The Master of Ironies

"I have been three months on the water; I have been without my
accustomed canary and honey; I have dined upon salt meats till my
tongue and stomach are parched like corn. Have you no welcome?"

The Chevalier laughed.

"They haven't tamed you, then?" The marquis drew circles in the
spilled salt. "Have you become . . . great and respected?"

The thrust went deep. A pallor formed under the Chevalier's tan. "I
have made some progress, Monsieur. If any laugh, they do so behind my
back."

The marquis nodded approvingly.

"Have you come all this journey to mock me?"

"Well," the father confessed, "I do not like the way you say 'you'."

They rested. The marquis breathed the easier of the two.

"Monsieur, I have not much time to spare. What has brought you here?"

"Why am I here? I have come to do my flesh and blood a common justice.
In France you did not give me time."

"Justice?" ironically. "Is that not a new word in your vocabulary?"

"I have always known the word; there were some delicate shades which I
overlooked. I lied to you."

The Chevalier started.

"It was a base lie, unworthy of a gentleman and a father." The marquis
fumbled at his lips. "The lie has kept me rather wakeful. Anger burns
quickly, and the ashes are bitter. I am a proud man, but there is no
flaw in my pride. You are my lawful son."

"What! Have you gone to the trouble of having me legitimatized?" with
a terrible laugh.