By degrees the conversation became a battle. Father seemed to me so big and powerful that he could have crushed grandfather with a snap of the finger, and yet grandfather held out against him, with his sharp little voice, and with a vigour such as I hardly recognised in him. To see them thus drawn up against each other frightened me and gave me horrible torment. In my new-born rebellion against authority my heart was with grandfather. I pictured to myself, under Nazzarena’s features, that liberty of which they were speaking in attack and defence. It seemed to me that I should be committing a cowardly act like that of Martinod in the Café des Navigateurs when he took off his hat in obedience to orders, showing his white, terrified face, if I did not intervene in behalf of my companion, my comrade in walks, who had transmitted to me as a brilliant inheritance--the only one he had to give--his love of simple nature, of the wandering life, of that independence which proudly refuses to submit to rule, and perhaps also that love of love which by itself alone includes all these. I did not conceal from myself the risk I was running. I foresaw the punishment which would follow, and yet I came forward like a little martyr asking for death. “Grandfather is free!” I cried at the top of my voice. I had thought to utter a tremendous shout, but I could hardly hear my own voice, and was astonished and vexed that I had not made more noise. Nevertheless, I perceived the immediate effect, which though quite enough to satisfy me, was far from reassuring. My father had turned suddenly, amazed at my presence and audacity. This time the road was closed, like that of the lakeside on stormy days. He gazed at us both by turns as if to discover some complicity, some understanding between us. Face to face with him we were really just nothing at all. He was strong enough to crush us both. His eyes flashed fire; his voice would roll over us like thunder; the storm that was about to overwhelm us would be terrible. Why did he keep silent? What was he waiting for? Still he said nothing, and the silence became more distressing, more tragic. I could hear my own terror like the tick tock of a clock. Having taken time to regain his self-control, by what must have been a superhuman effort, he turned from me that gaze that so terrified me, and spoke to grandfather: “Very well,” he said, so calmly and gently that it disconcerted me; “I am no longer a candidate. We will not amuse the city with the sight of our divisions. But I will permit myself to give you one bit of advice. By my retirement Martinod will have secured what he wants; that was all he was after; now do not permit yourself to be any longer the tool of the man who has slandered me; do you on your side give up this candidacy, which is not at all in your line.” If grandfather was surprised by this change of tactics, he did not show it in the least.