d and elegant godson of his, noted the quiet richness of his
apparel, the paste buckles and red heels to his shoes, the sword hilted
in mother-o'-pearl and silver, and the carefully dressed hair that he
had always seen hanging in wisps about his face. "At least you do not
look destitute now," he sneered.

"I am not. I have prospered since. In that, monsieur, I differ from the
ordinary prodigal, who returns only when he needs assistance. I return
solely because I love you, monsieur--to tell you so. I have come at the
very first moment after hearing of your presence here." He advanced.
"Monsieur my godfather!" he said, and held out his hand.

But M. de Kercadiou remained unbending, wrapped in his cold dignity and
resentment.

"Whatever tribulations you may have suffered or consider that you may
have suffered, they are far less than your disgraceful conduct deserved,
and I observe that they have nothing abated your impudence. You think
that you have but to come here and say, 'Monsieur my godfather!' and
everything is to be forgiven and forgotten. That is your error. You have
committed too great a wrong; you have offended against everything by
which I hold, and against myself personally, by your betrayal of my
trust in you. You are one of those unspeakable scoundrels who are
responsible for this revolution."

"Alas, monsieur, I see that you share the common delusion. These
unspeakable scoundrels but demanded a constitution, as was promised them
from the throne. They were not to know that the promise was insincere,
or that its fulfilment would be baulked by the privileged orders. The
men who have precipitated this revolution, monsieur, are the nobles and
the prelates."

"You dare--and at such a time as this--stand there and tell me such
abominable lies! You dare to say that the nobles have made the
revolution, when scores of them, following the example of M. le Duc
d'Aiguillon, have flung their privileges, even their title-deeds, into
the lap of the people! Or perhaps you deny it?"

"Oh, no. Having wantonly set fire to their house, they now try to put
it out by throwing water on it; and where they fail they put the entire
blame on the flames."

"I see that you have come here to talk politics."

"Far from it. I have come, if possible, to explain myself. To understand
is always to forgive. That is a great saying of Montaigne's. If I could
make you understand..."

"You can't. You'll never make me understand how you c