is I, your
paternal parent."

"And you could not leave me in peace, even here?" The son stepped, back
and strained his arms across his chest.

"From your tone it would seem so." The marquis sat down. A fit of
trembling had seized his legs. How the boy had changed in three
months! He looked like a god, an Egyptian god, with that darkened
skin; and the tilt of the chin recalled the mother.

"I had hoped never to look upon your face again," coldly.

The marquis waved his hand. "Life is a page of disappointments, with a
margin of realized expectations which is narrow indeed. Will you not
sit down?"

"I prefer to stand. It is safer for you with the table between us."

"Your sword was close to my heart one night. I made no effort to
repulse it."

"Heaven was not quite ready for you, Monsieur."

"Heaven or Hell. There seems to be gall in your blood yet."

"Who put it there?" The Chevalier was making an effort to control his
passion.

"I put it there, it is true. But did you not stir a trifle too well?"

"Why are you here? What is your purpose?"

"I have been three months on the water; I have been without my
accustomed canary and honey; I have dined upon salt meats till my
tongue and stomach are parched like corn. Have you no welcome?"

The Chevalier laughed.

"They haven't tamed you, then?" The marquis drew circles in the
spilled salt. "Have you become . . . great and respected?"

The thrust went deep. A pallor formed under the Chevalier's tan. "I
have made some progress, Monsieur. If any laugh, they do so behind my
back."

The marquis nodded approvingly.

"Have you come all this journey to mock me?"

"Well," the father confessed, "I do not like the way you say 'you'."

They rested. The marquis breathed the easier of the two.

"Monsieur, I have not much time to spare. What has brought you here?"

"Why am I here? I have come to do my flesh and blood a common justice.
In France you did not give me time."

"Justice?" ironically. "Is that not a new word in your vocabulary?"

"I have always known the word; there were some delicate shades which I
overlooked. I lied to you."

The Chevalier started.

"It was a base lie, unworthy of a gentleman and a father." The marquis
fumbled at his lips. "The lie has kept me rather wakeful. Anger burns
quickly, and the ashes are bitter. I am a proud man, but there is no
flaw in my pride. You are my lawful son."

"What! Have you gone to