"Does that fair bosom control no emotion?
Is that lovely face, so exquisitely pale, a true index of the spirit within?
Oh! Agatha! it cannot be; while my own heart is so torn with love; while I feel my own pulses beat so strongly; while my own brain burns so fiercely, I cannot believe that your bosom is a stranger to all emotion! Some passion akin to humanity must make you feel that you are not all divine! Speak, Agatha; if that lovely form has within it ought that partakes of the weakness of a woman, tell me, that at some future time you will accept the love I offer you; tell me, that I may live in hope.

Oh, Agatha! bid me not despair," and M.Denot in bodily reality fell prostrate at her feet.
When Agatha had gone up to her room, she had prepared herself for a most disagreeable interview, but she had not expected anything so really dreadful as this.

Adolphe had not contented himself with kneeling at her feet on one knee, and keeping his head erect in the method usual in such cases; but he had gone down upon both knees, had thrown his head upon her feet, and was now embracing her shoes and stockings in a very vehement manner; her legs were literally caught in a trap; she couldn't move them; and Adolphe was sobbing so loudly that it was difficult to make him hear anything.
"Adolphe, Adolphe, get up!" she almost screamed, "this is ridiculous in the extreme; if you will not get up, I must really call for some one.

I cannot allow you to remain there!" "Oh, Agatha, Agatha!" sobbed Adolphe.
"Nonsense, Adolphe," said Agatha.

"Are you a man, to lie grovelling on the floor like that?
Rise up, or you will lose my esteem for ever, if that be of any value to you." "Give me one gleam of hope, and I will rise," said he, still remaining on his knees, but now looking up into her face; "tell me not to despair, and I will then accomplish any feat of manhood.