It was all praise.
The philosopher held his daughter in his arms, pressed close against
his heart, and tears ran down his cheeks.
"It is the first time, and shall be the last, that I wish to see you
on the stage, dear little daughter. It is too painful for me, and what
is worst of all I fear it will take you away from me."
Esperance replied trembling, "Pardon me, Oh! pardon me, it is such a
force that impels me. I am sorry you suffer so. Oh! don't give way, I
beg of you!"
She fell on her knees before her father, sobbing and kissing his
hands.
Sardou, who was expected, came in just then, and his exuberance was
dashed to the ground when he witnessed the trouble the family were in.
"Come, this is foolishness," he said, helping Esperance to her feet.
Then turning to the old Mademoiselle, "Here, dear lady, take this
child away to compose herself, wash the tears off her poor little
face, and hurry back, for I am dying of hunger."
Madame Darbois remembered that she was the hostess, and disappeared to
see if everything was ready in the dining-room.
As soon as he was left alone with the philosopher, the author
exclaimed, "In the name of God, man, is this where philosophy leads
you? You are torturing that child whom you adore! Oh! yes, you are
distressed, I know. The public has this evening taken possession of
your daughter, but you are powerless to prevent it, and now is the time
for you to apply to yourself your magnetic maxims.
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