Madama was for a moment disconcerted. The old professor with whom her son had for two years been studying oriental languages was a man of note among the learned. He had exercised a beneficial influence over the mind of Don Claudio; and for a while she had been glad that an enthusiasm for study should counteract the natural downward tendency of a life full of worldly prosperity and its attendant temptations. Only of late had she become aware of any danger in this intimacy.
“Dying!” she echoed. “I did not know that he was ill.” She hesitated a moment, then bitterness prevailed.
“Of course his granddaughter has need of consolation,” she added with a sneer.
“I have not seen her to-day,” Don Claudio said, controlling himself. Then, with a sudden outburst, “I would gladly console her!” he exclaimed, and looked at his mother defiantly.
His defiance of her was like the flash of a wax taper on steel. Madama leaned forward and raised a warning finger.
“You will leave her to be consoled by her equals,” she said. “And when her grandfather is dead, you will see her no more. Woe to her if you disobey me!”
The young man shrugged his shoulders to hide a tremor.
“Woe to her!” repeated his mother, marking the tremor.
Don Claudio remained silent.
“Has she succeeded in compromising you?” Madama asked.