PAUL.
[_Indignantly_.]
Dishonour!
[_Checking himself_.]
Monsieur, honesty is honoured now, even though it be not allied to an
empty title. Tis not a crest, but character, that measures manhood in
this modern age. Therefore I do not fear to tell you--
[DUKE _turns quickly_. PAUL _hesitates_.]
that I love your daughter.
DUKE.
[_With terrible contempt_.]
And you take this time to declare it! When you have burdened me with
obligations that leave me powerless at your feet?--when I must see
in the demand for the daughter's hand, a possible bargain for the
father's life.
[PAUL _turns fiercely. The_ DUKE _checks him_.]
No more, sir! Happily I have two securities against dishonour:
my child's sense of what is due to herself--my own scorn of life
purchased at such a price.
PAUL.
Perhaps your daughter may not deem the protection of my name so great
a degradation as yourself.--Dare you put her to the test?
DUKE.
What test can you propose?
PAUL.
[_Seating himself at desk and writing_.]
Here is a pass procured at the risk of my life.--I fill it out for
George Leblanc.--It will convey you, alone, safely beyond our borders.
Here is another.
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