“My niece chose, of her own free will, a husband whom she will shortly marry.  She loves M. Prosper Bertomy.”

The marquis disdainfully shrugged his shoulders.

“A school-girl love-affair,” said he; “she will forget all about it, if you wish her to do so.”

“I do not wish it.  I wish her to marry him.”

“Listen to me,” he replied, in the low, suppressed tone of a man trying to control himself:  “let us not waste time in these idle discussions.  Hitherto you have always commenced by protesting against my proposed plans, and in the end acknowledge the good sense and justness of my arguments; now, for once why not yield without going through with the customary preliminaries?  I ask it as a favor.”

“Never,” said Mme. Fauvel, “never will I yield.”

Clameran paid no attention to this interruption, but went on: 

“I insist upon this marriage, mainly on your account, although it will enable me to re-establish my own affairs, as well as yours and Raoul’s.  Of course you see that the allowance you give your son is insufficient for his extravagant style of living.  The time approaches when, having nothing more to give him, you will have to encroach upon your husband’s money-drawer to such an extent that longer concealment will be impossible.  When that day comes what is to be done?  Perhaps you have some feasible plan of escape?”

Mme. Fauvel shuddered.  The dreadful day of discovery could not be far off, and no earthly way was there to escape it.

The marquis went on: 

“Assist me now, and, instead of having to make a shameful confession, you will thank me for having saved you.  Mlle. Madeleine is rich:  her dowry will enable me to supply the deficiency, and spare you all further anxiety about Raoul.”

“I would rather be ruined than be saved by such means.”

“But I will not permit you to ruin us all.  Remember, madame, that we are associated in a common cause, the future welfare of Raoul; and, although you have a right to rush upon destruction yourself, you certainly shall not drag us with you.”

“Cease your importunities,” she said, looking him steadily in the eye.  “I have made up my mind irrevocably.”

“To what?”

“To do everything and anything to escape your shameful persecution.  Oh! you need not smile.  I shall throw myself at M. Fauvel’s feet, and confess everything.  He is noble-hearted and generous, and, knowing how I have suffered, will forgive me.”

“Do you think so?” said Clameran derisively.

“You mean to say that he will be pitiless, and banish me from his roof.  So be it; it will only be what I deserve.  There is no torture that I cannot bear, after what I have suffered through you.”

This inconceivable resistance so upset all the marquis’s plans that he lost all constraint, and, dropping the mask of politeness, appeared in his true character.