The baron staggered.
“Are we quite alone?” asked the younger man.
“Yes.”
“But I think we had better go in, as certain things should not be spoken under the light of heaven.”
Affecting unconcern and even to smile, the baron followed his son into the low sitting room where Philip carefully closed the doors.
“Father, my sister and I are going to take leave of you.”
“What is this?” said the old noble surprised. “How about the army?”
“I am not in the army: happily, the King does not require my services.”
“I do not understand the ‘happily?’”
“I am not driven to the extremity of preferring dishonor to fortune – there you have it.”
“But your sister? does she entertain the same ideas about duty?” asked the baron frowning.
“She has had to rank them beneath those the utmost necessity.”
The baron rose from his chair, grumbling:
“What a foolish pack these riddle-makers are!”
“If what I say is an enigma to you, then I will make it clear. My sister is obliged to go away lest she be dishonored.”
The baron laughed.
“Thunder, what model children I have!” he sneered. “The boy gives up his regiment and the girl a stool-of-state at a princess’s feet, all for fear of dishonor. We are going back to the time of Brutus and Lucretia. In my era, though we had no philosophy, if any one saw dishonor coming, he whipped out his sword and ran the dishonor through the middle. I know it was a sharp method, for a philosopher who does not like to see bloodshed. But, any way, military officers are not cut out for philosophers.”
“I have as much consciousness as you on what honor imposes; but blood will not redeem – ”
“A truce to your pretty phrases of philosophy,” cried the old man; irritated into trying to be majesty. “I came near saying poltroons.”
“You were quite right not to say it,” retorted the young chevalier, quivering.
The baron proudly bore the threatening and implacable glance.
“I thought that a man was born to me in my house,” said he: “a man who would cut out the tongue of the first knave who dared to tell of dishonor to the Taverney Redcastles.”
“Sometimes the shame comes from an inevitable misfortune, sir, and that is the case of my sister and myself.”
“I pass to the lady. If according to my reasoning, a man ought to attack the dagger, the woman should await it with a firm foot. Where would be the triumph of virtue unless it meets and defeats vice? Now, if my daughter is so weak as to feel like running away – ”
“My sister is not weak, but she has fallen victim to a plot of scoundrels who have cowardly schemed to stain unblemished honor. I accuse nobody. The crime was conceived in the dark; let it die in the dark, for I understand in my own way the honor of my house.”
“But how do you know?” asked the baron, his eyes glowing with joy at the hope of securing a fresh hold on the plunder. “In this case, Philip, the glory and honor of our house have not vanished; we triumph.”
“Ugh! you are really the very thing I feared,” said the captain with supreme disgust; “you have betrayed yourself – lacking presence of mind before your judge as righteousness before your son.”
“I have no luck with my children,” said the baron; “a fool and a brute.”
“I have yet to say two things to you. The King gave you a collar of pearls and diamonds – ”
“To your sister.”
“To you. But words matter not. My sister does not wear such jewels. Return them or if you like not to offend his Majesty, keep them.”
He handed the casket to his father who opened it, and threw it on the chiffonier.
“We are not rich since you have pledged or sold the property of our mother – for which I am not blaming you, but so we must choose. If you keep this lodging, we will go to Taverney.”
“Nay, I prefer Taverney,” said the baron, fumbling with his lace ruffles while his lips quivered without Philip appearing to notice the agitation.
“Then we take this house.”
“I will get out at once,” and the baron thought, “down at Taverney I will be a little king with three thousand a-year.”
He picked up the case of jewels and walked to the door, saying with an atrocious smile:
“Philip, I authorise you to dedicate your first philosophical work to me. As for Andrea’s first work, advise her to call it Louis, or Louise, as the case may be. It is a lucky name.”
He went forth, chuckling.
With bloodshot eye, and a brow of fire, Philip clutched his swordhilt, saying:
“God grant me patience and oblivion.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
GILBERT’S PROJECT
FOR a week that Gilbert had been in flight from Trianon, he lived in the woods with no other food than the wild roots, plants and fruit. At the last gasp, he went into town to Rousseau’s house, formerly a sure haven, not to foist himself on his hospitality, but to have temporary rest and nourishment.
It was there that he obtained the address of Baron Balsamo, or rather Count Fenix, and to his mansion he repaired.
As he entered, the proprietor was showing out the Prince of Rohan whom a duty of politeness brought to the generous alchemist. The poor, tattered boy dared not look up for fear of being dazzled.
Balsamo watched the cardinal go off in his carriage, with a melancholy eye and turned back on the porch, when this little beggar supplicated him.
“A brief hearing, my lord,” he said. “Do you not recall me?”
“No; but no matter, come in,” said the conspirator whose plots made him acquainted with stranger figures still: and he led him into the first room where he said, without altering his dull tone but gentle manner:
“You asked if I recalled you? well, I seem to have seen you before.”