"Because, father," the young man said, firmly, "tomorrow I shall have left this house never to reenter it."
The Marquis gave him a thundering look from under his grey eyelashes.
"Ah, ah!" he exclaimed, "Then I was not deceived; what I have been told is really true."
"What have you been told?"
"Do you wish to know?" the old gentleman exclaimed, furiously. "After all, you are right; it is time that this pitiable farce should end."
"Sir,—sir!" the Marchioness said, with deep grief, "remember that he is your son—your firstborn!"
"Silence, madam!" the old man said, harshly; "This rebellious son has played with us long enough; the hour of punishment has pealed, and, by Heaven! It shall be terrible and exemplary."
"In God's name, sir," the Marchioness continued, "do not be inexorable to your child. Let me speak to him; perhaps you are too harsh with him, although you love him. I am his mother; I will convince him, and induce him to carry out your wishes: a mother can find words in her heart to soften her son, and make him understand that he ought not to reject his father's orders."
The old man seemed to hesitate for a moment, but immediately recovered.
"Why should I consent to what you ask, madam?" he replied, with a roughness mingled with pity; "Do you not know that the sole quality, or rather the sole vice, of his race which this rebellious son has retained is obstinacy? You will get nothing from him."