“No circumstances, no treachery, no betrayal? You mean that you will love him in spite of everything, because of his personal attractions? Even though he proved a D’Estourny, would you love him still?”
“Oh, my father! you do not know your daughter. Could I love a coward, a man without honor, without faith?”
“But suppose he had deceived you?”
“He? that honest, candid soul, half melancholy? You are joking, father, or else you have never met him.”
“But you see now that your love is not inextinguishable, as you chose to call it. I have already made you admit that circumstances could alter your poem; don’t you now see that fathers are good for something?”
“You want to give me a lecture, papa; it is positively l’Ami des Enfants over again.”
“Poor deceived girl,” said her father, sternly; “it is no lecture of mine, I count for nothing in it; indeed, I am only trying to soften the blow.”
“Father, don’t play tricks with my life,” exclaimed Modeste, turning pale.
“Then, my daughter, summon all your courage. It is you who have been playing tricks with your life, and life is now tricking you.”
Modeste looked at her father in stupid amazement.