While speaking thus, the young lady, who was only sustained by the factitious strength sorrow imparted to her, for she was frail and delicate, was supremely beautiful; with her body bent back, her head haughtily raised, her long and silky black hair falling in disorder on her shoulders, and contrasting with the marble pallor of her face; with her large eyes, inflamed by fever and inundated with tears, that slowly coursed down her cheeks, and with her bosom heaving from the emotion that held mastery over her--there was about her whole person something deathly, which seemed no longer to belong to the earth. Her father felt involuntarily affected, in spite of his ferocious pride; and it was with a less rough voice he replied-- "I am listening to you." "Father," she resumed, leaning her hand on the back of her chair in order to support herself, "I told you that I am not guilty, and I repeat that the Count de Barmont and myself were secretly united in the church of la Merced at Cadiz, and were so by your orders. As you know it, I will not dwell further on this point; my child is, therefore legitimate, and I have a right to be proud of it. How is it, then, that you, the Duke de Peñaflor, belonging to the highest class in Spain, not satisfied with tearing me on the very day of marriage from the husband yourself selected, and depriving me of my infant on the day of its birth, accused me of committing a horrible crime, and insisted on enchaining me to another husband, while my first is still living? Answer me, my father, so that I may know the nature of that honour about which you so often speak to me, and what is the motive that renders you so cruel to an unfortunate girl, who owes her life to you, and who, ever since she has been in this world, has only felt love and respect for you." "This is too much, unnatural daughter!" the Duke shouted, as he rose wrathfully--"And as you are not afraid of braving me so unworthily--" But he suddenly checked himself, and stood motionless, trembling with fury and horror; the bedroom door had suddenly opened, and a man appeared in it, upright, haughty, with flashing eye, and hand on his sword hilt. "Ludovic, at last!" the young lady shrieked, as she rushed towards him. But her brothers caught her by the arms, and constrained her to sit down again. "The Count de Barmont!" the Duke muttered. "Myself, my lord Duke de Peñaflor," the stranger replied, with exquisite politeness--"you did not expect me, it appears to me?" And, walking a few paces into the room, while the two sailors who had followed him guarded the door, he proudly put his hat on again, and folded his arms. "What is going on here?" he asked, in a haughty voice; "And who dares to use violence to the Countess de Barmont?" "The Countess de Barmont?" the Duke repeated, contemptuously.