“He’s expected back to-morrow. Besides, I warned him about this before he went.”
At this news, Maurice, who had been waiting for the excuse, grew refractory.
“You warned him without saying anything to me about it? I shall never be anything but a little boy here, then. I am disposed of as if I were an object. But I don’t see why my independence must be sacrificed. I am free, and I expect at least to be consulted, even if I can’t have my own way.”
In the face of this revolt, which he had expected, and of which he guessed the secret cause, Mr. Roquevillard preserved his calm, despite the disrespectful tone the conversation was taking on. He knew that thoroughbreds were the most difficult steeds to manage, as the most tempered characters required the most skilful handling.
“Little boy or big boy, you are my son,” he said simply, “and I shall help you in the arrangements for your future.”
But the young man pitched squarely upon the difficulty which both of them until then had kept in the background.
“What’s the use in dissimulation? I know perfectly well why you are taking me away from Frasne’s office.”
His father’s presence of mind nearly warded off the blow:
“Will things be so bad for you, then, in my study, and can you so lightly disdain my guidance? Will your independence be in danger because you benefit by my professional experience, my forty years at the bar? I don’t understand you.”
Seeing his son begin to give way, he thought to complete his victory by a little tenderness.