“I cannot marry him!” exclaimed Faustina, clasping her hands together and looking into her father’s face.

“My dear,” answered Montevarchi with a smile, “it is absolutely decided.  We cannot draw back.  You must marry him.”

“Must, papa?  Oh, think what you are saying!  I am not disobedient, indeed I am not.  I have always submitted to you in everything.  But this—­no, not this.  Bid me do anything else—­anything—­”

“But, my child, nothing else would produce the same result.  Be reasonable.  You tell me to impose some other duty upon you.  That is not what I want.  I must see you married before I die, and I am an old man.  Each year, each day, may be my last.  Of what use would it be that you should make another sacrifice to please me, when the one thing I desire is to see you well settled with a good husband?  I have done what I could.  I have procured you the best match in all Rome, and now you implore me to spare you, to reverse my decision, to tell my old friend Frangipani that you will not have his son, and to go out into the market to find you another help-meet.  It is not reasonable.  I had expected more dutiful conduct from you.”

“Is it undutiful not to be able to love a man one hardly knows, when one is ordered to do so?”

“You will make me lose my patience, Faustina!” exclaimed Montevarchi, in angry tones.  “Have I not explained to you the nature of love?  Have I not told you that you can love your husband as much as you please?  Is it not a father’s duty to direct the affections of his child as I wish to do, and is it not the child’s first obligation to submit to its father’s will and guidance?  What more would you have?  In truth, you are very exacting!”

“I am very unhappy!” The young girl turned away and rested her elbow on the table, supporting her chin in her hand.  She stared absently at the old bookcases as though she were trying to read the titles upon the dingy bindings.  Montevarchi understood her words to convey a submission and changed his tone once more.

“Well, well, my dear, you will never regret your obedience,” he said.  “Of course, my beloved child, it is never easy to see things as it is best that we should see them.  I see that you have yielded at last—­”

“I have not yielded in the least!” cried Faustina, suddenly facing him, with an expression he had never seen before.

“What do you mean?” asked Montevarchi in considerable astonishment.

“What I say.  I will not marry Frangipani—­I will not!  Do you understand?”

“No.  I do not understand such language from my daughter; and as for your determination, I tell you that you will most certainly end by acting as I wish you to act.”

“You cannot force me to marry.  What can you do?  You can put me into a convent.  Do you think that would make me change my mind?  I would thank God for any asylum in which I might find refuge from such tyranny.”