Pagina 282 de 896

Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, was

cruelly, craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood looking

quietly at his nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand. Once again

he touched him on the breast, as though his finger were the fine

point of a small sword, with which, in delicate finesse, he ran

him through the body, and said,

"My friend, I will die, perpetuating the system under which I

have lived."

When he had said it, he took a culminating pinch of snuff, and

put his box in his pocket.

"Better to be a rational creature," he added then, after ringing

a small bell on the table, "and accept your natural destiny. But

you are lost, Monsieur Charles, I see."

"This property and France are lost to me," said the nephew,

sadly; "I renounce them."

"Are they both yours to renounce? France may be, but is the

property? It is scarcely worth mentioning; but, is it yet?"

"I had no intention, in the words I used, to claim it yet. If it

passed to me from you, to-morrow--"