"No, father, dear."
"Then it was on my account, and to facilitate my admittance to the
Academy, that you wrote?"
"Oh! no," replied Esperance quickly, "I would not do you that injustice, knowing how much you love me, and knowing the purity of your heart, the nobility of your ambition. I am sacrificing what I believe, perhaps wrongly, to be my happiness, to the demands of a misunderstanding world. I knew, when I read that letter, that I had no right to drag a man of your merit, my dear mother, and all the family, into the troubles of a life in which they have no real interest. I did not want you to have the sympathy of the world. Sympathy is too often akin to scorn!"
François would have spoken, but Esperance interrupted him.
"Oh! father darling. You are so good. Don't torment me further, send the letter. I am still so new to this role. I need your sincere, your constant help."
Just then Marguerite came in and handed the philosopher a letter, bearing an armorial seal, which had just come from Palais. He quickly opened it, seemed surprised and passed it to his daughter.
"What! The Duchess de Castel-Montjoie is at Palais," she said. Then she read: "My dear Philosopher, the Princess and I will come, if agreeable to you, after five. I name this hour because the Princess's yacht has to leave to take up friends who are waiting for us at Brehat."
"What time is it?" said Esperance, turning round.
The professor consulted his watch.
"Twenty minutes past three. Quick, Marguerite, tell the men to harness the victoria with the two horses at once."