Florestan, greatly disquieted, now observed the sinister look of his father, and followed all his movements with mistrust. Without being able to account for it, he felt a vague alarm. "What ails you, father?" "This morning when you saw me, your only thought was, 'My father will not allow his name to be dishonoured; he will pay if I can but contrive to wheedle him by some feigned words of repentance.'" "Can you indeed think--" "Do not interrupt me. I have not been your dupe; you have neither shame, regret, nor remorse. You are vicious to the very core, you have never felt one honest aspiration, you have not robbed as long as you have been in possession of wherewithal to gratify your caprices,--that is what is called the probity of rich persons of your stamp. Then came the want of delicate feeling, then meannesses, then crime, then forgery. This is but the first period of your life,--it is bright and pure in comparison with that which would be yet to come." "If I did not change my conduct, assuredly; but I shall change it, father, I have sworn to you." "You will not change it." "But--" "You will not change it! Expelled from society in which you have hitherto lived, you would become very quickly criminal, like the wretches amongst whom you would be cast, a thief inevitably, and, if your need were, an assassin. That would be your future life." "I an assassin?--I?" "Yes, because you are a coward!" "I have had duels, and have evinced--" "I tell you, you are a coward! You have already preferred infamy to death. A day would come in which you would prefer the impunity for fresh crimes to the life of another. This must not be,--I will not allow it. I have come in time, at least, to save my name from public dishonour hereafter. There must be an end to this." "What do you mean, dearest father? How an end to this? What would you imply?" exclaimed Florestan, still more alarmed at the fearful expression and the increased pallor of his father's countenance. Suddenly there was a violent blow struck on the cabinet door. Florestan made a motion to go and open it, in order to put an end to a scene which terrified him; but the comte seized him with a hand of iron, and held him fast. "Who knocks?" inquired the comte. "In the name of the law, open! Open!" said a voice. "That forgery, then, was not the last," exclaimed the comte, in a low voice, and looking at his son with a terrible air. "Yes, my father, I swear it!" exclaimed Florestan, endeavouring, but vainly, to extricate himself from the vigorous grasp of his father. "In the name of the law, open!" repeated the voice. "What is it you seek?" demanded the comte. "I am a commissary of police, and I have come to make a search after a robbery of diamonds, of which M. de Saint-Remy is accused. M. Baudoin, a jeweller, has proofs. If you do not open, sir, I shall be compelled to force open the door."