t a fool, he will
understand."

The count rubbed his hands while speaking. He was delighted with this
brilliant plan of negotiation. It could not fail to result favorably. A
crowd of arguments occurred to his mind in support of it. He would buy
back again his lost rest.

But Albert did not seem to share his father's hopes, "You will perhaps
think it unkind in me, sir," said he, sadly, "to dispel this last
illusion of yours; but I must. Do not delude yourself with the idea of
an amicable arrangement; the awakening will only be the more painful.
I have seen M. Gerdy, my father, and he is not one, I assure you, to be
intimidated. If there is an energetic will in the world, it is his.
He is truly your son; and his expression, like yours, shows an iron
resolution, that may be broken but never bent. I can still hear his
voice trembling with resentment, while he spoke to me. I can still see
the dark fire of his eyes. No, he will never accept a compromise. He
will have all or nothing; and I cannot say that he is wrong. If you
resist, he will attack you without the slightest consideration. Strong
in his rights, he will cling to you with stubborn animosity. He will
drag you from court to court; he will not stop short of utter defeat or
complete triumph."

Accustomed to absolute obedience from his son, the old nobleman was
astounded at this unexpected obstinacy.

"What is your object in saying all this?" he asked.

"It is this, sir. I should utterly despise myself, if I did not spare
your old age this greatest of calamities. Your name does not belong to
me; I will take my own. I am your natural son; I will give up my place
to your legitimate son. Permit me to withdraw with at least the honour
of having freely done my duty. Do not force me to wait till I am driven
out in disgrace."

"What!" cried the count, stunned, "you will abandon me? You refuse to
help me, you turn against me, you recognize the rights of this man in
spite of my wishes?"

Albert bowed his head. He was much moved, but still remained firm.

"My resolution is irrevocably taken," he replied. "I can never consent
to despoil your son."

"Cruel, ungrateful boy!" cried M. de Commarin. His wrath was such,
that, when he found he could do nothing by abuse, he passed at once to
jeering. "But no," he continued, "you are great, you are noble, you are
generous; you are acting after the most approved pattern of chivalry,
viscount, I should say, my dear M. Gerdy; aft