"Your mind is made up—you refuse to tell me anything more?"
"Because I have nothing more to tell you."
"Very good! now mark well what I say to you: I shall seek for that child, and if I succeed in finding him, I shall teach him to hate and despise the woman who has tried to deprive him of his father's affection! You seem to defy me. You make a great mistake; for I am your enemy now, and I shall act accordingly whenever I find an opportunity. I had forgiven your inconstancy, your conduct, which has been decidedly scandalous at times. One may be vicious without being really wicked; but now I see that everything about you is perverse—mind as well as heart. Your nature is complete!"
"It seems that yours consists now in making impertinent remarks; but I care little for them."
"Beware if you find me in your path! and as for that unhappy child, if I succeed in finding him, rest assured that, though you are in the midst of the most brilliant festivity, be it ball or reception, he will appear and present his respects to you. Adieu!"
Beauregard abruptly left the room after these last words, and Thélénie, who had turned pale at his concluding threat, soon recovered herself.
"Do what you please," she muttered, "you won't find your son! that would require a combination of chances,—so extraordinary—no, it is impossible! So I will simply forget Monsieur Beauregard, who will leave me in peace hereafter, I trust. The idea of that man—a ne'er-do-well, a confirmed rake, a man who believes in nothing and has passed his life making fun of everything—taking it into his head to feel a father's love for a little boy that he never saw, that he doesn't know! It is amusing, on my word!—I am very glad to avenge myself on this Beauregard; he was the cause of my missing a fine fortune; for Duronceray would have married me, I am sure; he loved me so passionately. Oh! I made a great fool of myself!—But I must forget the past and think only of this new and brilliant position which is offered me."
Thélénie recalled Mademoiselle Héloïse, who, in accordance with her habit, had not failed to listen at the door; that fact, however, did not prevent her from asking:
"What did that big bouncer, with his pretentious air, want of you? He always looks as if he were going to laugh in your face. I knew him by his yellow skin; he's the fellow who stalked into our box at the Opéra ball."
"Yes, that's the man."