الفصل الفصل 16 · Noel had promised to use every effort, to attempt even the impossible,

to obtain Albert’s release. He in fact did interview the Public

Prosecutor and some members of the bar, but managed to be repulsed

everywhere. At four o’clock, he called at the Count de Commarin’s house,

to inform his father of the ill success of his efforts.

“The Count has gone out,” said Denis; “but if you will take the trouble

to wait----”

“I will wait,” answered Noel.

“Then,” replied the valet, “will you please follow me? I have the

count’s orders to show you into his private room.”

This confidence gave Noel an idea of his new power. He was at home,

henceforth, in that magnificent house, he was the master, the heir! His

glance, which wandered over the entire room, noticed the genealogical

tree, hanging on the wall. He approached it, and read.

It was like a page, and one of the most illustrious, taken from the

golden book of French nobility. Every name which has a place in our

history was there. The Commarins had mingled their blood with all the

great families; two of them had even married daughters of royalty. A

warm glow of pride filled the advocate’s heart, his pulse beat quicker,

he raised his head haughtily, as he murmured, “Viscount de Commarin!”

The door opened. He turned, and saw the count entering. As Noel was

about to bow respectfully, he was petrified by the look of hatred,

anger, and contempt on his father’s face.

A shiver ran through his veins; his teeth chattered; he felt that he was

lost.

“Wretch!” cried the count.

And, dreading his own violence, the old nobleman threw his cane into a

corner. He was unwilling to strike his son; he considered him unworthy

of being struck by his hand. Then there was a moment of mortal silence,

which seemed to both of them a century.

At the same time their minds were filled with thoughts, which would

require a volume to transcribe.

Noel had the courage to speak first.

“Sir,” he began.

“Silence!” exclaimed the count hoarsely; “be silent! Can it be, heaven

forgive me! that you are my son? Alas, I cannot doubt it now! Wretch!

you knew well that you were Madame Gerdy’s son. Infamous villain! you

not only committed this murder, but you did everything to cause an

innocent man to be charged with your crime! Parricide! you have also

killed your mother.”

The advocate attempted to stammer forth a protest.

“You killed her,” continued the count with increased energy, “if not

by poison, at least by your crime. I understand all now; she was not

delirious this morning. But you know as well as I do what she was

saying. You were listening, and, if you dared to enter at that moment

when one word more would have betrayed you, it was because you had

calculated the effect of your presence. It was to you that she addressed

her last word, ‘Assassin!’”

Little by little, Noel had retired to the end of the room, and he stood

leaning against the wall, his head thrown back, his hair on end, his

look haggard. A convulsive trembling shook his frame. His face betrayed

a terror most horrible to see, the terror of the criminal found out.

“I know all, you see,” continued the count; “and I am not alone in my

knowledge. At this moment, a warrant of arrest is issued against you.”

A cry of rage like a hollow rattle burst from the advocate’s breast. His

lips, which were hanging through terror, now grew firm. Overwhelmed in

the very midst of his triumph, he struggled against this fright. He drew

himself up with a look of defiance.