François pressed his hand affectionately. Left alone he felt despairing. The futility of the precautions he had taken, the inanity of all reasoning, of all logic, plunged him into the scepticism he had been combatting for so many years.
Maurice found his cousin talking to Albert, the Marquis of Montagnac, and Genevieve.
"Your father is feeling a little indisposed and is going to bed. Would not you like to say good-night to him?"
Esperance rose immediately. Albert wanted to go with her, but Maurice held him back, and began asking under what conditions he proposed to play the duet with Esperance next day.
"It is all one to me," replied the Count wearily. "I am in a hurry to get away from here. I find myself too much disturbed by my nerves, and you know, cousin, how unusual it is for me to be nervous."
At this term of family familiarity, Maurice shivered. He thought of the interview now taking place in his uncle's room. Genevieve joined them and they strolled up and down, but Albert made them return continually near the tower.
When Esperance opened the door of the little salon where her father was waiting, she saw him in such an attitude of distress that she threw herself at his knees.
"Father, darling father, I ask your pardon. I am ruining your life just as you begin to reap the harvest of so many noble efforts. You have been so good to me," she sobbed, "and I must seem to you so ungrateful. Do not suffer so, I beg you. Take me away with you, let us go and I will do my best to forget; let us go!"
"But," said the Professor, hesitatingly, "Albert would follow."
The girl rose.