_argument_.
"Her only vulnerable point lies though the avenue of the passions,"
thought he--"for according to her own confession, she was intoxicated
with rapture when encircled by my arms, and when receiving my ardent
kisses; and only escaped the entire surrender of her person to me, by a
powerful effort. My course, then, is plain--I must delicately and
gradually venture on familiarities which are best calculated to arouse
her sensibilities, without incurring her suspicions as to my ultimate
object. I must--I shall succeed; for, by heaven! if I should fail to
make this exquisite creature mine, I'll eat my own heart with vexatious
disappointment!"

"My dear madam," said he, taking the unresisting hand of the Duchess in
both of his, and gently pawing it in a manner that would have been
disgusting to a spectator--"what can I say, after your candid avowal?
Simply, that you are the most ingenuous, the most delightful creature in
the world. I love you to distraction; and yet I will not urge you to
depart from the course which you seem determined to pursue, though by
adhering to that course you deprive me, as well as yourself, of the most
exquisite delights this world can afford. Nevertheless, let us be
friends, if we cannot be lovers. See, my hair is gray; I am old enough
to be your father; will you not confer upon me a daughter's love? Ah,
that bewitching smile is a token of assent. Thanks, sweet one; now, you
know, a father should be the recipient of all his daughter's little joys
and sorrows--he should be made acquainted with all her pretty plans and
all her naughty wishes; is it not so, my charming daughter?[C] Again
your soft smile answers, yes. And when the daughter thus bestows her
confidence upon her father, she leans her head upon his bosom, and his
protecting arm embraces her lovely waist--thus, as I now do yours. He
places his venerated hand in her fair breast--thus--and feels the
pulsations of her pure heart; ah! methinks this little heart of thine,
sweet one, beats more violently than comports with its proper freedom
from fond and gentle longings; thy father must reprove thee, thou
delightful offender--yet he forgives thee with this loving kiss--nay,
start not, for 'tis a father's privilege. How dewy are thy lips, my
daughter, and thy breath is fragrant with the odor of a thousand
flowers--'tis thy father tells thee so! Pretty flutterer, why dost thou
tremble? I will not harm thee. Ah, is it so?--dost thou trem