Scarce a dozen in Rochelle know; Paris
is wholly ignorant. Your revenues in the Cevennes are accumulating.
Return to France, or remain here to become . . . great and respected;
that is no concern of mine. To tell you these facts I have crossed the
Atlantic. There can be no maudlin sentiment between you and me; there
have been too many harsh words. That is all I have to say. Digest it
well."
Silence. A breeze, blowing in through a window, stirred the flames of
the candles, and their lines of black smoke wavered horizontally
through the air. Monsieur le Marquis waited for the outpouring of
thanks, the protestations of joy, the bending of this proud and haughty
spirit. While waiting he did not look at his son; rather he busied
himself with the stained ruffles of his sleeve. The pause grew. It
was so long that the marquis was compelled finally to look up. In his
cabinet at Perigny he had a small bronze statue of the goddess Ate: the
scowling eyes, the bent brows, the widened nostrils, the half-visible
row of teeth, all these he saw in the face towering above him.
"So that is all you have to say? How easily and complacently you say
it! 'Monsieur, the honor I robbed you of I bring back.
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