"'Oh, why torture me thus?' she replied, faintly, while pressing her hands on her heart.
"'Torture—bon diable! she talks of torture, with a suitor here who has ever so many thousand livres per annum,' said M. du Platel, shrugging up his shoulders.
"'Mon père,' she demanded, with her little nostrils quivering, and her blue eyes flashing fire; 'for how many thousand purses do the Circassians sell?'
"'Morbleu! she is always speaking about Circassians,' growled M. d'Escombas; 'what do we know of them, save that they are pagans who eat horseflesh on Friday, and never sign the cross or keep the month of Mary.'
"'And yet they sell their daughters, M. d'Escombas, just like the subjects of the Most Christian king.'
"'Child, this is treason and blasphemy—and close to the walls of the Luxembourg, too!'
"''Tis truth and despair.'
"'Summon a fiacre, M. d'Escombas—a thousand devils, 'tis time to end this!' exclaimed du Platel, grinding his teeth, and then they bore her away from me.
"In three days after this sorrowful meeting I heard the bells of St. Germain de Prè ringing gaily for the marriage of Isabelle to the wealthy citizen d'Escombas, who was willing to take her without a portion—a circumstance that had quite sufficient influence with one so sordid and cruel as her father, without considering on the other hand the vast wealth of her suitor.
"After this, I was long ill and tired of life, and believe that but for the unwearying friendship of Guillaume de Boisguiller I should have died—if indeed people ever die for love, which I don't think they do.