Had he not been mad, had he not utterly lost his senses, he would have been the last to have brought you hither." "I have thought something like that myself pretty one," said Santerre.
"Come, Denot, you shall talk to the lady tomorrow; we will leave her with her father tonight." "Your word, General!" said Denot, assuming his furious look, "your plighted word and honour.

Was she not to be my prize, my captive, my reward.

You dare not go back from the promise you have made me." "Nonsense, man alive," said Santerre.

"You can't carry her off tonight.
I believe in my heart she's right, and that you're as mad a man as ever roared in a hospital.

Let go her arm, I tell you; you shall not drag her about in that way." The Marquis, during this scene, was endeavouring to throw his arms round his daughter, so as to protect her; but his efforts were but of little avail.