“But I wish you to live,” continued the latter, concluding the sentence she had begun, “to forgive me as I forgive you.”
“Pardon, Morlaix, pardon!” cried the marquis, falling back in his arm-chair, his hair standing on end with terror, and the perspiration streaming from his forehead.
“Oh! father! father!”
“You see that your father is altogether deranged,” said the marchioness, triumphantly; “say no more to him.”
“Oh!” cried Marguerite, “God will, I trust perform a miracle! My love, my caresses, my tears, will restore him to reason.”
“Make the attempt,” replied the marchioness, coldly, abandoning to her care the marquis, who was powerless, speechless, and almost without consciousness.
“Oh! my poor father!” exclaimed Marguerite, in a tone of agony.
The marquis remained perfectly impassible.
“Sir!” said the marchioness, in an imperative manner.
“Eh! eh!” cried the marquis, shuddering.