very like a sob, and without paying
any heed to his wife's words, he continued: "If I consented to allow
you to remain under my roof, it was only for the sake of our daughter.
I trembled lest the scandal of a separation should fall upon her. But it
was useless suffering on my part. She was as surely lost as you yourself
were; and it was your work, too!"

"What! you blame me for that?"

"Whom ought I to blame, then? Who took her to balls, and theatres and
races--to every place where a young girl ought NOT to be taken? Who
initiated her into what you call high life? and who used her as a
discreet and easy chaperon? Who married her to a wretch who is a
disgrace to the title he bears, and who has completed the work of
demoralization you began? And what is your daughter to-day? Her
extravagance has made her notorious even among the shameless women who
pretend to be leaders of society. She is scarcely twenty-two, and there
is not a single prejudice left for her to brave! Her husband is the
companion of actresses and courtesans; her own companions are no
better--and in less than two years the million of francs which
I bestowed on her as a dowry has been squandered, recklessly
squandered--for there isn't a penny of it left. And, at this very hour,
my daughter and my son-in-law are plotting to extort money from me. On
the day before yesterday--listen carefully to this--my son-in-law came
to ask me for a hundred thousand francs, and when I refused them, he
threatened if I did not give them to him that he would publish some
letters written by my daughter--by his wife--to some low scoundrel.
I was horrified and gave him what he asked. But that same evening I
learned that the husband and wife, my daughter and my son-in-law, had
concocted this vile conspiracy together. Yes, I have positive proofs
of it. Leaving here, and not wishing to return home that day, he
telegraphed the good news to his wife. But in his delight he made a
mistake in the address, and the telegram was brought here. I opened it,
and read: 'Papa has fallen into the trap, my darling. I beat my drum,
and he surrendered at once.' Yes, that is what he dared to write, and
sign with his own name, and then send to his wife--my daughter!"

Pascal was absolutely terrified. He wondered if he were not the victim
of some absurd nightmare--if his senses were not playing him false.
He had little conception of the terrible dramas which are constantly
enacted in these superb man