At this moment the Duke de Champdoce was coming up the avenue at a rapid pace.  For the first time, perhaps, in his life, this man perceived that one of his last acts had been insensate and foolish in the extreme.  All the possibilities of the law to which Daumon had alluded struck the Duke with over-whelming force, and he at once saw that his violent conduct had given ample grounds upon which to base a plaint, with results which he greatly feared.  If the court entertained the matter, his son would most likely be removed from his control.  He knew that such an idea would never cross Norbert’s brain, but there were plenty of persons to suggest it to him.  The danger of his position occurred to him, and at the same time he felt that he must frame his future conduct with extreme prudence.  He had not given up his views regarding his son’s marriage with Mademoiselle de Puymandour.  No; he would sooner have resigned life itself, but he felt that he must renounce violence, and gain his ends by diplomacy.  The first thing to be done was to get Norbert to return home, and the father greatly doubted whether the son would do so.  While thinking over these things, with a settled gloom upon his face, one of the servants came running up to him with the news of Norbert’s return.

“I hold him at last,” muttered he, and hastened on to the Chateau.

When the Duke entered the dining-room, Norbert did not rise from his seat, and the Duke was disagreeably impressed by this breach of the rules of domestic etiquette.

“On my word,” thought he, “it would appear that the young booby thinks that he owes me no kind of duty whatever.”

He did not, however, allow his anger to be manifest in his features; besides, the sight of the blood, with which his son’s face was still smeared, caused him to feel excessively uncomfortable.

“Norbert, my son,” said he, “are you suffering?  Why have you not had that cut attended to?”

The young man made no reply, and the Duke continued,—­

“Why have you not washed the blood away?  Is it left there as a reproach to me?  There is no need for that, I assure you; for deeply do I deplore my violence.”

Norbert still made no answer, and the Duke became more and more embarrassed.  To give himself time for reflection, more than because he was thirsty, he took a glass, and filled it from his own special bottle.

Norbert trembled from head to foot as he saw this act.

“Come, my son,” continued the Duke, “just try if you cannot find some palliation for what your old father has done.  I am ready to ask your forgiveness, and to apologize, for a man of honor is never ashamed to acknowledge when he has been in the wrong.”

He raised his glass, and raised it up to the light half mechanically.  Norbert held his breath; the whole world seemed turning round.

“It is hard, very hard,” continued the Duke, “for a father thus to humiliate himself in vain before his son.”