Forgive me, master, forgive me! Do with me what you will.

Beat me, slay me, and I will bless you." As he uttered the last words, the young artist, raising his clasped hands imploringly, fell on his knees before his beloved teacher.

Moor bent towards him, saying with grave kindness: "Rise, poor lad.

I am not angry with you." When Ulrich again stood before him, he kissed his forehead and continued: "I have not been mistaken in you.

Do you, Don Fabrizio, recommend Navarrete to the Marquesa's protection, and tell him what we desire.
It would scarcely redound to his happiness, if the deed, for which my imprudence and his thoughtlessness are to blame, should be revenged on me.