"Never, monsieur?" asked Maulear, bowing respectfully before his father. "God himself pardons."
"I am not God, monsieur, and have neither his goodness nor his mercy. Hearken to me, and let none of my words be lost, as they are the last I shall ever speak to you. I have not concealed my principles, which were probably not firm enough in relation to morals and virtue. In these principles the people of the century in which I was born lived. I was, perhaps, badly educated, but so were all nobles then; and if they preserved their loyalty and honor, were faithful to their kings, and died for them,—if they did honor to their family, and fought well, they were forgiven for other faults. Philosophy and the progress of the age have rectified all this: whether they have improved the state of things the future must decide. I am too old to retrace my steps, and have the faults, and perhaps the virtues, of my century. There is one thing true, certain ideas I never will abandon, among which are my opinions about marriage. All this you think behind the spirit of the age, and perhaps ridiculous; but I intend to express myself fully, that you may not expect me ever to alter my opinion about your conduct. For four centuries, monsieur, there has not been a single mesalliance in my family. The Dukes of Salluce, the Princes of Maulear, from whom we are sprung, were never married but with the noblest families of the world—those of France—that is the only safety for me, that was the only marriage for you. I was willing to receive as a daughter-in-law only a French woman, of noble blood—noble as our own. This you say is a prejudice—so it may be, monsieur, but it is a prejudice I will not lay aside. I was never a rigorous father to you, and I contemplated using only one of my paternal rights, that of bringing about a marriage for you to suit myself. You acted for yourself, monsieur, and must continue to do so. Adieu! Henceforth the Marquis de Maulear has no father, and the Prince no son."
The old man arose with cold and haughty dignity, preparing to leave.
"Father, do not leave me thus—for the sake of my mother, whom you loved, pause."
The Prince walked away.
"For the sake of your father, whom you adored!"
The Prince did not pause.
"Well," said the Marquis, in despair, and just then he saw Aminta at the end of the alley, "I prefer to abandon the nobility of the Maulears, which produces such obduracy, for the virtues and talent of a Rovero."
The old man had scarcely heard the last word, than he turned around and said to his son:
"Rovero! did you say Rovero? the minister of Murat?"