"What interest, child," cried he, with a frightful expression upon his features, "what interest!--You know you are sure of my affection for you, but I believe, nevertheless, that sooner than let you persevere in this love I prefer to see you dead. Oh, yes, dead! Ask of me all you wish, demand my blood, my life, but I plead with you, renounce this detested Carl, whom I hate as my enemy," continued he, seizing her arm and pressing it with savage energy. "Renounce him, I pray you; say that you will love him no more, that you will think of him only as an enemy--as the enemy of your father." Katharina burst into tears. "I wish I could promise what you exact of me, but I feel it impossible to keep a promise to forget him." "Oh! say to me that you will never abandon me, never leave me alone in my solitary dwelling," pursued the merciless old man, without appearing to have heard the words of his daughter; "say that you will not marry while I live. You wish not my death, do you?" "Your death!" "Yes, my death! Listen! I lost your mother while you were an infant. It is needless to say what a terrible blow her loss was to me, but I have consoled myself with the idea that you remained to me, and with the hope of finding in you all her virtues. This hope has not been deceived. I see in you today my regretted Anne, with her beauty, all her precious qualities, and her incessant cares for my happiness. If in losing you I lose a second time all that is dear to me I shall not survive it." "Father, I pray you." "Oh, I know what you wish to say, that your husband would be my friend, would prove a most tender and respectful son; perhaps even through pity he would consent to leave you with me; but the idea alone of knowing that when he wished he could take you from me would embitter my life. And now," said he, perceiving with joy that his words had made a profound impression upon the young girl, "Katharina, I appeal to your heart. Will you abandon the poor old man who lives only by you and for you? Can you reduce to despair and fill with bitterness the few days which yet remain to me? Would you kill me slowly and force me to curse in my last moments, my only daughter, whose abandonment will have caused my death?" "Never, oh, never!" she cried, throwing herself in tears upon his breast. "Pardon me, my poor father." "Thus you will remain? Always! You will never think of marrying while I live?" "Never." "Oh, I knew it," cried he, embracing her. "I knew I should recover my daughter! The conviction that you have assured the happiness of your father will soften the bitterness of your regrets." She fell upon her knees sobbing, a prey to an indescribable emotion. He placed his hand upon her head, and raising his eyes to heaven said with an inspired air: