to wring your heart as you have wrung mine! You have wasted your time.
I shall never resume my title, if indeed I have one; I shall never
return to France. Do as you please with my estates. There is an abyss
between us; you can never cross it, and I shall never make the attempt."

"Supposing I had a heart," quietly; "how would you go about to wring
it?"

"There are easier riddles, Monsieur. If you waked to the sense of what
it is to love, waked as a sleeping volcano wakes, and I knew the object
of this love, it is possible that I might find a way to wring your
heart. But I refuse to concern myself with such ridiculous
impossibilities."

It was the tone, not the words, that cut; but the marquis gave no sign.
He was tired physically and felt himself mentally incompetent to play
at repartee. Besides, he had already lost too much through his love of
this double-edged sword.

"Suppose it was belated paternal love, as well as the sense of justice,
that brings me into this desert?" The Chevalier never knew what it
cost the proud old man to utter these words.

"Monsieur," laughing rudely, "you are, and always will be, the keenest
wit in France!"

"I am an old man," softly. "It is something to acknowledge that I did
you a wrong."

"You have brought the certificate of my birth?" bluntly.