Clotilde raised her throat, shrewish in excitement. ‘False! He did not. I went to him of my own will, to run from your heartlessness, mother--that I call mother!--and be out of hearing of my father’s curses and threats. Yes, to him I fled, feeling that I belonged more to him than to you. And never will I return to you. You have killed my love; I am this man’s own because I love him only; him ever! him you abuse, as his partner in life for all it may give!--as his wife! Trample on him, you trample on me. Make black brows at your child for choosing the man, of all men alive, to worship and follow through the world. I do. I am his. I glory in him.’ Her gaze on Alvan said: ‘Now!’ Was she not worthy of him now? And would they not go forth together now? Oh! now! Her gaze was met by nothing like the brilliant counterpart she merited. It was as if she had offered her beauty to a glass, and found a reflection in dull metal. He smiled calmly from her to her mother. He said: ‘You accuse me of stealing your child, madame. You shall acknowledge that you have wronged me. Clotilde, my Clotilde! may I count on you to do all and everything for me? Is there any sacrifice I could ask that would be too hard for you? Will you at one sign from me go or do as I request you?’ She replied, in an anguish over the chilling riddle of his calmness: ‘I will,’ but sprang out of that obedient consent, fearful of over-acting her part of slave to him before her mother, in a ghastly apprehension of the part he was for playing to the same audience. ‘Yes, I will do all, all that you command. I am yours. I will go with you. Bid me do whatever you can think of, all except bid me go back to the people I have hitherto called mine:--not that!’ ‘And that is what I have to request of you,’ said he, with his calm smile brightening and growing more foreign, histrionic, unreadable to her. ‘And this greatest sacrifice that you can perform for me, are you prepared to do it? Will you?’ She tried to decipher the mask he wore: it was proof against her imploring eyes. ‘If you can ask me--if you can positively wish it--yes,’ she said. ‘But think of what you are doing. Oh! Alvan, not back to them! Think!’ He smiled insufferably. He was bent on winning a parent-blest bride, an unimpeachable wife, a lady handed to him instead of taken, one of the world’s polished silver vessels. ‘Think that you are doing this for me!’ said he. ‘It is for my sake. And now, madame, I give you back your daughter. You see she is mine to give, she obeys me, and I--though it can be only for a short time--give her back to you. She goes with you purely because it is my wish: do not forget that. And so, madame, I have the honour,’ he bowed profoundly.