“There came a feeling of regret, perhaps I might fairly call it by its proper name, of envy,” observed the Genoese, in the pursuance of the subject which engrossed most of their time and thoughts, as they rode slowly along, the bridles dangling from the necks of their mules,—­“there came a feeling of regret, when I first saw the fair creature that calls thee father, Melchior.  God has dealt mercifully by me, in respect to many things that make men happy; but he rendered my marriage accursed, not only in its bud, but in its fruit.  Thy child is dutiful and loving, all that a father can wish; and yet here is this unusual attachment come to embarrass, if not to defeat, thy fair and just hopes for her welfare!  This is no common affair, that a few threats of bolts and a change of scene will cure, but a rooted affection that is but too firmly based on esteem.—­By San Francesco, but I think, at times, thou wouldst do well to permit the ceremony!”

“Should it be our fortune to meet with the absconding Jacques Colis at Turin, he might give us different counsel,” answered the old baron drily.

“That is a dreadful barrier to our wishes!  Were the boy anything but a headsman’s child!  I do not think thou couldst object, Melchior, had he merely come of a hind, or of some common follower of thy family?”

“It were far better that he should have come of one like ourselves, Gaetano.  I reason but little on the dogmas of this or that sect in politics; but I feel and think, in this affair, as the parent of an only child.  All those usages and opinions in which we are trained, my friend, are so many ingredients in our happiness, let them be silly or wise, just or oppressive; and though I would fain do that which is right to the rest of mankind, I could wish to begin to practise innovation with any other than my own daughter.  Let them who like philosophy and justice, and natural rights, so well, commence by setting us the example.”

“Thou hast hit the stumbling-block that causes a thousand well-digested plans for the improvement of the world to fail, honest Melchior.  Could we toil with others’ limbs, sacrifice with others’ groans, and pay with others’ means, there would be no end to our industry, our disinterestedness, or our liberality—­and yet it were a thousand pities that so sweet a girl and so noble a youth should not yoke!”

“’Twould be a yoke indeed, for a daughter of the house of Willading;” returned the graver father, with emphasis.  “I have looked at this matter in every face that becomes me, Gaetano, and though I would not rudely repulse one that hath saved my life, by driving him from my company, at a moment when even strangers consort for mutual aid and protection, at Turin we must part for ever!”

“I know not how to approve, nor yet how to blame thee, poor Melchior!  ’Twas a sad scene, that of the refusal to wed Balthazar’s daughter, in the presence of so many thousands!”

“I take it as a happy and kind warning of the precipice to which a foolish tenderness was leading us both, my friend.”