The Marquise talked with her husband for a long time. The next thing to do was to make Gudel speak frankly. This he had no hesitation in doing, and he again told the story he had told to the Marquis.
As to Pierre Labarre, of course he could make no further resistance. So long as the Marquis knew that Fanfar was living he had been obliged to be cautious; now no such reason existed.
The dreams of the Marquis were realized—a million for the Jesuits, and the gratification of his ambition and pride.
"Our son will be rich and happy!" said Magdalena, in an ecstasy of joy. "But where is the boy? Write, Marquis, write to him at once. He must be suffering intolerably in this exile you have imposed upon him."
But Fongereues did not heed her words. He was thinking of other things.
"Cyprien has served me well!" he said. "How is it that I have not seen him for two days?"
"I was speaking of our son!" answered Magdalena, angrily. "Do you not think of your son? Do you not love your son?"
The Marquis took her hand. "It is time that we understood each other," he said, sadly. "For twenty years I have lived a melancholy life. I have yielded to your caprices, I have followed your counsel, and to what end? Look at me—my hair is gray, my face is seamed and lined. I have never had one hour of repose. For whom have I carried this burthen? For myself? I despise mankind, I despise power, I despise you, and despise myself. I have but one real passion in life, and that is my love for this wretched boy who bears my name. What have you, his mother, done for him?"
Magdalena turned away from her husband's melancholy eyes.
"Why I love him," continued the Marquis, "I know not, except that criminals love their children as wild beasts their young. You have questioned me, and I have answered you. Are you satisfied?"