ten
millions, in England."

This was true. Only these millions, which had accrued from the estate of
the duchess and of Lord Holland, had not been bequeathed to the duke.

He enjoyed absolute control of this enormous fortune; he disposed of
the capital and of the immense revenues to please himself; but it all
belonged to his son--to his only son.

The duke possessed nothing--a pitiful income of twelve hundred francs,
perhaps; but, strictly speaking, not even the means of subsistence.

Martial, certainly, had never said a word which would lead him to
suspect that he had any intention of removing his property from his
father's control; but he might possibly utter this word.

Had he not good reason to believe that sooner or later this fatal word
would be uttered?

And even at the thought of such a contingency he shuddered with horror.

He saw himself reduced to a pension, a very handsome pension,
undoubtedly, but still a fixed, immutable, regular pension, by which he
would be obliged to regulate his expenditures.

He would be obliged to calculate that two ends might meet--he, who had
been accustomed to inexhaustible coffers.

"And this will necessarily happen sooner or later," he thought. "If
Martial should marry, or if he should become ambitious, or meet with
evil counsellors, that will be the end of my reign."

He watched and studied his son as a jealous woman studies and watches
the lover she mistrusts. He thought he read in his eyes many thoughts
which were not there; and according as he saw him, gay or sad, careless
or preoccupied, he was reassured or still more alarmed.

Sometimes he imagined the worst. "If I should quarrel with Martial," he
thought, "he would take possession of his entire fortune, and I should
be left without bread."

These torturing apprehensions were, to a man who judged the sentiments
of others by his own, a terrible chastisement.

Ah! no one would have wished his existence at the price he paid for
it--not even the poor wretches who envied his lot and his apparent
happiness, as they saw him roll by in his magnificent carriage.

There were days when he almost went mad.

"What am I?" he exclaimed, foaming with rage. "A mere plaything in the
hands of a child. My son owns me. If I displease him, he casts me aside.
Yes, he can dismiss me as he would a lackey. If I enjoy his fortune,
it is only because he is willing that I should do so. I owe my very
existence, as well as my luxuries,