He sprang onto the carpet, thrust his feet into his slippers, and, with his shirt tails floating in the air, rushed in turn to his daughter's room. As soon as he saw it, he no longer retained any doubt. She had fled. He dropped into a chair and placed his lamp on the ground in front of him.
His wife had rejoined him, and stammered: "Well?"
He had no longer the strength to reply; he was no longer enraged, he only groaned: "It is done; he has got her. We are done for."
She did not understand, and said: "What do you mean? done for?"
"Yes, by Jove! He will certainly marry her now."
She gave a cry like that of a wild beast: "He, never! You must be mad!"
He replied, sadly: "It is no use howling. He has run away with her, he has dishonored her. The best thing is to give her to him. By setting to work in the right way no one will be aware of this escapade."
She repeated, shaken by terrible emotion: "Never, never; he shall never have Susan. I will never consent."
Walter murmured, dejectedly: "But he has got her. It is done. And he will keep her and hide her as long as we do not yield. So, to avoid scandal, we must give in at once."
His wife, torn by pangs she could not acknowledge, repeated: "No, no, I will never consent."