“My lovely chil­dren,” said the touched Hip­pol­ita, “your ten­der­ness over­powers me—but I must not give way to it. It is not ours to make elec­tion for ourselves: heaven, our fath­ers, and our hus­bands must de­cide for us. Have pa­tience un­til you hear what Man­fred and Fre­deric have de­term­ined. If the Mar­quis ac­cepts Mat­ilda’s hand, I know she will read­ily obey. Heaven may in­ter­pose and pre­vent the rest. What means my child?” con­tin­ued she, see­ing Mat­ilda fall at her feet with a flood of speech­less tears—“But no; an­swer me not, my daugh­ter: I must not hear a word against the pleas­ure of thy father.”