That he was justified of this was proved when on the following Thursday towards noon his academy was invaded by M. de Kercadiou. Gilles, the boy, brought him word of it, and breaking off at once the lesson upon which he was engaged, he pulled off his mask, and went as he was—in a chamois waistcoat buttoned to the chin and with his foil under his arm to the modest salon below, where his godfather awaited him.
The florid little Lord of Gavrillac stood almost defiantly to receive him.
"I have been over-persuaded to forgive you," he announced aggressively, seeming thereby to imply that he consented to this merely so as to put an end to tiresome importunities.
André-Louis was not misled. He detected a pretence adopted by the Seigneur so as to enable him to retreat in good order.
"My blessings on the persuaders, whoever they may have been. You restore me my happiness, monsieur my godfather."
He took the hand that was proffered and kissed it, yielding to the impulse of the unfailing habit of his boyish days. It was an act symbolical of his complete submission, reëstablishing between himself and his godfather the bond of protected and protector, with all the mutual claims and duties that it carries. No mere words could more completely have made his peace with this man who loved him.
M. de Kercadiou's face flushed a deeper pink, his lip trembled, and there was a huskiness in the voice that murmured "My dear boy!" Then he recollected himself, threw back his great head and frowned. His voice resumed its habitual shrillness. "You realize, I hope, that you have behaved damnably ... damnably, and with the utmost ingratitude?"
"Does not that depend upon the point of view?" quoth André-Louis, but his tone was studiously conciliatory.
"It depends upon a fact, and not upon any point of view.
