r again to set
foot.

At the very same moment, M. Moriaz, who had risen early, was engaged in
writing the following letter:

"It is done, my dear friend--I have yielded. Pray, do not reproach me
with my weakness; what else could I do? When one has been for twenty
years the most submissive of fathers, one does not emancipate one's self
in a day; I never have been in the habit of erecting barriers, and it is
scarcely likely that I could learn to do so at my age. Ah! _mon Dieu!_
who knows if, after all, her heart has not counselled her well, if one
day she will not satisfy us all that she was in the right. It must be
confessed that this _diable_ of a man has an indescribable charm about
him. I can detect only one fault in him: he has committed the error
of existing at all; it is a grave error, I admit, but thus far I have
nothing else with which to reproach him.

"When one loses a battle, nothing remains but to plan an orderly
retreat. Count Larinski, I regret to inform you, is armed with all
needful weapons; he carries with him his certificate of birth, and
certificate of the registry of death of both his parents. No pretext can
be made on this score, and my future son-in-law will not aid me to gain
time. The sole point upon which we must henceforth direct our attention
is the contract. We scarcely can take too many precautions; we must see
that this Pole's hands are absolutely tied. If you will permit me, I
will one day ask you to confer with me and my notary, who is also yours.
I venture to hope that upon this point Antoinette will consent to be
guided by our counsels.

"I am not gay, my friend; but, having been born a philosopher, I bear
my misfortunes patiently, and I will forthwith reread _Le Monde comme
il va, ou la Vision de Babouc_, in order to endeavour to persuade myself
that, if all is not well, all is at least supportable."

The evening of the same day, M. Moriaz received the following response:

"I never will pardon you. You are a great chemist, I grant, but a
pitiful, a most deplorable father. Your weakness, which well merits
another name, is without excuse. You should have resisted; you should
have stood your ground firmly. Antoinette, although she is of age, never
in the world would have decided to address to you a formal request of
consent to this marriage. She would have made some scenes; she would
have pouted; she would have endeavoured to soften you by assuming the
airs of a tearful, heart-broke