"Mademoiselle," I went on, "will even be interested. I have wanted to speak to you so that I might explain myself. Since I have been here I fear I have been impulsive. You must lay it to my youth, father."
He nodded a grave assent.
"You must not apologize. It has been quite refreshing."
"And yet I am not so young. I am twenty-three."
"Can it be possible?" exclaimed my father. "I had almost forgotten that
I was so near the grave."
"I came to see you here," I continued, "because, as my uncle said, you are my father. I came here because—because I thought—" I paused and drew a deep breath, and my father smiled.
"Why I came is aside from the point, at any rate," I said.
"Indeed yes," agreed my father, "and have we not been over the matter before?"
"If you had accorded me one serious word, it might have been different," I continued; "but instead, sir, you have seen fit to jest. It is not what you have done this morning, sir, as much as your manner towards me, which makes me take this step. That you have brought a lady from France and robbed her, that you have robbed my uncle, and have threatened to fire on the town—somehow they seem no particular affair of mine except for this: You seem to think that I am incapable of doing anything to hinder you, and frankly, sir, this hurts my pride. You feel that I am going to sit by passively and watch you."
I came a step nearer, but he did not draw back. He only continued watching me with a patient intentness, which seemed gradually to merge into some more active interest. His interest deepened when I spoke again, but that was all.