Aline was at that time greatly interested in the _soirée_ to which you were afterwards invited, and the preliminaries were discussed at table. To my great astonishment, she proposed to place your name on the list of invitations. This proposition made me angry, and I flatly declared it absurd. I was sure my father would make a similar reply. I had no idea he would open the doors of his _salon_ to you, for I knew there was no similarity of opinion between you. The result was precisely contrary to my expectations. Was my father desirous of gratifying Aline? Or did he wish to seize an opportunity of showing how little value he attached to my opinion? I know not. But he allowed me to finish what I had to say, and then said, in a dry tone: “Aline, send M. Barnier an invitation. It is my wish.” I was confounded. In my fury, I inwardly swore to be revenged. The means of intimidating you, which the members of the club had not been able to find without compromising themselves, I thought I had discovered myself the night before. I communicated my plan to two of my friends whose names I will not give. They declared it excellent, and promised to second me. What took place you know, but I will give you some details impossible for you to have ascertained. I did not attend the _soirée_, but one of my accomplices was there to keep me informed of your movements. When you were ready to leave, he came to my room to notify me. It took only a moment to disguise ourselves. We went out by a private door, and dogged your steps. Ah! my dear friend, what infamous behavior! What had you done to me that I should thus dare violate in your person the laws of hospitality which even savages respect? At this revelation, I turned pale. M. Louis Beauvais perceived it. “Is not such an act unpardonable, madame?” said he. “And do you not look upon me as worthy only of your contempt and hatred?” “I have forgiven those who committed this wrong, whoever they might be,” I replied. “Now I know it was you, and see how fully you repent of it, I forgive you even more willingly.” Thank you, madame, said he; but let me assure you that, culpable as my intentions were, they were less so than they must have seemed to you. We were desirous of intimidating M. Barnier, and making him believe he exposed himself to constant serious danger by the boldness of the course he had taken. We did not—I mistake—I did not intend to show any physical violence, for that I considered base and criminal. I was indignant when I saw one of our number strike him. I have ever since regarded that young man with profound contempt. I had more than one fit of remorse that night. The next morning, Aline, after accosting me, said: “You know what happened to M. Barnier last night after leaving us. It is infamous! It must have been a plot. I am sure you know the guilty authors! Who are they? They ought to be punished.” “How should I know them?” I exclaimed angrily.