Ramiro rose, dusted his garments, seated himself deliberately, and began to talk with great earnestness. It will be sufficient to summarise his arguments. First of all, with the most convincing sincerity, he explained that when he had made use of him, Adrian, he had no idea that he was his son. Of course this was a statement that will not bear a moment’s examination, but Ramiro’s object was to gain time, and Adrian let it pass. Then he explained that it was only after his mother had, not by his wish, but accidentally, seen the written evidence upon which her husband was convicted, that he found out that Adrian van Goorl was her child and his own. However, as he hurried to point out, all these things were now ancient history that had no bearing on the present. Owing to the turbulent violence of the mob, which had driven him from his post and fortress, he, Ramiro, was in temporary difficulties, and owing to other circumstances, he, Adrian, was, so far as his own party and people were concerned, an absolutely dishonoured person. In this state of affairs he had a suggestion to make. Let them join forces; let the natural relationship that existed between them, and which had been so nearly severed by a sword thrust that both must have regretted, become real and tender. He, the father, had rank, although it suited him to sink it; he had wide experience, friends, intelligence, and the prospect of enormous wealth, which, of course, he could not expect to enjoy for ever. On the other side, he, the son, had youth, great beauty of person, agreeable and distinguished manners, a high heart, the education of a young man of the world, ambition and powers of mind that would carry him far, and for the immediate future an object to gain, the affection of a lady whom all acknowledged to be as good as she was charming, and as charming as she was personally attractive. “She hates me,” broke in Adrian. “Ah!” laughed Ramiro, “there speaks the voice of small experience. Oh! youth, so easily exalted and so easily depressed! Joyous, chequered youth! How many happy marriages have I not known begin with such hate as this? Well, there it is, you must take my word for it. If you want to marry Elsa Brant, I can manage it for you, and if not, why, you can leave it alone.” Adrian reflected, then as his mind had a practical side, he put a question. “You spoke of the prospect of enormous wealth; what is it?”