"You mean, no doubt, monsieur, my godson, Count Frantz de Neuberg."
"Ah, this young man is your godson, monseigneur? I congratulate you sincerely,--one could not see a prettier boy."
"Is he not?" replied the prince, sensible of this praise, even in the mouth of Pascal. "Has he not a charming face?"
"That is what I have just been observing at my leisure, monseigneur."
"And Count Frantz has not only a charming face," added the prince; "he has fine qualities of heart and great bravery."
"I am enchanted, monseigneur, to know that you have such an accomplished godson. Has he been in Paris long?"
"And he will depart with you, monseigneur, for it must be painful for you to be separated from this amiable young man?"
"Yes, monsieur, I hope to take Count Frantz with me back to Germany."
"A thousand pardons, monseigneur, for my indiscreet curiosity, but your godson is one of those persons in whom one is interested in spite of himself. Now, I am at your service."
"Then follow me, if you please, monsieur."
Pascal nodded his head in assent, and, walking side by side with the archduke, he reached the door of the study with him, then, stopping with a gesture of deference, which was only another impertinence, he bowed slightly, and said to the prince, as if his Highness had hesitated to enter first:
The prince understood the insolence, but swallowed it, and entered his study, making a sign to Pascal to follow him.
The latter, although unaccustomed to the ceremonial of the court, had too much penetration not to comprehend the import of his acts and words. He had not only the consciousness of his insolence, instigated by his recent and suppressed resentment, but this insolence he had actually studied and calculated, and even in his interview had considered the question of addressing his Royal Highness as monsieur, simply; but, by a refinement of intelligent impertinence, he thought the ceremonious appellation of monseigneur would render his familiarities still more disagreeable to the dignity and good breeding of the prince.
Let us turn back to an analysis of the character of Pascal,--a character less eccentric, perhaps, than it appears at first to be. Let us say, simply, that for ten years of his life this man, born in a humble and precarious position, had as a day-labourer and drudge submitted to the most painful humiliations, the most insolent domination, and the most outrageous contempt. Thus, bitter and implacable hatreds were massed together in his soul, and the day when, in his turn, he became powerful, he abandoned himself without scruple and without remorse to the fierce joy of reprisal, and it gave him little concern if his revenge fell upon an innocent head.