At this moment, M. de Commarin was sitting in the same arm-chair on
which the evening before he had bestowed such furious blows while
listening to Albert.
As soon as he left his carriage, the old nobleman recovered his
haughtiness. He became even more arrogant in his manner, than he had
been humble when before the magistrate, as though he were ashamed of
what he now considered an unpardonable weakness.
He wondered how he could have yielded to a momentary impulse, how his
grief could have so basely betrayed him.
At the remembrance of the avowals wrested from him by a sort of
delirium, he blushed, and reproached himself bitterly. The same as
Albert, the night before, Noel, having fully recovered himself, stood
erect, cold as marble, respectful, but no longer humble.
The father and son exchanged glances which had nothing of sympathy nor
friendliness.
They examined one another, they almost measured each other, much as
two adversaries feel their way with their eyes before encountering with
their weapons.
"Sir," said the count at length in a harsh voice, "henceforth this house
is yours. From this moment you are the Viscount de Commarin; you regain
possession of all the rights of which you were deprived.
Pages:
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376