When persons spoke to him of his daughter, they always said:

"You, who adore your daughter----"

And when he spoke of himself, _he_ said:

"I who adore Blanche."

The truth was, that he would have given a good deal, even a third of his
fortune, to be rid of her.

This smiling young girl, who seemed such an artless child, had gained
an absolute control over him. She forced him to bow like a reed to her
every caprice--and Heaven knows she had enough of them!

In the hope of making his escape, he had thrown her Aunt Medea; but in
less than three months that poor woman had been completely subjugated,
and did not serve to divert his daughter's attention from him, even for
a moment.

Sometimes the marquis revolted, but nine times out of ten he paid dearly
for his attempts at rebellion. When Mlle. Blanche turned her cold and
steel-like eyes upon him with a certain peculiar expression, his courage
evaporated. Her weapon was irony; and knowing his weak points, she
struck with wonderful precision.

It is easy to understand how devoutly he prayed and hoped that some
honest young man, by speedily marrying his daughter, would free him from
this cruel bondage.