"Our family; our honourable family, whose honour is of so muchaccount to both of us, in such different ways. Even in my father'stime, we did a world of wrong, injuring every human creature whocame between us and our pleasure, whatever it was. Why need I speak ofmy father's time, when it is equally yours? Can I separate my father'stwin-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 isfrightful to me, responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking toexecute the last request of my dear mother's lips, and obey the lastlook of my dear mother's eyes, which implored me to have mercy andto redress; and tortured by seeking assistance and power in vain."
"Seeking them from me, my nephew," said the Marquis, touching him onthe breast with his forefinger- they were now standing by thehearth- " be assured."
Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, wascruelly, craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood lookingquietly at his nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand. Once again hetouched him on the breast, as though his finger were the fine point ofa small sword, with which, in delicate finesse, he ran him through thebody, and said,As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was asecrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery tothose words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew forcibly. Atthe same time, the thin straight lines of the setting of the eyes, andthe thin straight lips, and the markings in the nose, curved with asarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.
It would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone faceoutside the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. The nephewlooked at him, in vain, in passing on to the door.
"Good night!" said the uncle. "I look to the pleasure of seeingyou again in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur my nephew to hischamber there!- And burn Monsieur my nephew in his bed, if youwill," he added to himself, before he rang his little bell again,and summoned his valet to his own bedroom.
The valet come and gone, Monsieur the Marquis walked to and fro inhis loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, thathot still night. Rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feetmaking no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger:- lookedlike some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wicked sort, in story,whose periodical change into tiger form was either just going off,or just coming on.
He moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom, looking again atthe scraps of the day's journey that came unbidden into his mind;the slow toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, the descent, themill, the prison on the crag, the little village in the hollow, thepeasants at the fountain, and the mender of roads with his blue cappointing out the chain under the carriage. That fountain suggested theParis fountain, the little bundle lying on the step, the women bendingover it, and the tall man with his arms up, crying, "Dead!"