“If my presence is too unbearably odious now to the charming Isabelle, and she would like to have a little time to get used to the thought of seeing me, I will withdraw.  She is my prisoner, it is true, but I am none the less her slave.”

“This courtesy is tardy,” Isabelle replied coldly, “after the violence you have made use of against me.”

“That is the natural result,” said the duke, with a smile, “of pushing people to extremity by a too obstinate and prolonged resistance.  Having lost all hope, they stop at nothing—­knowing that they cannot make matters any worse, whatever they do.  If you had only been willing to suffer me to pay my court to you in the regular way, and shown a little indulgence to my love, I should have quietly remained among the ranks of your passionate adorers; striving, by dint of delicate attentions, chivalrous devotion, magnificent offerings, and respectful yet ardent solicitations, to soften that hard heart of yours.  If I could not have succeeded in inspiring it with love for me, I might at least have awakened in it that tender pity which is akin to love, and which is so often only its forerunner.  In the end, perhaps, you would have repented of your cruel severity, and acknowledged that you had been unjust towards me.  Believe me, my charming Isabelle, I should have neglected nothing to bring it about.”

“If you had employed only honest and honourable means in your suit,” Isabelle rejoined, “I should have felt very sorry that I had been so unfortunate as to inspire an attachment I could not reciprocate, and would have given you my warm sympathy, and friendly regard, instead of being reluctantly compelled, by repeated outrages, to hate you instead.

“You do hate me then?—­you acknowledge it?” the duke cried, his voice trembling with rage; but he controlled himself, and after a short pause continued, in a gentler tone, “Yet I do not deserve it.  My only wrongs towards you, if any there be, have come from the excess and ardour of my love; and what woman, however chaste and virtuous, can be seriously angry with a gallant gentleman because he has been conquered by the power of her adorable charms? whether she so desired or not.”

“Certainly, that is not a reason for dislike or anger, my lord, if the suitor does not overstep the limits of respect, as all women will agree.  But when his insolent impatience leads him to commit excesses, and he resorts to fraud, abduction, and imprisonment, as you have not hesitated to do, there is no other result possible than an unconquerable aversion.  Coercion is always and inevitably revolting to a nature that has any proper pride or delicacy.  Love, true love, is divine, and cannot be furnished to order, or extorted by violence.  It is spontaneous, and freely given—­not to be bought, nor yet won by importunity.”

“Is an unconquerable aversion then all that I am to expect from you?” said Vallombreuse, who had become pale to ghastliness, and been fiercely gnawing his under lip, while Isabelle was speaking, in her sweet, clear tones, which fell on his ear like the soft chiming of silver bells, and only served to enhance his devouring passion.