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from the eyes of the bodies into which its lead was fired, out of the
barrels of a hundred thousand muskets.

“Meanwhile,” said the Marquis, “I will preserve the honour and
repose of the family. if you will not. But you must be fatigued.
Shall we terminate our conference for the night?” “A moment
more.” “An hour, if you please.” “Sir,” said the nephew, “we have
done wrong, and are reaping the fruits of wrong.” “We have done
wrong?” repeated the Marquis, with an inquiring smile, and
delicately pointing, first to his nephew, then to himself.

“Our family; our honourable family, whose honour is of so much
account to both of us, in such different ways. Even in my father’s
time, we did a world of wrong, injuring every human creature who
came between us and our pleasure, whatever it was. Why need I
speak of my father’s time, when it is equally yours? Can I separate
my father’s twin-brother, joint inheritor, and next successor, from
himself?” “Death has done that!” said the Marquis.

“And has left me,” answered the nephew, “bound to a system that
is frightful to me, responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking to
execute the last request of my dear mother’s lips, and obey the last
look of my dear mother’s eyes, which im-plored me to have mercy
and to redress; and tortured by seeking assistance and power in
vain.” “Seeking them from me, my nephew,” said the Marquis,
touching him on the breast with his forefinger-they were now
standing by the hearth-“you will for ever seek them in vain, be
assured.” Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face,
was cruelly, craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood
looking quietly at his nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand. Once
again he touched him on the breast, as though his finger were the
fine point of a small sword, with which, in delicate finesse, he ran
him through the body, and said, “My friend, I will die,
perpetuating the system under which I have lived.” When he had
said it, he took a culminating pinch of snuff, and put his box in his

“Better to be a rational creature,” he added then, after ringing a
small bell on the table, “and accept your natural destiny. But you
are lost, Monsieur Charles, I see.” “This property and France are
lost to me,” said the nephew, sadly; “I renounce them.” “Are they
both yours to renounce? France may be, but is the property? It is
scarcely worth mentioning; but, is it yet?” “I had no intention, in
the words I used, to claim it yet. If it passed to me from you, to-
morrow--” “Which I have the vanity to hope is not probable.” “-or
twenty years hence--” “You do me too much honour,” said the
Marquis; “still, I prefer that supposition.” “-I would abandon it,
and live otherwise and elsewhere. It is little to relinquish. What is
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