"She has forgotten that I am your father," retorted the irascible marquis. But he had not lied when, a few moments earlier, he had uttered with a sympathetic accent the word "chevalier." The legendary meaning of that venerable word, profaned by the most unwarranted usage, was still to him a living truth. That the young man should make that appeal to him was sufficient to induce him to interrupt his indictment of one who was absent. He reseated himself, and with his elbows on the table, and his head in his hands, he continued after a pause, in a tone in which wrath had given place to sadness:—
"Then you will send me a respectful summons,[5] I suppose?"
"I shall have to," replied Landri, "if you do not give your consent."
He realized that he was lost if he yielded to the emotion with which that plaint, so affectionate in its manly simplicity, had filled his heart anew. This constant laying bare to the quick of his sensitive nature by that man's mere presence proved to him once more how necessary it was that he should muster energy to complete the rupture. He loved him, he revered him too deeply to be able to live in falsehood with him.
"My consent?" echoed the marquis, and his anger flared up once more. "Never! No, never! This is no mere caprice, as you must know. It concerns the thing that has been the mainspring of my whole existence. As for the authority in the name of which I forbid—you understand, I forbid—this marriage, you can defy it and violate it. The shocking laws of the present day allow you to do so; but if you dare, you will do a worse thing than if you had broken in the door of Hugueville church the other day. You will insult your father.—I prefer to believe," he continued, after another silence, during which he had visibly striven to control himself, "I prefer to believe that you will reflect. You hesitated at Hugueville, and then the Claviers blood won the day over the poison of modern ideas with which I cannot see how you have become infected. This marriage out of your class is another case of revolt against prejudices. If our ancestors had not had them, these prejudices, for well-nigh eight hundred years, you and I would not be Claviers-Grandchamps. If you choose, from weakness, from aberration of mind, to cease to behave like one of them, an infamous code forbids me to prevent you, but know this, that I shall die of despair!—Nothing! he cares nothing for that!" he continued, rising and pacing the floor. "He does not answer!—When I see you thus, speechless, obstinate, insensible to my suffering, I do not believe my eyes. But answer me, pray! Speak to me! Ask me for further time, at least, so that I may not go away upon those horrible words, that threat against your father. For you did threaten me. You said: 'I shall have to! I shall have to!'—Come, Landri, say that you will regret those words, say that I have moved you."
"You tear my heart," the young man replied. "But I have given my word. I shall keep it. I shall marry Madame Olier."
"And I," exclaimed M. de Claviers, exasperated to the highest pitch by this renewed resistance, "I give you my word that if you do, I will never see you again.—Enough of this!" he continued in an imperious tone. "For an hour past I have shown you all the affection, all the love that I have in my heart for you, and all my grief as well, and you defy me. God knows that I did not come here with the idea of speaking to you as I am going to do. But you shall not defy the paternal majesty with impunity!" And it was true that at that moment majesty did emanate from him,—the majesty of the fathers of an earlier time who, as private dispensers of justice, condemned their sons to imprisonment, and sometimes to the galleys.[6] "You will ask my pardon, you understand, for what you have presumed to say to me, or I will never see you again. And to prove that this sentence of separation between us, if you do not obey, is final on my part, I shall begin as soon as I reach Paris, to-morrow morning, to segregate our property. We have been engaged of late, Métivier and I, in adjusting my affairs which Chaffin's improvidence had allowed to fall into an unfortunate condition. I shall take advantage of the opportunity to surrender to you your power of attorney and all your property. I will spare you the necessity of demanding them."
"I?" cried Landri. "You cannot believe—"
The names of Chaffin and Métivier had suddenly reminded him of the financial catastrophe the imminence of which had so alarmed him. He had asked the notary to say nothing, and he was quite sure that his correspondence with him was unknown to the marquis. So that he could not have interpreted it as a step suggested by Valentine to obtain possession of his fortune. But what if Métivier had been lacking in professional discretion? What if that last little sentence signified such a suspicion?
"I believe nothing," rejoined M. de Claviers, "except that on certain roads one does not stop."—Then, to prove that he proposed to be just, even in the execution of his sentence upon his rebellious son: "But as you haven't yet reached that point, and as you may still have some scruples, considering that I spoke to you about my burdens,—let me tell you that my difficulties are all at an end, thanks to the devotion of a friend. Charles Jaubourg had none but distant relations, of whom he had reason to complain. He has left me his whole fortune by his will. I came to tell you this news also," he added with a sigh, "and to read you the provisions of the will. Nothing could be more lofty in sentiment, more delicately expressed. I have accepted the legacy, in the first place, because it's absolutely honest money: Charles's father was probity itself; secondly, because I do not injure any one—his cousins are all rich and he never saw them; and finally because I loved him as much as he loved me. One can count the attachments in life that do not deceive one.—However I need not tell you that, without this legacy, your fortune was intact. I will order Métivier to communicate with you about the settlement. As for me, when the day comes that you desire to recover a father, you know the conditions.—Adieu."