“And why do you love him?” asked he. “Because--because,” stammered the girl, “first, because he is himself; and then,--well, I can’t say, but I _do_ love him.” Her accents betrayed such depth of passion that the father uttered a groan of anguish. Flavia caught the expression of his features, and burst into a fit of laughter. “I really believe that you are jealous,” said she, as if she were speaking to a spoiled child. “That is very naughty of you; you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I tell you that the first time I set eyes upon him at Van Klopen’s, I felt a thrill of love pierce through my heart, such love as I never felt for a human being before. Since then, I have known no rest. I cannot sleep, and instead of blood, liquid fire seems to come through my veins.” Martin Rigal raised his eyes to the ceiling in mute surprise at this outburst of feeling. “You do not understand me,” went on Flavia. “You are the best of fathers, but, after all, you are but a man. Had I a mother, she would comprehend me better.” “What could your mother have done for you more than I? Have I neglected anything for your happiness?” asked the banker, with a sigh. “Perhaps nothing; for there are times when I hardly understand my own feelings.” In gloomy silence the banker listened to the narrative of his daughter’s state of mind; then he said,-- “All shall be as you desire, and the man you love shall be your husband.” The girl was almost beside herself with joy, and, throwing her arms around his neck, pressed kiss upon kiss on his cheeks and forehead. “Darling,” said she, “I love you for this more than for anything that you have given me in my life.” The banker sighed again; and Flavia, shaking her pretty little fist at him, exclaimed, “What is the meaning of that sigh, sir? Do you by any chance regret your promise? But never mind that. How do you mean to bring him here without causing any suspicion?” A benevolent smile passed over her father’s face, as he answered,-- “That, my pet, is my secret.” “Very well, keep it; I do not care what means you use, as long as I see him soon, very soon,--to-night perhaps, in an hour, or even in a few minutes. You say Dr. Hortebise will bring him here; he will sit at our table. I can look at him without trouble, I shall hear his voice--” “Silly little puss!” broke in the banker; “or, rather, I should say, unhappy child.” “Silly, perhaps; but why should you say unhappy?” “You love him too fondly, and he will take advantage of your feeling for him.” “Never; I do not believe it,” answered the girl. “I hope to heaven, darling, that my fears may never be realized. But he is not the sort of husband that I intended for you; he is a composer.”