"D'Alembert was then inflexible (said he). He has just announced to the Marquis and me your acceptance of his son. Oh! my child, can you pardon the father who has doomed you to wretchedness?"
Madeline flung herself into his arms. She would have spoken—she would have assured him, that the wretchedness of her destiny could not be as great as he imagined, from knowing that it had mitigated his; but sighs and sobs impeded her utterance. At length, raising her head—"Oh! my father (she said), do not torture me by such language; strengthen, instead of weakening me; aid me—advise me; enable me to perform the duties of the station I am about entering into. That God (cried she, lifting her streaming eyes to heaven), that God whom we both worship and adore, delights not in the miseries of his creatures: when, therefore, acting right, we may surely hope that he will mitigate our sorrows."
