CHAP. IV.
Morning reported all that had passed at the table of the Cardinal. What happened in the hall, was slightly mentioned; for little of that had been generally heard; but an account was circulated, that notwithstanding the good offices of Giovenozzo had produced a shew of reconciliation, some serious consequences might be anticipated.
When Ripperda entered to his son the next day, he perceived by his pallid hue and averted eyes, that he had heard something of the affray. Without preface, he abruptly asked, what had been told him of the Duke of Wharton's behaviour the preceding night. The informant of Louis had shaped the story under a flattering veil for his father; and the anxious son had heard nothing but of the insolence and scoffing speeches of the English Duke; and of the dignified forbearance of Ripperda.
The blood that accused his friend in his heart, rushed to his face, when he repeated what had been told him.
"And how," demanded Ripperda, "do you mean to act towards the man who could so taunt, deride, and insult your father?"
"Though he twice preserved my life," returned Louis, "he has now wounded me in a more vital part; and I shall ever after regard him as a stranger."
Ripperda shook his head, and laid his hand on his son's arm. "And what would be your decision, were I to reverse the charge?"
Louis looked on the flushed countenance of his father.
"Man is fallible, Louis!" cried he, "and, after thirty years of undeviating self-control——" Ripperda broke off, in the acknowledgements he believed it magnanimous to make, and in the bitterness of his mortification thrusting his son from him, he exclaimed,—"How must I hate the man who burst my fettered passions, and, for one desperate moment, made me their victim, and his sport!"