"You are slandered sir," said the Intendant, as he looked at him fixedly; "I am not so fortunate as to be one of your friends, yet I assert boldly and safely that they are abominable calumnies which are brought against you, but which, when all the circumstances are joined together, might obtain a semblance of veracity with some credulous people." "Who dares attack my name?" said the Counsellor of Parliament. "Many, very many," said the Intendant in a forcible tone, "and among these are men of importance and respectability. I told you several months ago, that you would repent refusing your son so resolutely and inexorably permission to organise also a troop of volunteers to fight against the rebels and to hunt them out of their hiding-places." "I do not yet repent of it in the least, my Lord Intendant," replied the Counsellor. "Permit me to differ with you on this subject." "Had we," continued the Intendant, "obtained the assistance of citizens, peasants, and principally of the nobles of the land, upon which we ought to have been permitted to reckon with certainty, our king would not have been compelled to send an army and a Marshal, who have produced the war they should have quelled, for it was the peasantry themselves who annihilated the villains; and like many other worthy men, you have not offered your assistance, you preferred living in disunion with your son, who is a spirited young man, and an enthusiast in the right cause. This might be taken by all for paternal love and fatherly authority, which certainly are never to be suppressed, but permit me," continued he in a more rapid tone, as he perceived the Counsellor's impatience--"this, joined to the opinions to which you have more than once given utterance in the presence of strangers, furnished matter for various conversations in the country; and what took place some days ago, misleads even those who honour you; and this is what I came here to charge you with." "I see, with emotion, that I am esteemed, speak out," said the Lord of Beauvais. "You have," pursued the Intendant with the utmost coolness, "given refuge to rebels; you have received fugitive Camisards; these villains have shouted a vivat to you here in front of your house; you have permitted this rabble to eat at your table; you have yourself opposed violent resistance, when attempts were made to take them prisoners; and your son's affianced bride has insulted the Marshal in public company." "My lord!" exclaimed the old man entirely beside himself; however, he said composedly, "the web of these lies is too gross not to be immediately recognized as falsehood. She, whom you designate as my son's bride, will never be such with my consent, I know her not, and cannot love her; my house was open to some unfortunate travellers, and one of this party whom I protected, and who announced himself by the name of the Hermit, had nearly drawn destruction upon myself and family."