father's tactics to rally him when he wished to make him talk; and as he felt invincibly drawn toward Châteaubrun he determined not to allow himself to be trapped.
Although nothing in the world stung him more keenly than the ridicule of those whom he loved, he made an effort to seem to take it in good part.
"I anticipate so much pleasure at Monsieur de Boisguilbault's," he said, "that I propose to go there by the longest road, and my détour will probably extend to five or six leagues, unless you need me, father, in which case I will gladly sacrifice to you the delights of a ride in the hot sun over perpendicular roads."
But Monsieur Cardonnet was not deceived by his stratagem and replied with a clear and penetrating glance:
"Go where the devil of youth drives you! I am not disturbed about you, for a very good reason."
"Very good," said Emile to himself as he galloped away, "if you're not disturbed about me, I won't disturb myself about your threats."
And, feeling the fire of anger blazing in his breast, in spite of his efforts, he indulged in a long, hard run to calm himself.
"O God," he said after some time, "forgive me for these angry outbreaks, which I cannot repress. Thou knowest that my heart is full of love, and that it asks nothing better than to respect and venerate my father, who makes it his business to stifle all its impulses and to freeze all its affections."
Whether from hesitation or from prudence, he made a long detour before he turned his horse's head in the direction of Châteaubrun; and when, from the crest of a hill, he saw that he was a long distance from the ruins, which stood out against the sky on the horizon, he so bitterly regretted the time he had wasted that he drove the spurs into his horse's sides in order to arrive there more quickly.
He did in fact arrive there from the valley of the Creuse in less than half an hour, almost as rapidly as a bird on the wing, having endangered his life a hundred times leaping ditches and galloping on the brink of precipices. A violent longing, which he did not choose to analyze, gave him wings.