My father's race is mine.--I forgot its glories, and atoned its wrongs in marrying you!--But I love, revere, my father still, and have hoped each day that he would come to love you for your saving care of me--and grow content to take you as a son. PAUL. Who knows--perhaps he will. DIANE. [_Sadly_.] Ah, no! The more you do for me, the more his pride revolts, till now I dare not tell him of our marriage. PAUL. Diane--listen. The time has come when you must choose between us. I staked my life in saving yours, and his! He loves but little if he hesitates to keep the precious life I saved unmarred by sorrow. DIANE. Well, then, so be it! Have your will! But oh, seek first his blessing for our love, before you tell him of our secret marriage. PAUL. My love for you will teach me tenderness for him. Go now and send him here. [_Kissing her_.] Courage! All may yet be well. [_Exit_ DIANE. PAUL _sits at desk wearily_.] Hateful humiliation!--to stoop in pleading for that already mine! But patience, Paul Kauvar; he is the father of the woman you adore. DUKE. [_Entering and advancing to_ PAUL.] One word before we part, good friend. I thought to leave this house without farewell, but I cannot be so cruel. I have learned that this is no longer a safe retreat. I am forced to seek one safer. PAUL. And where will you find one, Monsieur? DUKE. I shall best serve you by keeping that a secret. PAUL. And does your daughter go with you? DUKE. Could you think that I would leave her here? PAUL. Certainly, Monsieur. If to stay seemed less perilous than to go. Why not let me replace you for awhile? DUKE. You guard my daughter here alone? PAUL. In my character of cousin to Diane Leblanc, gossip has already united us by even a closer tie. DUKE. To my infinite annoyance, sir. PAUL. Monsieur le Duc, in times like these, Madame Kauvar would be far safer than Mademoiselle de Beaumont. DUKE. [_With quiet hauteur_.] There are some means of safety forbidden to my rank, sir.--Pardon me if I must say that what you suggest is one of them. PAUL. What if I dared to love your daughter, to hope that you would grant me the right to guard her as my wife? DUKE. Seriously? PAUL. Seriously! DUKE. [_Shrugging his shoulders_.] This is another of the many insanities of the times. PAUL. [_Haughtily_.] Suppose I had reason to believe that your daughter would consent? DUKE. [_Sternly_.] One moment, Monsieur! Your first proposition involves but madness,--your last implies dishonour. PAUL. [_Indignantly_.] Dishonour! [_Checking himself_.] Monsieur, honesty is honoured now, even though it be not allied to an empty title. Tis not a crest, but character, that measures manhood in this modern age. Therefore I do not fear to tell you-- [DUKE _turns quickly_. PAUL _hesitates_.] that I love your daughter. DUKE. [_With terrible contempt_.]