heaven, for a moment's freedom. At last, after an inward struggle, I mastered myself sufficiently to say with a calmness of manner that was really only a refinement of rage:
"A truce, sir, to these insolent jeers! What are you going to do with us? Come, frankly—what are we to expect?"
"What am I going to do with you, most noble Chevalier?" he replied. "I will tell you: I am going to march you straight to the prison of the Châtelet. To-morrow's sun will enable us to take a clearer view of these little affairs of ours; and I trust that, before we have done with them, you will do me the honor of informing me where my son is to be found."
It required but little reflection to impress upon me how terrible would be the consequences for us if we were once to be confined in the Châtelet. With a shudder I foresaw all the dangers of such a prospect. In spite of all my pride, I recognized that there was nothing for it but to bow to my destiny, and flatter my bitterest enemy by submission, in the hope of thus obtaining some mercy from him. I begged him, in a conciliatory tone, to listen to me patiently for a few moments, and then said:
"I will not attempt to justify my conduct, sir. I freely admit that my youthful folly has led me into the commission of some grave faults, and that you have been sufficiently injured by them to give you very good reason to complain. But if you knew the power of love—if you could appreciate the anguish that is felt by an unhappy young man who sees all that he most cherishes about to be torn from his arms—then, perhaps, you would not think it an unpardonable offence that I should have sought to enjoy some slight revenge; or you would at least consider me sufficiently punished by the affront to which I
