the lover she mistrusts. He thought he read in his eyes many thoughts
which were not there; and according as he saw him, gay or sad, careless
or preoccupied, he was reassured or still more alarmed.

Sometimes he imagined the worst. "If I should quarrel with Martial," he
thought, "he would take possession of his entire fortune, and I should
be left without bread."

These torturing apprehensions were, to a man who judged the sentiments
of others by his own, a terrible chastisement.

Ah! no one would have wished his existence at the price he paid for
it--not even the poor wretches who envied his lot and his apparent
happiness, as they saw him roll by in his magnificent carriage.

There were days when he almost went mad.

"What am I?" he exclaimed, foaming with rage. "A mere plaything in the
hands of a child. My son owns me. If I displease him, he casts me aside.
Yes, he can dismiss me as he would a lackey. If I enjoy his fortune,
it is only because he is willing that I should do so. I owe my very
existence, as well as my luxuries, to his charity. But a moment of
anger, even a caprice, may deprive me of everything."

With such ideas in his brain, the duke could not love his son.

He hated him.

He passionately envied him all the advantages he possessed--his youth,
his millions, his physical beauty, and his talents, which were really of