"She is right," said my father. "It is Ives de Blanzy. I had forgotten you had sent him to the house."
The man Mr. Aiken was holding wrenched himself free, and sprang forward, shaking a fist in my father's face.
"Forgotten!" he shouted. Was it you who sent me here and had me tied in the cellar, and left me chewing at the rope, and set this pirate on me? Mother of God! Captain Shelton! Is this a joke you are playing—"
"Only a very regrettable error," said my father. "A mistake of my son's.
Pray calm yourself, Ives. It is quite all right. My son, this is
Mademoiselle's brother."
"Her brother!" I cried.
"And who the devil did you think I was?" He walked slowly towards me.
"Have you no perceptions?"
He would have continued further, if my father had not laid a hand on his arm.
"Gently, Ives," he said. "You know I would not treat you so. Give him the paper, my son. He is the one who should have it."
I stared at my father in blank astonishment, but before I could speak, he had continued.
"I know what you are thinking. What was the use of all this comedy? Why should I have deceived you? I was only running true to form, my son, which is the only thing left to do when life tastes bitter. Do you not understand? But you do not. Your palate is unused yet to gall and wormwood. Only wait, my son—"