"That you would refuse your consent? Yes," said the young man.
"And does Madame Olier know that I refused it?"
"I did not tell her that I had spoken to you of her."
"And she agreed to become engaged to you, without troubling herself about what I would do, your father?"
"She had faith in me," replied Landri.
Could he explain under what conditions of supreme grief, almost of agony, he and Valentine had united their destinies? And yet that M. de Claviers should judge her wrongfully, should take her for an adventuress, was terribly painful to him! He knew his way of thinking. He had still in his ears the words: "She must be very pure, very sensitive. She will never consent to marry you against your father's wish. If her ideas were not exalted to that point, you would not love her."—And he implored:—
"I ask you not to speak of her. As she is mine now, I cannot permit anybody to utter in my presence a word derogatory to her—not even you."
"Begin yourself by not telling me of actions on her part which are not those of the woman that I took her for after your confidences. I say nothing of her. I don't know her. I speak of your conduct toward our family. Will she or will she not be of our family if you marry her? Am I or am I not the head of that family? Have I the right to defend the name of Claviers-Grandchamp?"—He had risen and he bore down upon his son, with folded arms and a rush of blood to his aged face, of that blood whose claims he was asserting—and to whom! "And it is just when I have lost my dearest friend that you have done this to me, when you knew that I should be so stricken with grief!—In Heaven's name, who is this woman, who has so perverted your heart?—But what can she be if not a seeker of titles and wealth, having planned what she has planned in order to force herself upon us, upon me first of all, whether I will or no, by virtue of the accomplished fact?—But no! the fact shall not be accomplished. This marriage shall not take place. I, your father, do not wish it to take place—do you hear, Landri,—I do not wish it."
The young man submitted to this formidable attack without replying. He shuddered when he heard that judgment of Valentine. But M. de Claviers was the only being on earth against whom he could not defend the woman he loved. Whence did he derive the right to raise his voice against him, even if he had the strength? And yet in the attempt to arrest that torrent of indignation, as to which he could not foresee how far it would carry the marquis, in view of his natural violence, he said simply, or, rather, groaned:—
"I shall not defend her against you. Not a word shall come from my mouth that lacks the respect that I owe you. Because of that, remember that she is a woman and that I love her."