ip and gratitude--be noble
and generous, and give me back the liberty of which you have deprived
me. Let me return to my companions, who must be anxiously seeking for
me, and suffering keenly because of their fears for my safety. Let me
go and resume my lowly life as an actress, before this outrageous
affair--which may irreparably injure my reputation--has become generally
known, or my absence from the theatre been remarked by the public."

"How unfortunate it is," cried the duke, angrily, "that you should ask
of me the only thing I cannot do for you. If you had expressed your
desire for an empire, a throne, I would have given it to you--or if you
had wished for a star, I would have climbed up into the heavens to get
it for you. But here you calmly ask me to open the door of this cage,
little bird, to which you would never come back of your own accord, if I
were stupid enough to let you go. It is impossible! I know well that you
love me so little, or rather hate me so much, that you would never see
me again of your own free will--that my only chance of enjoying your
charming society is to lock you up--keep you my prisoner. However much
it may cost my pride, I must do it--for I can no more live without
you than a plant without the light. My thoughts turn to you as the
heliotrope to the sun. Where you are not, all is darkness for me. If
what I have dared to do is a crime, I must make the best of it, and
profit by it as much as I can--for you would never forgive nor overlook
it, whatever you may say now. Here at least I have you--I hold you. I
can surround you with my love and care, and strive to melt the ice of
your coldness by the heat of my passion. Your eyes must behold me--your
ears must listen to my voice. I shall exert an influence over you, if
only by the alarm and detestation I am so unfortunate as to inspire in
your gentle breast; the sound of my footsteps in your antechamber will
make you start and tremble. And then, besides all that, this captivity
separates you effectually from the miserable fellow you fancy that you
love--and whom I abhor; because he has dared to turn your heart away
from me. I can at least enjoy this small satisfaction, of keeping you
from him; and I will not let you go free to return to him--you may be
perfectly sure of that, my fair lady!"

"And how long do you intend to keep me captive?--not like a Christian
gentleman, but like a lawless corsair."

"Until you have learned to love me--or