he hated his father with a cold and determined loathing. Had he dared,
he would have shown this feeling openly, but the Duke de Champdoce
inspired him with an unconquerable feeling of terror. This state of
affairs continued for some months, and at the end of that time the Duke
felt that he ought to make his son acquainted with his projects. One
Sunday, after supper, he commenced this task. Norbert had never seen
his father so animated as he was at this moment, when all his ancestral
pride blazed in his eyes. He explained at length the acts and deeds of
those heroes who had been the ornament of their house, and enumerated
the influential marriages which had been made by them in the days when
their very name was a power in the land. And what remained of all their
power and rank, save their Parisian domicile, their old Chateau, and
some two hundred thousand francs of income?

Norbert could hardly credit what he heard; he had never believed that
his father possessed such enormous wealth. "Why, it is inconceivable!"
he muttered. And yet, as he looked round, he saw that the surroundings
were those of a peasant's cottage. How could he endure so many
discomforts and wounds to his pride? In his anger he absolutely started
to his feet with the intention of reproaching his father, but his
courage failed him, and he fell back into a chair, quivering with
emotion.

The Duke de Champdoce was pacing up and down the room.

"Do you think it so little?" asked he angrily.

Norbert knew that not one of the neighboring nobility who had the
reputation of being wealthy possessed half this annual income, and it
was with a feeling of bitter anger in his heart that he listened to the