“Oh, it would be a great mistake for you to retire. You would perhaps have been elected, and as for me, it’s all one. My principal object is to disavow your political opinions. The family can’t command our ideas.” Father seemed to hesitate a moment as to resuming the subject before deciding to let it go. He let it go because there was another matter even nearer to his heart. “Let us say no more about it,” he said. “Something of far greater importance has been going on in my house, something that I can not tolerate. You have robbed me of this child whom I entrusted to you.” The conflict was suddenly taking another form, and I had become its object. In a flash arose before me the scene when I was setting out for my first walk after my convalescence. We were all three upon the doorstep. Father was putting my hand into grandfather’s with the bewildering words, _Here is my son--it is the future of the house_. And grandfather answered with his little laugh, _Don’t worry, Michel, no one will rob you of him_. What did they mean? How could any one rob him of me? “How absurd!” grandfather was saying. “I never robbed any one of anything. So I am accused of stealing children, am I? Why not of eating them?” Mockery and irony were, however, too weak a weapon not to be broken in the attack that followed. Not one detail of that scene has faded from my memory. I can see them both, one strong and high-coloured, in the fulness of strength and vigour, and yet uttering such a groan as trees give forth under the woodman’s axe, the other so old, fragile and shrivelled, and yet all insolence, holding up his head and jeering, and I between the two like the stake in a game they were playing. “Yes,” father replied; “I gave you my son to make him well, not to lead him astray. You yourself promised to do nothing which might one day put him in opposition to our household and religious traditions. Have you kept your promise? I have for some time been doubtful as to what was going on in this little head. I spoke to Valentine about it, and learned that she too was fearful of this misfortune, though in her respect for you she dreaded to make the mistake of attributing an unfortunate influence to you. I do not know how you have managed to take possession of the child’s mind. But I can not but know that you have been taking Francis to the very place where our opponents are in the habit of meeting, and where they take advantage of your weakness and your generosity.” “I can’t permit you--” grandfather tried to interrupt. “Of your generosity,” the voice went on more firmly, “or of mine. This morning I received a bill from that place. It is a large one. Martinod no doubt thinks it a joke to treat his heelers at my expense.” “Who sent you the bill?”