"
"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.
"Suppose that young man whom you love, whom you saw four days ago at
church in Havre, was a deceiver?"
"Never!" she cried; "that noble head, that pale face full of poetry--"
"--was a lie," said the colonel interrupting her. "He was no more
Monsieur de Canalis than I am that sailor over there putting out to
sea."
"Do you know what you are killing in me?" she said in a low voice.
"Comfort yourself, my child; though accident has put the punishment of
your fault into the fault itself, the harm done is not irreparable.
The young man whom you have seen, and with whom you exchanged hearts
by correspondence, is a loyal and honorable fellow; he came to me and
confided everything. He loves you, and I have no objection to him as a
son-in-law.
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