"I know my daughter well enough to know that words spoken as she just now spoke to you are final.
Besides, she has promised me." "I have no doubt her promise is worth a great deal more than your own," said Newman; "nevertheless I don't give her up." "Just as you please! But if she won't even see you,--and she won't,--your constancy must remain purely Platonic." Poor Newman was feigning a greater confidence than he felt.

Madame de Cintre's strange intensity had in fact struck a chill to his heart; her face, still impressed upon his vision, had been a terribly vivid image of renunciation.

He felt sick, and suddenly helpless.

He turned away and stood for a moment with his hand on the door; then he faced about and after the briefest hesitation broke out with a different accent.

"Come, think of what this must be to me, and let her alone! Why should you object to me so--what's the matter with me?
I can't hurt you.