“Better disgrace my blazon than my genius!” answered Luc. “I have been fettered all my life--now I have no more time to waste. I am going to answer at _my_ tribunal, remember, Monseigneur, not at yours--and _my_ judge is not pleased with the things that please Him who judges you.” “You speak blasphemy!” thundered the Marquis. “This twice-damned atheist has poisoned you! There is but one God--beware of Him!” Luc did not move nor speak. There was no defiance nor anger in his attitude, but a great stillness and sweetness in his air, terrible to his father, who checked his passion as swiftly as he had given it rein and said in a controlled, low, and baffled voice-- “We must speak of these things quietly, Luc. You cannot mean what you say--no, it is not possible. Your whole life cannot have been a lie.” “My life,” answered Luc quietly, “has borne witness to the truth as it was revealed to me.” “Yet, if you _do_ mean what you say, you have deceived me until this moment.” The young man brought his hands to his bosom. “I never dared tell you what I really believed, Monseigneur,” he said. “Besides, there was no need. I had resolved on the accepted path of honour; I was going the way you had gone, your father before you; I meant to pay all respect to your God; I meant to take a wife of your rank, your faith, your choice--now Fate has ordered differently.” He paused, then added in a deeply moved voice, “I have nothing left save the _truth_ that is in _myself_.” The old man turned and pointed haughtily to the shield carved above the marble chimneypiece, the fasces of blue and silver, the golden chief. “You have that,” he answered with inexpressible pride. “You have your name, me, your house.” “It is not enough,” said Luc in the same tone. “I want, Monseigneur, my own soul.” “Leave that in God’s hands,” flashed the Marquis. “It is in my own,” answered Luc. “Monseigneur, we have come to this issue, and between us--now--it must be decided. I remember when I was a boy you found me writing and reading. You burnt my books and papers; you forbade me to make the acquaintance of men of literature; you instilled into me ideas I am scarcely free of yet. But it is no use--I belong to my age, I am one with those men in Paris.” “With Voltaire, atheist, _canaille_.” “With him, Monseigneur.” “My son tells this to me!” cried the old man wildly. “If you want to read books, read the history of your house; you will find them much good company and not one pedant! You will be the first of your race to so disgrace yourself!” With equal fire and decision Luc answered-- “Nothing can move me. I am what I am. There is only that one thing for me to do. I will not betray my inspiration because I am a man of quality--I would sooner degrade my rank than degrade my spirit.”