M. de Commarin was not listening; he was deep in thought. “But instead of contesting, viscount,” he cried, “we might compromise. We may be able to purchase these letters. What does this young fellow want? A position and a fortune? I will give him both. I will make him as rich as he can wish. I will give him a million; if need be, two, three,--half of all I possess. With money, you see, much money--” “Spare him, sir; he is your son.” “Unfortunately! and I wish him to the devil! I will see him, and he will agree to what I wish. I will prove to him the bad policy of the earthen pot struggling with the iron kettle; and, if he is not a fool, he will understand.” The count rubbed his hands while speaking. He was delighted with this brilliant plan of negotiation. It could not fail to result favorably. A crowd of arguments occurred to his mind in support of it. He would buy back again his lost rest. But Albert did not seem to share his father’s hopes, “You will perhaps think it unkind in me, sir,” said he, sadly, “to dispel this last illusion of yours; but I must. Do not delude yourself with the idea of an amicable arrangement; the awakening will only be the more painful. I have seen M. Gerdy, my father, and he is not one, I assure you, to be intimidated. If there is an energetic will in the world, it is his. He is truly your son; and his expression, like yours, shows an iron resolution, that may be broken but never bent. I can still hear his voice trembling with resentment, while he spoke to me. I can still see the dark fire of his eyes. No, he will never accept a compromise. He will have all or nothing; and I cannot say that he is wrong. If you resist, he will attack you without the slightest consideration. Strong in his rights, he will cling to you with stubborn animosity. He will drag you from court to court; he will not stop short of utter defeat or complete triumph.” Accustomed to absolute obedience from his son, the old nobleman was astounded at this unexpected obstinacy. “What is your object in saying all this?” he asked. “It is this, sir. I should utterly despise myself, if I did not spare your old age this greatest of calamities. Your name does not belong to me; I will take my own. I am your natural son; I will give up my place to your legitimate son. Permit me to withdraw with at least the honour of having freely done my duty. Do not force me to wait till I am driven out in disgrace.” “What!” cried the count, stunned, “you will abandon me? You refuse to help me, you turn against me, you recognize the rights of this man in spite of my wishes?” Albert bowed his head. He was much moved, but still remained firm. “My resolution is irrevocably taken,” he replied. “I can never consent to despoil your son.”