The first day on which she felt able to leave her room, she sent to crave an audience of her father. She had been told that, during her delirium, he had often visited her chamber; but, since her convalescence, he had not sent so much as an inquiry after her health.
He did not, however, deny the interview she sought. He awaited his daughter, said the messenger, in his own apartments.
The princess shuddered, and a deadly faintness came over her.
"My God! my God! will I ever be able to go through this bitter hour?
Must I, indeed, look upon him who—"
She closed her eyes to shut out the frightful remembrance. Then, gathering all her strength for the trial, she rose to seek her father, and make one last request of him.
With her head thrown proudly back, and her dark eyes flashing with resolve, she entered his cabinet.
The duke was entirely alone. He had dismissed his attendants, and now stood in the centre of the room, awaiting his daughter in gloomy silence. His cold, stern features had grown more repulsive than ever to the unhappy girl; his piercing eyes more revengeful; his thin, pale lips more cruel. He seemed to her a pitiless stranger, and she could not advance to meet him. Powerless and faint, she stood at the door; all her strength gone.
A few moments of anguish went by, and then the duke, extending his hand, said, in a tone of command, "Come hither, Isabella."
She stepped forward, and almost touched his hand, when, shuddering, her arm dropped heavily down, and forgetting all caution, she murmured, in tones of deepest agony, "I cannot! I cannot!"
The duke's eyes shot fire, as he, too, dropped his extended hand, and deep, angry folds wrinkled his forehead.