They were quietly finishing their lunch, chatting with no sense of anxiety. Parent could not hear their words, but he could see their calm gestures. The face of his wife was particularly exasperating to him. She had acquired a haughty air, the appearance of a fat and unapproachable nun, armour-plated with moral principles, casemated in virtue.
They paid their bill and rose. Then he saw Limousin. He looked for all the world like a retired diplomat, he wore such an air of importance, with his handsome whiskers, soft and white, whose points fell to the lapels of his frock-coat.
They departed. Georges was smoking a cigar, and wore his hat over one ear. Parent promptly followed them.
At first they walked along the terrace, regarding the landscape with the placid admiration of the well-fed; then they went into the forest.
Parent rubbed his hands and continued to follow them, at a distance, concealing himself so as not to rouse their notice too soon.
They walked with short steps, basking in the warm air and the greenery. Henriette was leaning on Limousin’s arm and was walking, very upright, at his side, like a wife sure and proud of herself. Georges was knocking leaves down with his cane, and occasionally leapt lightly over the ditches at the side of the road, like an eager young horse on the point of dashing into the foliage.
Little by little Parent caught them up, panting with emotion and weariness, for he never walked now. Soon he came up with them, but a confused, inexplicable fear had seized hold of him, and he went past them, so as to turn round and meet them face to face.
He walked on with a beating heart, feeling them now behind him, and kept saying to himself: “Come! Now is the time; courage, courage! Now is the time!”
He turned round. All three had sat down at the foot of a large tree, and were still chatting.
At that he made up his mind, and went back with rapid steps. Stopping in front of them, he stood in the middle of the road and stammered in a voice broken with emotion.
“It is I! Here I am! You were not expecting me, were you?”
All three stared at the man, whom they thought mad.
“Anyone might think you did not know me,” he continued. “Look at me! I am Parent, Henri Parent. You were not expecting me, eh? You thought it was all over; that you would never see me again, never. But no, here I am again. Now we will have it out.”
Henriette, terrified, hid her face in her hands, murmuring: “Oh, my God!”
Seeing this stranger apparently threatening his mother, Georges had risen, ready to take him by the throat.
Limousin, dumbfounded, was looking with terrified eyes at this man come from the dead, who waited for a few seconds to regain his breath and went on:
“So now we’ll have it out. The moment has come! You deceived me, condemned me to the life of a convict, and you thought I should never catch you!”
But the young man took him by the shoulders and, thrusting him away, said:
“Are you mad? What do you want? Get along with you at once or I’ll lay you out!”
“What do I want?” replied Parent. “I want to tell you who those people are.”
But Georges, furious now, shook him and raised his hand to strike him.
“Let go,” he said. “I am your father. … Look and see if those wretches recognise me now!”
Horribly startled, the young man loosened his grasp and turned to his mother.
Parent, freed, walked up to her.
“Well? Tell him who I am! Tell him that my name is Henri Parent, and that I am his father, since his name is Georges Parent, since you are my wife, since all three of you are living on my money, on the allowance of ten thousand francs which I have been giving you ever since I threw you out of my house. And tell him also why I threw you out of my house. Because I surprised you with that wretch, that scoundrel, your lover!—Tell him what I was, I, a good man whom you married for his money, and deceived from the first day. Tell him who you are and who I am. …”
He stammered and panted, overcome with rage.
“Paul, Paul!” cried the woman in a piercing voice. “Stop him; make him be silent! Stop him saying these things in the presence of my son!”
Limousin had risen in his turn.
“Be silent, be silent,” he murmured in a very low voice. “Realise what you are doing.”
“I know what I am doing!” replied Parent furiously. “That is not all. There is one thing I want to know, a thing which has been tormenting me for twenty years.”
He turned towards Georges, who was leaning against a tree, bewildered.
“Listen,” he continued. “When she left my house, she thought it was not enough to have betrayed me; she wanted to leave me hopeless too. You were my only consolation; well, she took you away, swearing that I was not your father, but that he was! Was she lying? I do not know. For twenty years I have been wondering.”
He went right up to her, a tragic, terrible figure, and, tearing away the hand with which she covered her face, cried:
“Well! I summon you today to tell me which of us is this young man’s father—he or I: your husband or your lover. Come, come, tell me!”
Limousin flung himself upon him. Parent thrust him back.
“Ah!” he sniggered furiously; “you are brave today; braver than the day when you fled on to the staircase because I was going to strike you. Well, if she won’t answer, answer yourself. Tell me, are you the boy’s father? Come, speak!”
He turned back to his wife.
“If you will not tell me,” he said, “at least tell your son. He is a man now. He has a perfect
