"But you won't do so!" cried Pascal, in a transport, "it would be
shameful; I won't allow it. Never, I swear before high Heaven!
never, while I live, shall Valorsay marry Marguerite. He may
perhaps vanquish me in the coming struggle; he may lead her to the
threshold of the church, but there he will find me--armed--and I
will have justice--human justice in default of legal satisfaction.
And, afterward, the law may take its course!"

The baron looked at him with deep emotion. "Ah, you know what it
is to love!" he exclaimed; and in a hollow voice, he added: "and
thus it was that I loved Marguerite's mother."

The breakfast-table had not been cleared, and a large decanter of
water was still standing on it. The baron poured out two large
glasses, which he drained with feverish avidity, and then he began
to walk aimlessly about the room.

Pascal held his peace. It seemed to him that his own destiny was
being decided in this man's mind, that his whole future depended
upon the determination he arrived at. A prisoner awaiting the
verdict of the jury could not have suffered more intense anxiety.
At last, when a minute, which seemed a century, had elapsed, the
baron paused. "Now as before, M. Ferailleur," he said, roughly,
"I'm for you and with you. Give me your hand--that's right.
Honest people ought to protect and assist one another when
scoundrels assail them. We will reinstate you in public esteem,
monsieur. We will unmask Coralth, and we will crush Valorsay if
we find that he is really the instigator of the infamous plot that
ruined you."