Never was there a better man or a kinder father in the whole world, they said.
They scarce waited for the table to be cleared in order to deck out the worthy pater-familias in his best, and, putting a stick in his hand, the whole lot of them accompanied him to the Zuckermandel quarter, where Matilda lay in a poor garret, in which there was nothing, in the strictest sense of the word, but a bed and an innumerable quantity of medicine-bottles.
The heart of the good father was lacerated by this spectacle.

So Matilda had nothing at all, poor girl! The girl would have risen when she beheld her father, but was unable to do so.

Mr.Meyer rushed towards her with a penitent countenance, just as if he had sinned against her.

The girl seized his hand, pressed it to her bosom, covered it with kisses, and in a broken voice begged for his forgiveness.
A father's heart must surely have been made of stone to have resisted such an appeal! He forgave her, of course, and a coach was immediately sent for in which to convey her home.

Let the world say what it liked, blood is stronger than water; a father cannot slay his offspring for the sake of a little tripping! And besides, as a matter of fact, there was not the slightest reason why he should punish her so severely, for that very same day he received a letter (it was brought to the house by a liveried servant), which the nobleman so frequently alluded to wrote him with his own hand, and in which he expressed his grief that his innocent, well-meaning advances should have occasioned such a misunderstanding.