"A base-born peasant! to dare--"
"Oh, father! he is not base! His heart is noble," replied Nina,
speaking from a sudden impulse.
"He confessed himself the son of a peasant! Who is he?"
"He is the son of Blanche Delebarre," returned Nina, timidly. "He
has just returned from Florence, an artist of high merit. There is
nothing base about him, father!"
"The son of a peasant, and an artist, to dare approach me and claim
the hand of my child! And worse, that child to so far forget her
birth and position as to favor the suit! Madness! And this is your
good Blanche!--your guide in all works of benevolence! She shall be
punished for this base betrayal of the confidence I have reposed in
her."
Nina fell upon her knees before her father, and with tears and
earnest entreaties pleaded for the mother of Pierre; but the old man
was wild and mad with anger. He uttered passionate maledictions on
the head of Blanche and her presumptuous son, and positively forbade
Nina again leaving the castle on any pretext whatever, under the
penalty of never being permitted to return.
Had so broad an interdiction not been made, there would have been
some glimmer of light in Nina's dark horizon; she would have hoped
for some change--would have, at least, been blessed with short, even
if stolen, interviews with Pierre.
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