And Edouard was already rushing toward the house, pistol in hand, when Alfred, rousing himself from the stupor which had taken possession of him, hurried after him, grasped his arm and held him back, crying:
"Edouard, do not think of fighting that man, I implore you! it cannot be!"
"What! not think of revenging myself? Did you come with me for the purpose of talking to me like this? Let me go!"
"No, I entreat you! in the name of our friendship, put down those weapons, which horrify me!"
"What is the meaning of the interest which that man arouses in you? Ah! for my part, I feel that I detest him, that I abhor him! and in his blood——"
"Wretched man, what are you saying?—It is my father!"
"Your father!" cried Edouard, upon whom those words produced the effect of a thunderbolt; while the vagabond, a short distance away, repeated in a hollow voice, "his father"; then strode rapidly away, and disappeared under the trees.
After a silence of several moments, Edouard, who seemed not to recover his wits until then, handed the pistols to Alfred, saying:
"Here, take them, take these weapons away from me! You are right, I cannot fight with him!"
Leaving Edouard no time to change his mind, Alfred took his arm and led him hurriedly away from the White House.