"There is no possible way out of it," continued the count. "Can I
discard you to-morrow, and present this Noel as my son, saying, 'Excuse
me, but there has been a slight mistake; this one is the viscount?' And
then the tribunals will get hold of it. What does it matter who is named
Benoit, Durand, or Bernard? But, when one is called Commarin, even but
for a single day, one must retain that name through life. The same
moral does not do for everyone; because we have not the same duties to
perform. In our position, errors are irreparable. Take courage, then,
and show yourself worthy of the name you bear. The storm is upon you;
raise your head to meet it."
Albert's impassibility contributed not a little to increase M. de
Commarin's irritation. Firm in an unchangeable resolution, the viscount
listened like one fulfilling a duty: and his face reflected no emotion.
The count saw that he was not shaken.
"What have you to reply?" he asked.
"It seems to me sir, that you have no idea of all the dangers which I
foresee. It is difficult to master the revolts of conscience."
"Indeed!" interrupted the count contemptuously; "your conscience
revolts, does it? It has chosen its time badly.
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