of importance, and waited to hear what I had to say, while I was anxiously pondering over the best way to begin. At last I broke the silence.
"You are a good father, sir," I said, trembling as I spoke. "You have lavished the greatest kindness upon me, and have forgiven me faults beyond number. And, for my own part, I can say before Heaven that no son ever felt more affection or more respect for a parent than I entertain for you. Yet it seems to me—I must own, in fact—that—that—your severity—is———"
"Well, sir, and what of my severity?" interrupted my father, evidently impatient that I should come to the point.
"Ah, sir!" I went on, "it seems to me, I confess, that you have been too severe in your treatment of my unhappy Manon. You have taken your ideas of her from M. de G——— M———. His malice has led him to paint her to you in the darkest of colors, and you have formed the most odious conception of her character. Yet never was there a sweeter, a more lovable being! Oh, why did it never please Heaven to inspire you with a wish to see her—if only for one moment? Sure as I am that she is
