"You have said it, count: it was for that purpose that I came to this festivity. I was anxious to see you; I had been to your house several times in vain; I thought that I should be more fortunate here."
"If that is so, I regret that you have taken so much trouble. You would have done better not to mix with a company of courtesans and rakes. Frankly, it is not becoming in a man who has renounced Satan."
"Is this the only reply that I can obtain from you, count? Will you not go once at least to see and embrace your daughter? Ah! if you had seen her! if her eyes had rested on yours! if her soft little voice had fallen on your ears! You would agree that all that I have said is far below the truth."
"Chevalier, do not recur to this subject. It is useless for you to attempt to lead me back to a person—whom I do not choose to see. For I understand that the little girl is only a pretext; you talk to me of the child, in order to reconcile me with the mother."
"And if that were true, count? The time is not so far away when I met you one night keeping watch under her windows. Oh! then she was an angel, you adored her, you could not live without her! and to-day——"
"Enough, Jarnonville, enough!"
Léodgard raised his voice as he uttered these last words in an angry tone; and several of the guests, who happened to be walking in that part of the garden, hurried to the spot, thinking that a quarrel was on.
"What is it, messieurs, what's the matter?" asked the Baron de Montrevert, who was one of the first to arrive. "Are you at odds here? What! two excellent friends—Léodgard and the Sire de Jarnonville!"
"No matter!" cried Sénange; "if you need seconds, here we are!"
"But first you must tell us the cause of your falling-out."