Could this be blotted out in an instant by a word of command?
No! That love must burn on the same.
The Baron Holbein loved his daughter; she was the bright spot in life.

To make her happy, he would sacrifice almost anything.

A residence of many years in the world had shown him its pretensions, its heartlessness, the worth of all its titles and distinctions.

He did not value them too highly.

But, when a peasant approached and asked the hand of his daughter, the old man's pride, that was smouldering in the ashes, burned up with a sudden blaze.