"What is the matter with the man?" The Commandant plucked his arm away and stood back, outraged by this breach of decorum. But Dominique, having found his voice, continued heedless. "She must go! She _shall_ go! It is a wickedness you are doing--do you hear me, Monseigneur?--a wickedness, a wickedness! But you shall not keep her here; I will not allow it!" "Are you stark mad, Dominique Guyon?" "I will not allow it. I love her, I tell you--there, I have said it! Listen again, Monseigneur, if you do not understand: I love her, I love her--oh, get that into your head! I love her, and will not allow it!" "Certainly your brain is turned. Go to your quarters, sir; it must be sleep you want. Yes, yes, my poor fellow, you are pale as a corpse! Go, get some sleep, and when you wake we will forget all this." "Before God, Monseigneur, I am telling you the truth. I need no sleep but the sleep of death, and that is like to come soon enough. But since we were children I have loved your daughter, and in the strength of that love I forbid you to kill her." The Commandant swung round on his heel. "Follow me, if you please." He led the way to his orderly-room, seated himself at the table, and so confronted the young man, who stood humbly enough, though with his pale face twitching. "Dominique Guyon, once in my life I made a great mistake; and that was when, to save my poor son's honour, I borrowed money of one of my _censitaires_. I perceive now what hopes you have nursed, feeding them on my embarrassments. You saw me impoverished, brought low, bereaved by God's will of my only son; you guessed that I lay awake of nights, troubled by the thought of my daughter, who must inherit poverty; and on these foundations you laid your schemes. You dreamed of becoming a _gentilhomme_, of marrying my daughter, of sitting in my chair at Boisveyrac and dealing justice among the villagers. And a fine dream it seemed to you, eh?" He paused. "Monseigneur," Dominique answered simply, "you say some things that are true; but you say them so that all seems false and vile. Yes, I have dreamed dreams--even dreams of becoming a _gentilhomme_, as you say; but my dreams were never wicked as you colour them, seeing that they all flowed from love of Mademoiselle Diane, and returned to her." He glanced towards the window, through which the pair could see Diane pacing the _terre-plein_ in the sunlight. The sight kindled the elder man to fresh anger. "If," said he harshly, "I tried to explain to you exactly how you insult us, it would be wasting my time and yours; and, however much you deserve it, I have no wish to wound your feelings beyond need. Let us come to business." He unlocked a drawer and drew out three bundles of notes. "As my farmer you will know better than I the current discount on these. You come from Montreal. At what price was the Government redeeming its paper there?"