The marquis made a sign to the servants to leave the room.

“Do you still think you ought to leave France?” he asked Gaston.

“Yes, father.”

“My brother ought not to hesitate,” interposed Louis:  “he will be arrested here, thrown into prison, vilified in court, and—­who knows?”

“We all know well enough that he will be convicted,” grumbled the old marquis.  “These are the benefits of the immortal revolution, as it is called.  Ah, in my day we three would have taken our swords, jumped on our horses, and, dashing into Tarascon, would soon have—.  But those good old days are passed.  To-day we have to run away.”

“There is no time to lose,” observed Louis.

“True,” said the marquis, “but to fly, to go abroad, one must have money; and I have none by me to give him.”

“Father!”

“No, I have none.  Ah, what a prodigal old fool I have been!  If I only had a hundred louis!”

Then he told Louis to open the secretary, and hand him the money-box.

The box contained only nine hundred and twenty francs in gold.

“Nine hundred and twenty francs,” cried the marquis:  “it will never do for the eldest son of our house to fly the country with this paltry sum.”

He sat lost in reflection.  Suddenly his brow cleared, and he told Louis to open a secret drawer in the secretary, and bring him a small casket.

Then the marquis took from his neck a black ribbon, to which was suspended the key of the casket.

His sons observed with what deep emotion he unlocked it, and slowly took out a necklace, a large cross, several rings, and other pieces of jewelry.

His countenance assumed a solemn expression.

“Gaston, my dear son,” he said, “at a time like this your life may depend upon bought assistance; money is power.”

“I am young, father, and have courage.”

“Listen to me.  The jewels belonged to the marquise, your sainted mother, a noble, holy woman, who is now in heaven watching over us.  These jewels have never left me.  During my days of misery and want, when I was compelled to earn a livelihood by teaching music in London, I piously treasured them.  I never thought of selling them; and to mortgage them, in the hour of direst need, would have seemed to be a sacrilege.  But now you must take them, my son, and sell them for twenty thousand livres.”

“No, father no; I cannot take them!”

“You must, Gaston.  If your mother were on earth, she would tell you to take them, as I do now.  I command you to take and use them.  The salvation, the honor, of the heir of the house of Clameran, must not be imperilled for want of a little gold.”

With tearful eyes, Gaston sank on his knees, and, carrying his father’s hand to his lips, said: 

“Thanks, father, thanks!  In my heedless, ungrateful presumption I have hitherto misjudged you.  I did not know your noble character.  Forgive me.  I accept; yes, I accept these jewels worn by my dear mother; but I take them as a sacred deposit, confided to my honor, and for which I will some day account to you.”