"I do not know," replied the young woman, hoping to calm and reassure her son. "Perhaps we attach too much to these words,—more than they deserve."
After a short silence, Frederick said to Marie, in an altered voice:
"Listen to me, mother. Since you desire it, I shall always have that respect for my father which I owe to him, but I tell you frankly, understand me,—if my father thinks ever of separating me from you and M. David—"
"Frederick!" cried the young woman, alarmed at the desperate resolution she read in her son's countenance, "why suppose what is impossible—to separate us! to take you out of the hands of M. David, and that, too, at a time when— But no, I repeat, your father has too much reason, too much good sense, to conceive such an idea."
"May Heaven hear you, mother, but I swear to you, and you know my will is firm, that no human power shall separate me from you and M. David, and that I will boldly say to my father. Let him respect our affection, our indissoluble ties, and I will bless him; but if he dares to put his hand on our happiness—"
"My son!"
"Oh, mother! our happiness, it is your life, and your life I will defend against my father himself, you understand."
"My God! my God! Frederick, I beseech you!"
"Oh, let him take care! let him take care! two or three times this evening my blood revolted against his words."
"Stop, Frederick, do not speak so; you will make me insane. Why, then, oh, my God! will you predict such painful, or rather, such impossible things! You only terrify yourself and render yourself desperate."