"What is it you wish to say?"
"It is a question. Why do you hate Monsieur le Comte, my son?"
"Monsieur le Comte?" with frank irony.
"In all that the name implies. Some man has, over De Leviston's shoulder, called my son a son of … the left hand." The words seemed to skin the marquis's lips.
"And you, Monsieur," banteringly, "did you not make him so?" D'Hérouville began to understand.
"He is my lawful son."
"Ah! then you have gone to Parliament and had him legitimatized? That is royal on your part, believe me."
"The son of my wife, Monsieur."
"Then, what the devil … !"
"And when Monsieur de Leviston accused my son of not knowing who his mother was," continued the old man, coldly and evenly, which signified a deadly wrath, "you laughed."