My father was seated in my room in his dressing-gown; he was writing, and I saw at once, by the way in which he raised his eyes to me when I came in, that there was going to be a serious discussion. I went up to him, all the same, as if I had seen nothing in his face, embraced him, and said:

“When did you come, father?”

“Last night.”

“Did you come straight here, as usual?”

“Yes.”

“I am very sorry not to have been here to receive you.”

I expected that the sermon which my father’s cold face threatened would begin at once; but he said nothing, sealed the letter which he had just written, and gave it to Joseph to post.

When we were alone, my father rose, and leaning against the mantel-piece, said to me:

“My dear Armand, we have serious matters to discuss.”

“I am listening, father.”

“You promise me to be frank?”

“Am I not accustomed to be so?”

“Is it not true that you are living with a woman called Marguerite Gautier?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what this woman was?”

“A kept woman.”

“And it is for her that you have forgotten to come and see your sister and me this year?”

“Yes, father, I admit it.”

“You are very much in love with this woman?”

“You see it, father, since she has made me fail in duty toward you, for which I humbly ask your forgiveness today.”

My father, no doubt, was not expecting such categorical answers, for he seemed to reflect a moment, and then said to me:

“You have, of course, realized that you can not always live like that?”

“I fear so, father, but I have not realized it.”

“But you must realize,” continued my father, in a dryer tone, “that I, at all events, should not permit it.”

“I have said to myself that as long as I did nothing contrary to the respect which I owe to the traditional probity of the family I could live as I am living, and this has reassured me somewhat in regard to the fears I have had.”

Passions are formidable enemies to sentiment. I was prepared for every struggle, even with my father, in order that I might keep Marguerite.

“Then, the moment is come when you must live otherwise.”

“Why, father?”

“Because you are doing things which outrage the respect that you imagine you have for your family.”

“I don’t follow your meaning.”

“I will explain it to you. Have a mistress if you will; pay her as a man of honour is bound to pay the woman whom he keeps, by all means; but that you should come to forget the most sacred things for her, that you should let the report of your scandalous life reach my quiet countryside, and set a blot on the honourable name that I have given you, it can not, it shall not be.”

“Permit me to tell you, father, that those who have given you information about me have been ill-informed. I am the lover of Mlle. Gautier; I live with her; it is the most natural thing in the world. I do not give Mlle. Gautier the name you have given me; I spend on her account what my means allow me to spend; I have no debts; and, in short, I am not in a position which authorizes a father to say to his son what you have just said to me.”

“A father is always authorized to rescue his son out of evil paths. You have not done any harm yet, but you will do it.”

“Father!”

“Sir, I know more of life than you do. There are no entirely pure sentiments except in perfectly chaste women. Every Manon can have her own Des Grieux, and times are changed. It would be useless for the world to grow older if it did not correct its ways. You will leave your mistress.”

“I am very sorry to disobey you, father, but it is impossible.”

“I will compel you to do so.”

“Unfortunately, father, there no longer exists a Sainte Marguerite to which courtesans can be sent, and, even if there were, I would follow Mlle. Gautier if you succeeded in having her sent there. What would you have? Perhaps am in the wrong, but I can only be happy as long as I am the lover of this woman.”

“Come, Armand, open your eyes. Recognise that it is your father who speaks to you, your father who has always loved you, and who only desires your happiness. Is it honourable for you to live like husband and wife with a woman whom everybody has had?”

“What does it matter, father, if no one will any more? What does it matter, if this woman loves me, if her whole life is changed through the love which she has for me and the love which I have for her? What does it matter, if she has become a different woman?”

“Do you think, then, sir, that the mission of a man of hono............