The deep sadness of the elder man swept aside Pierre's rising indignation. He looked very old now, huddled in the great chair, his hands spread, palm outward, to the blaze.
Pierre threw himself on an ottoman near. "Pardon my boorishness. I will listen, Monsieur, though your words be fangs. You are my mother's valued friend, and for that alone I should owe you reverence. Speak what you will."
At the re-mention of the word "mother," the same curious look flickered in Ronsard's eyes. He drew a sigh, gathered himself into a more upright posture, and asked of Pierre, in judicial tones, "Let me inquire, Monsieur, whether you and Mademoiselle Onda, or your friends the Todds, have thought out any logical conclusion, should the family of Onda determine that you are to be definitely repulsed?"
Pierre dropped his head to his hands. "No, we can think of nothing,—except elopement, and that, now, is impossible."
"Have you thought for her of a possible forced marriage?"
"To a Japanese? Yes, my God, when have I not thought it! No, Monsieur, I do not think it—I will not; she would accept death sooner than break her troth to me. I have her word, her broken hairpin—"
"A menacing implement—" interpolated Ronsard.
"Can you think it possible, your Excellency?"
"What, the forced marriage?" Ronsard broke off, looked at Pierre, and then, as if in compassion, removed his gaze.
"Make it not unendurable," muttered Pierre, through whitening lips.