“Marriage, you mean?” he cried; “you would have me marry Nini Guinon ... you forget that I am a great nobleman!”
Moche corrected: “Lord Ascott, yes; but that’s not you, that is your father.”
“I am his son ...”
“His younger son, sir, which is by no means the same thing. There is nothing should hinder your marrying an honest girl whom you have led astray from the paths of duty.”
Ascott was obviously wavering. “Moche, my good friend, Moche!” he besought the old scamp, “there must be other ways of settling the question; I am rich, I care nothing for the money ...”
“Enough!” Père Moche cut him short peremptorily, “I have told you, sir, what a true-hearted gentleman, what a man of honour, would not for one instant hesitate to do. On the basis of repairing the wrong by marriage, you will find us always ready to listen to you, to facilitate matters; otherwise, it is of no use attempting to see me again”—and the old man marched majestically for the door, leaving Ascott absolutely dumbfounded, the pen trembling between his fingers, his cheque-book lying open before his eyes.
However, before finally going, M. Moche came to a halt on the threshold, and in a ringing voice, threw down a final challenge, a supreme work of menace and defiance:
“We shall meet again, sir ... in the Court of Assize.”
CHAPTER XVII
FANTÔMAS MEETS FANTÔMAS
In the drives of the Parc des Princes, as a rule deserted in the evening, the sombre ways that start from the fortifications and unite Paris with Boulogne-sur-Seine, ways bordered by sumptuous private mansions, elegant villas and blocks of luxurious flats, there was to-night an unaccustomed coming and going of motor-cars, broughams, and even democratic taxis. All these vehicles were making in the same direction; and