"No, monsieur! your dress is a matter of great consequence, in very truth! By Saint Jacques! what matters it to me whether your doublet is more or less fresh? It is not the dust with which your clothes are covered that will mar your escutcheon, but your disgraceful conduct! That it is which sullies the honor of your name much more than the storm has injured your cloak! Be seated—I insist!"
Léodgard restrained with difficulty an impatient outburst; but he threw himself on a chair, and his father continued:
"I have remonstrated with you several times, monsieur, concerning your dissolute conduct; you have not listened to me, you have despised your father's judicious counsel. To-day, when your misconduct has gone beyond all bounds, when your evil deeds—for they are no longer the escapades of a young man, but evil deeds, of which you are guilty——"
"Father——"
"Do not interrupt me!—To-day, when your evil deeds recognize no restraint, I no longer advise, I command you; and you will respect my commands, or this lettre de cachet will deal with you for me.—Look, monsieur; you know that I do not indulge in empty threats; here is your passport to the Bastille, sent me by Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu, who also is aware of all your misconduct and has given me permission to make use of this whenever I may think best, leaving in my hands the punishment of him who bears my name."
Léodgard could not help shuddering inwardly when he saw the lettre de cachet which his father took from his desk, and he faltered in a tremulous voice:
"What have I done—what more than many young gentlemen of my age, to deserve to be treated so harshly?"
"Ah! you ask what you have done? That, I presume, is because you hope that I know only a part of it. Unhappily, monsieur, your conduct is too notorious, your vices make too much noise in the world; you are cited too often by all the wellborn debauchees, for the echo not to reach your father's ears. Stealing wives from their husbands, young girls from their parents, passing the night in wine shops and gambling hells, fighting with the king's archers, with the watch, with citizens, incurring debts and not paying them, breaking shop windows and offering no other compensation than a sword thrust, binding yourself to Jews and usurers, thrashing your creditors when they presume to demand what you owe them, what they have been waiting for so long—such are your noble exploits, monsieur! a descendant of the Marvejols does not blush to conduct himself thus!—And yet, cast your eyes about you, look at these portraits which surround you, your ancestors who have left you a glorious name—are not you of their blood, you, who debase it? Ah! if they could come forth from their tombs,—and your excellent mother, who was so proud to have brought forth a descendant of our line,—it would be to crush you with their wrath!"
"Monsieur le marquis, allow me to say a word in my own defence.—My faults have been exaggerated. I have committed some faults, I admit; but they are not so serious as you seem to think."
"And your debts—will you say that they are a mere trifle? You owe five thousand pistoles at this moment, monsieur."