"Do not drink."

The Duke read the whole hideous truth in the face and manner of his son.
His features quivered, his face grew purple, and his eyes filled with
blood. He strove to speak, but only an inarticulate rattle could be
heard; he then clasped his hands convulsively, swayed backwards and
forwards, and then fell helplessly backwards, striking his head against
an oaken sideboard that stood near. Norbert tore open the door.

"Quick, help!" cried he. "I have killed my father."

CHAPTER IX.

THE HONOR OF THE NAME.

The account that the Duke of Champdoce had given of M. de Puymandour's
mad longing for rank and title was true, and afforded a melancholy
instance of that peculiar kind of foolish vanity. He was a much happier
man in his younger days, when he was known simply as Palouzet, which was
his father's name, whose only wish for distinction was to be looked upon
as an honest man. In those days he was much looked up to and respected,
as a man who had possessed brains enough to amass a very large fortune
by strictly honest means. All this vanished, however, when the unhappy
idea occurred to him to affix the title of Count to the name of an
estate that he had recently purchased.

From that moment, all his tribulations in life may have been said to
have commenced. The nobility laughed at his assumption of hereditary
rank, while the middle classes frowned at his pretensions to be superior
to them, so that he passed the existence of a shuttlecock, continually
suspended in the air, and struck at and dismissed from either side.

It may, therefore, be easily imagined how excessively anxious he was to
bring about the marriage between his daughter Marie and the son of that
mighty nobleman, the Duke of Champdoce. He had offered to sacrifice
one-third of his fortune for the honor of forming this connection, and
would have given up the whole of it, could he but have seen a child in
whose veins ran the united blood of Palouzet and the Champdoce seated
upon his knee. A marriage of this kind would have given him a real
position; for to have a Champdoce for a son-in-law would compel all
scoffers to bridle their tongues.

The day after he had received a favorable reply from the Duke, M.
de Puymandour thought that it was time to inform his daughter of his
intentions. He never thought that she would make any opposition, and, of
course, supposed that she would be as delighted as he was at the honor
that awaited her. He was s