My father had probably kept this peroration and this threat for the last stroke. I was firmer before these threats than before his entreaties. “Who told you that I was handing this sum to her?” I asked. “My solicitor. Could an honest man carry out such a procedure without warning me? Well, it is to prevent you from ruining yourself for a prostitute that I am now in Paris. Your mother, when she died, left you enough to live on respectably, and not to squander on your mistresses.” “I swear to you, father, that Marguerite knew nothing of this transfer.” “Why, then, do you make it?” “Because Marguerite, the woman you calumniate, and whom you wish me to abandon, is sacrificing all that she possesses in order to live with me.” “And you accept this sacrifice? What sort of a man are you, sir, to allow Mlle. Gautier to sacrifice anything for you? Come, enough of this. You will leave this woman. Just now I begged you; now I command you. I will have no such scandalous doings in my family. Pack up your things and get ready to come with me.” “Pardon me, father,” I said, “but I shall not come.” “And why?” “Because I am at an age when no one any longer obeys a command.” My father turned pale at my answer. “Very well, sir,” he said, “I know what remains to be done.” He rang and Joseph appeared. “Have my things taken to the Hotel de Paris,” he said to my servant. And thereupon he went to his room and finished dressing. When he returned, I went up to him. “Promise me, father,” I said, “that you will do nothing to give Marguerite pain?” My father stopped, looked at me disdainfully, and contented himself with saying, “I believe you are mad.” After this he went out, shutting the door violently after him. I went downstairs, took a cab, and returned to Bougival. Marguerite was waiting for me at the window. Chapter XXI “At last you have come,” she said, throwing her arms round my neck. “But how pale you are!” I told her of the scene with my father. “My God! I was afraid of it,” she said. “When Joseph came to tell you of your father’s arrival I trembled as if he had brought news of some misfortune. My poor friend, I am the cause of all your distress. You will be better off, perhaps, if you leave me and do not quarrel with your father on my account. He knows that you are sure to have a mistress, and he ought to be thankful that it is I, since I love you and do not want more of you than your position allows. Did you tell him how we had arranged our future?” “Yes; that is what annoyed him the most, for he saw how much we really love one another.” “What are we to do, then?” “Hold together, my good Marguerite, and let the storm pass over.” “Will it pass?” “It will have to.” “But your father will not stop there.” “What do you suppose he can do?”