always spoke with the affection of a father. The millionaire, in
spite of his reputation for miserliness, had even volunteered his
disinterested support if at any time it should become necessary to
enlarge the plant. And it was this good man's happiness that his son, a
frivolous and useless dancer, was going to steal! . . .

At first Laurier spoke of a duel. His wrath was that of a work horse who
breaks the tight reins of his laboring outfit, tosses his mane, neighs
wildly and bites. The father was greatly distressed at the possibility
of such an outcome. . . . One scandal more! Julio had dedicated the
greater part of his existence to the handling of arms.

"He will kill the poor man!" he said to the senator. "I am sure that he
will kill him. It is the logic of life; the good-for-nothing always kill
those who amount to anything."

But there was no killing. The Father of the Republic knew how to handle
the clashing parties, with the same skill that he always employed in
the corridors of the Senate during a ministerial crisis. The scandal was
hushed up. Marguerite went to live with her mother and took the first
steps for a divorce.

Some evenings, when the studio clock was striking seven, she would yawn
and say sadly: "I must go. . . . I have to go, although this is my true
home. . . . Ah, what a pity that we are not married!"

And he, feeling a whole garden of bourgeois virtues, hitherto ignored,
bursting into bloom, repeated in a tone of conviction:

"That's so; why are we not married!"