"Really, monsieur le marquis, I did not expect to be haled thus before a court of honor, for an act in which, I must confess, I had not detected so many crimes, so many terrible disasters!--From the way in which you reprove what is, after all, only a peccadillo, a youthful escapade, one would think that I had done something that no gentleman had ever dared to do before! By Notre-Dame! he who thinks that has but little acquaintance with our young noblemen of to-day! There is not one of them who has not been guilty of five or six offences of the sort for which you reproach me!--But, far from blushing and repenting of them, they, one and all, pride themselves thereon! And since when has it been forbidden to us young men of the court to make love to the _petites bourgeoises_, to the young girls of the lower orders? After all, if they wish to remain virtuous, it is their business not to listen to us! But, instead of that, they incite our advances by their glances, their allurements! They would be sorely disappointed if we did not try to seduce them!" Landry uttered a sort of hollow growl which presaged a storm on the point of bursting. Bathilde hid her face in her hands, and Ambroisine squeezed her father's arm, murmuring: "How horrible! how shameful!--Oh, no! she did none of that!" But the old marquis rose and interrupted Léodgard, exclaiming in a voice of thunder: "Enough, monsieur, enough! your defence is simply an additional insult to the woman you have outraged!--We know that there are women who invite seduction, who even provoke it; they do not deserve our pity! But do you dare to place this unhappy creature here among those girls who have neither modesty nor morals?--In that case, why did you need, in order to seduce her, to employ the most sacred oaths, to write her that you would take her for your wife?" "I!--write such things to her!" "See, here is your letter; do you deny your own signature?" And the marquis handed his son the letter which he had written to Bathilde long before, and which he had long ago forgotten. When he recognized his own handwriting, Léodgard was confounded. A ray of joy gleamed in Ambroisine's eyes. As for Landry, a sudden change transformed his features; they lost in an instant all their severity, and turning his eyes upon his daughter the old soldier gazed at her, no longer in anger, but in sorrow. Pity had found its way into his heart, and it was easy to see that pardon was not far behind. But Léodgard was not long in recovering from that first moment of surprise. "After all, seigneur," he demanded, with an impatient gesture, "what is your purpose? For heaven's sake, let us put an end to this scene! Why did you summon me here?" "That you might restore the honor of this girl, whom you have made a mother; and to do that, you must marry her, give her your name."