If he loved his son he ought to know the thing that threatened
him; if he hated his son he ought to know. So, after a moment's study of
the face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like roses touched with
frost, he said slowly:
"Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier's wife?"
Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of all
was now his own. As events proved, he had taken a course which, if he
cared for his son, was for that son's well-being, and if he cared for
himself most, was essential to his own well-being.
Relief crossed the woman's face. "I'll tell you everything," she said.
Then Luzanne told her story, avoiding the fact that Carnac had been
tricked into the marriage. At last she said: "Now I've come here to make
him acknowledge me. He's ruined my life, broken my hopes, and--"
"Broken your hopes!" interrupted Barode Barouche. "How is that?"
"I might have married some one else. I could have married some one else."
"Well, why don't you? There's the Divorce Court. What's to prevent it?"
"You ask me that--you a Frenchman and a Roman Catholic! I'm French. I was
born in Paris."
"When will you let me see your papers?"
"When do you want to see them?"
"To-day-if possible to-day," he answered.
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