"You could not change! Driven from the society to which you have been accustomed, you would soon become criminal, like the wretches with whom you would associate: a robber inevitably, and, if necessary, an assassin. There is your future life." "I an assassin!" "Yes, because you are a coward!" "I have fought duels, and I have proved--" "I tell you, you are a coward! You have preferred infamy to death! A day will come when you will prefer the impunity of your new crimes to the life of others! That cannot be; I arrive in time to save, henceforth, at least, my name from public dishonor. It must be finished." "How, father, finished! what do you mean to say?" cried Florestan, more and more alarmed at the expression of his father and his increasing paleness. Suddenly some one knocked violently at the door of the cabinet. Florestan made a movement, as if to open it, but his father seized him with an iron hand, and withheld him. "Who knocks?" demanded the former. "In the name of the law, open, open!" said a voice. "This forgery was not, then, the last?" said the count, in a low voice, looking at his son with a terrible scowl. "Yes, father, I swear it," answered Florestan, trying in vain to release himself from the hold. "In the name of the law open!" repeated the voice. "What do you want?" demanded the count. "I am an officer of police; I come to make a search on account of a robbery of diamonds, of which M. de Saint Remy is accused. M. Baudoin, jeweler, has the proofs. If you do not open, sir, I shall be obliged to break in the door." "A robber already! I was not deceived," said the count, in a low tone. "I came to kill you--I have delayed too long." "To kill me!" "My name is enough dishonored! let us finish: I have two pistols here-- you are going to blow out your brains, otherwise I will do it for you, and I will say you killed yourself to escape shame." And the count, with frightful _sang-froid_, drew from his pocket a pistol, and with his disengaged hand gave it to his son, saying: "Come, proceed, if you are not a coward." After new and fruitless efforts to escape from the bands of the count, his son fell backward, overcome with fright and pale with horror. From the terrible and inexorable looks of his father, he saw there was no pity to expect from him. "Father!" he cried. "You must die!" "I repent!" "It is too late! Do you hear? they will break down the door!" "I will expiate my faults!" "They are going to enter! Must I, then, kill you?" "Pardon!" "The door will give way! You will have it so." And the count placed the pistol against the breast of his son.