have written it large, Monsieur, that I am only
your poor bastard. How Paris will laugh!" He gazed around, dimly noting
the havoc. He rose, the sword still in his grasp. "What! the marquis so
many times a father, to die without legal issue?"

The marquis raised his cane to strike, so great was his passion and
chagrin; but palsy seized his arm.

"Drunken fool!" he roared; "be bastard, then; play drunken fool to the
end!"

"Who was my mother?"

"Find that out yourself, drunkard! Never from me shall you know!"

"It is just as well." The Chevalier took from his pocket his purse. He
cast it contemptuously at his father's feet.

"The last of the gold you gave me. Now, Monsieur, listen. I shall never
again cross the threshold of any house of yours; never again shall I look
upon your face, nor hear with patience your name spoken. In spite of all
you have done, I shall yet become a man. Somewhere I shall begin anew.
I shall find a level, and from that I shall rise. And I shall become
what you will never become, respected." He picked up his cloak and hat.
He looked steadily into his father's eyes, then swung on his heels,
passed through the salon, thence to the street.

"Paul?" said Victor.

"Is that you, Victor?" quietly.

"Yes, Paul." Victor gently replaced the Chevalier's sword into its
scabbard, and locking his arm in his friend's, the two walked in silence
toward the Corne d'Abondance.

And the marquis? Ah, God--the God he did not believe in!--only God could
analyse his thoughts.

"Fool!" he cried, seeing himself alone and the gift of prescience
foretelling that he was to be henceforth and forever alone,--"senile
fool! Dotard!" He beat about with his cane even as the Chevalier had
beaten about with his sword. "Double fool! to lose him for the sake of a
lie, a damnable lie, and the lack of courage to own to it!" A Venetian
mirror caught his attention. He stood before it, and seeing his
reflection he beat the glass into a thousand fragments.

Jehan appeared, white and trembling, carrying his master's candlestick.

"Ah!" cried the marquis. "'Tis you. Jehan, call your master a fool."

"I, Monsieur?" Jehan retreated.

"Aye; or I promise to beat your worthless body within an inch of death.
Call me a fool, whose wrath, over-leaped his prudence and sense of truth
and honor. Call me a fool."

"Oh!"

"Quickly!" The cane rose.

"God forgive me this disrespect! . . . Monsieur, you are a f