dragging himself on his knees before the chevalier,—"Sir," cried he to him beseechingly, "if you have any feeling of humanity left, take pity on my poor child; lend her, in order that she may live, the twentieth part of my fortune that fate has thrown into your hands."
"Ah! decidedly," replied the chevalier, "this comedy is tiresome and annoying—let us end it!"
At this moment the door is opened; a young girl, in tears, half dressed, threw herself into the room where this scene was passing. "My father! my father!" exclaimed she, "I have heard everything. You have then lost all? all? And your Angela, you forgot her! You did not think then that the day you became unfortunate you would have a daughter left to love you and take care of you in your old age! I will work for your support, my father; come, let us quit this house, let us fly from the sight of this cruel man who gloats over your despair; we shall find some home where, with my labor, and the assistance of God, I shall be able to place you at your ease."
Before this picture of angelic filial piety, chevalier Menars felt the sting of remorse penetrate his soul. It seemed to him that he saw in this beautiful young girl the angel chosen by heaven to condemn his hardness of heart. He could not bear the energetic look of Angela, who treated him thus scornfully. She was so admirably beautiful, that it was impossible to see her thus without feeling the ardor of extreme love. Chevalier Menars remained as if fascinated by the magnetism of this apparition; and pointing with his finger to a casket that a servant had just brought into the room, he exclaimed:—"Take back this accursed money; I did not win it; I cannot keep it, I will give you even more. Take it, take it"
But Angela proudly repulsed this concession;—"It is not," said she, "either gold or fortune that assures the happiness of God's nobly endowed creatures; carry off those vile riches for which you sacrifice without shame all that men hold
