It was now Gabriel who held out his hand, and made
the first advances toward reconciliation.
To his utter amazement, his father recoiled from him. The
variable temper of Francois had evidently changed completely
during his absence at the village. A settled scowl of distrust
darkened his face as he looked at his son.
"I never shake hands with people who have once doubted me," he
exclaimed, loudly and irritably; "for I always doubt them forever
after. You are a bad son! You have suspected your father of some
infamy that you dare not openly charge him with, on no other
testimony than the rambling nonsense of a half-witted, dying old
man. Don't speak to me! I won't hear you! An innocent man and a
spy are bad company. Go and denounce me, you Judas in disguise! I
don't care for your secret or for you. What's that girl Perrine
doing here still? Why hasn't she gone home long ago? The priest's
coming; we don't want strangers in the house of death. Take her
back to the farmhouse, and stop there with her, if you like;
nobody wants you here!"
There was something in the manner and look of the speaker as he
uttered these words, so strange, so sinister, so indescribably
suggestive of his meaning much more than he said, that Gabriel
felt his heart sink within him instantly; and almost at the same
moment this fearful question forced itself irresistibly on his
mind: might not his father have followed him to the Merchant's
Table?
Even if he had been desired to speak, he could not have spoken
now, while that question and the suspicion that it brought with
it were utterly destroying all the re-assuring hopes and
convictions of the morning.
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