“I am quite sure of it. Your invitation was rather discouraging, and your welcome hardly hospitable. But, uncle, you must have a very short memory if you think me avaricious enough to have come here merely for your money. I see you are no longer the same—your letters indeed made me fear that—and yet it utterly bewilders me that you should have thought of this clumsy subterfuge intended to drive me away. For during these fifteen years I have not changed. I have never ceased venerating you with my whole heart, and have deserved better at your hands than those icy epistles and, above all, better than this insult.”
“There, there! Gently!” said Lerne, much annoyed.
“Moreover, if you want me to go, just say the word and I’m off. You are no uncle of mine now.”
“Don’t talk such blasphemous nonsense, Nicolas.” He said that in a tone of such alarm that I tried intimidation.
“And I shall inform against you, uncle, you and your acolytes and your mysteries.”
“You are mad, you are mad. Hold your tongue. There’s an idea for you!”
Lerne began to laugh loudly, but I don’t know why, his eyes frightened me, and I regretted my phrase.
He went on.
“Look here, Nicolas, don’t get excited! You are a good fellow. Give me your hand. You shall always find in me your old uncle who loves you. Listen, it’s not true; no, I am not ruined, and my heir will certainly get something—if he acts as I desire. But, as a matter of fact, I think he would do better not to stay here.... There’s nothing here to amuse a man of your age, Nicolas; personally I am busy all day long.”
The Professor might talk as he liked now. Hypocrisy showed itself in every word; he was nothing but a contemptible Tartuffe; he was fair game. I determined not to leave till I had completely satisfied my curiosity. So, interrupting him, I said in a tone of deep dejection: