THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
Ignorant of Fleur-de-Marie's being the prince's daughter, Madame
d'Harville, in the fullness of her delight at restoring to him his
protegee, had not reckoned upon its being necessary to observe any
particular precaution in presenting her young companion, whom she merely
left in the carriage until she had ascertained whether Rodolph chose to
make known his real name and rank to the object of his bounty, and to
receive her at his own house; but perceiving the deep alteration in his
features, and struck with the visible gloom which overspread them, as
well as the marks of recent tears so evident in his sunken eye, Clemence
became alarmed with the idea that some fresh misfortune, greater than
the loss of La Goualeuse would be considered, had suddenly occurred.
Wholly losing sight, therefore, of the original cause of her visit, she
anxiously exclaimed:
"For heaven's sake, my lord, what has happened?"
"Do you not know, madame? Then all hope is at an end! Alas! your earnest
manner, the interview so unexpectedly sought by you, all made me
believe--"
"Let me entreat of you not to think for a moment of the cause of my
visit; but, in the name of that parent whose life you have preserved, I
adjure you to explain to me the cause of the deep affliction in which I
find you plunged. Your paleness, your dejection, terrify me. Oh, be
generous, my lord, and relieve the cruel anxiety I suffer."
"Wherefore should I burden your kind heart with the relation of woes
that admit of no relief?"
"Your words, your hesitation, but increase my apprehensions. Oh, my
lord, I beseech you tell me all! Sir Walter, will you not take pity on
my fears? For the love of heaven explain the meaning of all this! What
has befallen the prince?"
"Nay," interrupted Rodolph, in a voice that vainly struggled for
firmness, "since you desire it, madame, learn that since I acquainted
you with the death of Fleur-de-Marie I have learned she was my own
daughter."
"Your daughter!" exclaimed Clemence, in a tone impossible to describe.
"Fleur-de-Marie your daughter!"
"And when just now you desired to see me, to communicate tidings that
would fill me with joy,--pardon and pity the weakness of a parent half
distracted at the loss of his newly-found treasure!--I ventured to
hope--But no,--no,--I see too plainly I was mistaken! Forgive me, my
brain seems wandering, and I scarce know what I say or do."
And then sinking under the failure of this last fond imagination of his
heart, and unable longer to struggle with his black despair, Rodolph
threw himself back in his chair and covered his face with his hands,
while Madame d'Harville, astonished at what she had just heard, remained
motionless and silent, scarcely able to breathe amid the conflicting
emotions which took possession of her mind; at one instant glowing with
delight at the thoughts of the joy she had it in her power to impart,
then trembling for the consequences her explanation might produce on the
overexcited mind of the prince.
Both these reflections were, however, swallowed up in the enthusiastic
gratitude which she felt in the consideration that to her had been
deputed the happiness not only of announcing to the grief-stricken
father that his child still lived, but that the unspeakable rapture of
placing that daughter in her parent's arms was likewise vouchsafed to
her.
Carried away by a burst of pious thankfulness, and wholly forgetting the
presence of Rodolph and Murphy, Madame d'Harville threw herself on her
knees, and, clasping her hands, exclaimed, in a tone of fervent piety
and ineffable gratitude:
"Thanks, thanks, my God, for this exceeding goodness! Ever blessed be
thy gracious name for having permitted me to be the happy bearer of such
joyful tidings,--to wipe away a father's tears by telling him his child
lives to reward his tenderness!"
Although these words, pronounced with the sincerest fervour and holy
ecstasy, were uttered almost in a whisper, yet they reached the
listening ears of Rodolph and his faithful squire; and as Clemence rose
from her knees, the prince gazed on her lovely countenance, irradiated
as it was with celestial happiness and beaming with more than earthly
beauty, with an expression almost amounting to adoration.
Supporting herself with one hand, while with the other she sought to
still the rapid beating of her heart, Madame d'Harville replied by a
sweet smile and an affirmative inclination of the head to the eager,
soul-searching look of Rodolph, a look wholly beyond our poor powers to
describe.
"And where is she?" exclaimed the prince, trembling like a leaf.
"In my carriage."
But for the intervention of Murphy, who threw himself before Rodolph
with the quickness of lightning, the latter would have rushed to the
vehicle.
"Would you kill her, my lord?" exclaimed the squire, forcibly retaining
the prince.
"She was merely pronounced convalescent yesterday," added Clemence;
"therefore, as you value her safety, do not venture to try the poor
girl's strength too far."
"You are right," said Rodolph, scarcely able to restrain himself
sufficiently to follow this prudent advice, "you are quite right. Yes, I
will be calm,--I will not see her at present; I will wait until her
first emotions have subsided. Oh, 'tis too much to endure in so short a
space of time!" Then addressing Madame d'Harville, he said, in an
agitated tone, while he extended to her his hand, "I feel that I am
pardoned, and that you are the angel of forgiveness who brings me the
glad tidings of my remission."
"Nay, my lord, we do but mutually requite our several obligations. You
preserved to me my father, and Heaven permits me to restore your
daughter at a time you bewailed her as lost. But I, too, must beg to be
excused for the weakness which resists all my endeavours to control it;
the sudden and unexpected news you have communicated to me has quite
overcome me, and I confess I should not have sufficient command over
myself to go in quest of Fleur-de-Marie,--my emotion would terrify her."
"And by what means was she preserved?" exclaimed Rodolph; "and whose
hand snatched her from death? I am most ungrateful not to have put these
questions to you earlier."
"She was rescued from drowning by a courageous female, who snatched her
from a watery grave just as she was sinking."
"Do you know who this female was?"
"I do; and to-morrow she will be at my house."
"The debt is immense!" rejoined the prince; "but I will endeavour to
repay it."
"Heaven must have inspired me with the idea of leaving Fleur-de-Marie in
the carriage," said the marquise. "Had I brought her in with me the
shock must have killed her."
"Now, then," said the prince, who had been for some minutes occupied in
endeavouring to subdue his extreme agitation, "I can promise you, my
kind friends, that I have my feelings sufficiently under control to
venture to meet my--my--daughter. Go, Murphy, and fetch her to my
longing arms."
Rodolph pronounced the word daughter with a tenderness of voice and
manner impossible to describe.
"Are you quite sure you are equal to the trying scene, my lord?"
inquired Clemence; "for we must run no risks with one in
Fleur-de-Marie's delicate state."
"Oh, yes,--yes! Be under no alarm! I am too well aware of the dangerous
consequences any undue emotion would occasion my child; be assured I
will not expose her to anything of the sort. But go--go--my good Murphy;
I beseech you hasten to bring her hither."
"Don't be alarmed, madame," said the squire, who had attentively
scrutinised the countenance of the prince; "she may come now without
danger. I am quite sure that his royal highness will sufficiently
command himself."
"Then go--go--my faithful friend; you are keeping me in torments."
"Just give me one minute, my lord," said the excellent creature, drying
the moisture from his eyes; "I must not let the poor thing see I have
been crying. There, there--that will do! I should not like to cross the
antechamber looking like a weeping Magdalen." So saying, the squire
proceeded towards the door, but suddenly turning back, he said, "But, my
lord, what am I to say to her?"
"Yes, what had he better say?" inquired the prince of Clemence.
"That M. Rodolph wishes to see her,--nothing more."
"Oh, to be sure! How stupid of me not to think of that! M. Rodolph
wishes to see her,--capital, excellent!" repeated the squire, who
evidently partook of Madame d'Harville's nervousness, and sought to
defer the moment of his embassy by one little pretext and the other.
"That will not give her the least suspicion, not the shadow of a notion
what she is wanted for. Nothing better could have been suggested."
But still Murphy stirred not.
"Sir Walter," said Clemence, smiling, "you are afraid!"
"Well, I won't deny it!" said the squire. "And, spite of my standing six
feet high, I feel and know I am trembling like a child."
"Then take care, my good fellow!" said Rodolph. "You had better wait a
little longer if you do not feel quite sure of yourself."
"No, no, my lord; I have got the upper hand of my fears this time!"
replied Murphy, pressing his two herculean fists to his eyes. "I know
very well that at my time of life it is ridiculous for me to show such
weakness! I'm going, my lord, don't you be uneasy!" So saying, Murphy
left the room with a firm step and composed countenance.
A momentary silence followed his departure, and then, for the first
time, Clemence remembered she was alone with the prince, and under his
roof. Rodolph drew near to her, and said, with an almost timid voice and
manner:
"If I select this day--this hour--to divulge to you the dearest secret
of my heart, it is that the solemnity of the present moment may give
greater weight to that I would impart, and persuade you to believe me
sincere, when I assure you I have loved you almost from the hour I first
beheld you. While obstacles stood in the way of my love I studiously
concealed it; but you are now free to hear me declare my affection, and
to ask you to become a mother to the daughter you restore to me."
"My lord," cried Madame d'Harville, "what words are these?"
"Oh, refuse me not," said Rodolph, tenderly; "let this day decide the
happiness of my future life."
Clemence had also nourished a deep and sincere passion for the prince;
and his open, manly avowal of a similar feeling towards herself, made
under such peculiar circumstances, transported her with joy, and she
could but falter out in a hesitating voice:
"My lord, 'tis for me to remind you of the difference of our stations,
and the interests of your sovereignty."
"Permit me first to consider the interest of my own heart, and that of
my beloved child. Oh, make us both happy by consenting to be mine! So
that I who, but a short time since, owned no blessed tie, may now
proudly indulge in the idea of having both a wife and daughter; and give
to the sorrowing child who is just restored to my arms the delight of
saying, 'My father--my mother--my sister!'--for your sweet girl would
become mine also."
"Ah, my lord," exclaimed Clemence, "my grateful tears alone can speak my
sense of such noble conduct!" Then suddenly checking herself, she added,
"I hear persons approaching, my lord; your daughter comes."
"Refuse me not, I conjure you!" responded Rodolph, in an agitated and
suppliant tone. "By the love I bear you, I beseech you to make me happy
by saying, 'Our daughter comes!'"
"Then be it _our_ daughter, if such is your sincere wish," murmured
Clemence, as Murphy, throwing open the door, introduced Fleur-de-Marie
into the salon.
The astonished girl had, upon entering the immense hotel from the
spacious portico under which she alighted from the marquise's carriage,
first crossed an anteroom filled with servants dressed in rich liveries;
then a waiting-room, in which were other domestics belonging to the
establishment, also wearing the magnificent livery of the house of
Gerolstein; and lastly, the apartment in which the chamberlain and
aides-de-camp of the prince attended his orders.
The surprise and wonder of the poor Goualeuse, whose ideas of splendour
were based on the recollection of the farm at Bouqueval, as she
traversed those princely chambers glittering with gold, silver,
paintings, and mirrors, may easily be imagined.
Directly she appeared, Madame d'Harville ran towards her, kindly took
her hand, and throwing her arm around her waist, as though to support
her, led her towards Rodolph, who remained supporting himself by leaning
one arm on the chimneypiece, wholly incapable of advancing a single
step.
Having consigned Fleur-de-Marie to the care of Madame d'Harville, Murphy
hastily retreated behind one of the large window curtains, not feeling
too sure of his own self-command.
At the sight of him who was, in the eyes of Fleur-de-Marie, not only her
benefactor but the worshipped idol of her heart, the poor girl, whose
delicate frame had been so severely tried by illness, became seized with
a universal trembling.
"Compose yourself, my child!" said Madame d'Harville. "See, there is
your kind M. Rodolph, who has been extremely uneasy on your account, and
is most anxious to see you."
"Oh, yes--uneasy, indeed!" stammered forth Rodolph, whose breast was
wrung with anguish at the sight of his child's pale, suffering looks,
and, spite of his previous resolution, the prince found himself
compelled to turn away his head to conceal his deep emotion.
"My poor child!" said Madame d'Harville, striving to divert the
attention of Fleur-de-Marie, "you are still very weak!" and, leading her
to a large gilded armchair, she made her sit down, while the astonished
Goualeuse seemed almost to shrink from touching the elegant cushions
with which it was lined. But she did not recover herself; on the
contrary, she seemed oppressed. She strove to speak, but her voice
failed her, and her heart reproached her with not having said one word
to her venerated benefactor of the deep gratitude which filled her whole
soul.
At length, at a sign from Madame d'Harville, who, leaning over
Fleur-de-Marie, held one of the poor girl's thin, wasted hands in hers,
the prince gently approached the side of the chair, and now, more
collected, he said to Fleur-de-Marie, as she turned her sweet face to
welcome him:
"At last, my child, your friends have recovered you, and be sure it is
not their intention ever to part with you again. One thing you must
endeavour to do, and that is to banish for ever from your mind all your
past sufferings."
"Yes, my dear girl," said Clemence, "you can in no way so effectually
prove your affection for your friends as by forgetting the past."
"Ah, M. Rodolph, and you, too, madame, pray believe that if, spite of
myself, my thoughts do revert to the past, it will be but to remind me
that but for you that wretched past would still be my lot."
"But we shall take pains to prevent such mournful reminiscences ever
crossing your mind. Our tenderness will not allow you time to look back,
my dear Marie," said Rodolph; "you know I gave you that name at the
farm."
"Oh, yes, M. Rodolph, I well remember you did. And Madame Georges, who
was so good as even to permit me to call her mother, is she quite well?"
"Perfectly so, my child; but I have some most important news for you.
Since I last saw you some great discoveries have been made respecting
your birth. We have found out who were your parents, and your father is
known to us."
The voice of Rodolph trembled so much while pronouncing these words
that Fleur-de-Marie, herself deeply affected, turned quickly towards
him, but, fortunately, he managed to conceal his countenance from her.
A somewhat ridiculous occurrence also served at this instant to call off
the attention of the Goualeuse from too closely observing the prince's
emotion,--the worthy squire, who still remained behind the curtain,
feigning to be very busily occupied in gazing upon the garden belonging
to the hotel, suddenly blew his nose with a twanging sound that reechoed
through the salon; for, in truth, the worthy man was crying like a
child.
"Yes, my dear Marie," said Clemence, hastily, "your father is known to
us--he is still living."
"My father!" cried La Goualeuse, in a tone of tender delight, that
subjected the firmness of Rodolph to another difficult test.
"And some day," continued Clemence,--"perhaps very shortly, you will see
him. But what will, no doubt, greatly astonish you, is that he is of
high rank and noble birth."
"And my mother, shall I not see her, too, madame?"
"That is a question your father will answer, my dear child. But tell me,
shall you not be delighted to see him?"
"Oh, yes, madame," answered Fleur-de-Marie, casting down her eyes.
"How much you will love him when you know him!" said Clemence.
"A new existence will commence for you from that very day, will it not,
Marie?" asked the prince.
"Oh, no, M. Rodolph," replied Fleur-de-Marie, artlessly; "my new
existence began when you took pity on me, and sent me to the farm."
"But your father loves you fondly--dearly!" said the prince.
"I know nothing of my father, M. Rodolph; but to you I owe everything in
this world and the next."
"Then you love me better, perhaps, than you would your father?"
"Oh, M. Rodolph, I revere and bless you with all my heart! For you have
been a saviour and preserver to me both of body and soul," replied La
Goualeuse, with a degree of fervour and enthusiasm that overcame her
natural diffidence.
"When this kind lady was so good as to visit me in prison, I said to
her, as I did to every one else, 'Oh, if you have any trouble, only let
M. Rodolph know it, and he will be sure to relieve you.' And when I saw
any person hesitating between good and evil, I used to advise them to
try and be virtuous, telling them M. Rodolph always found a way to
punish the wicked. And to such as were far gone in sin, I said, 'Take
care, M. Rodolph will recompense you as you deserve.' And even when I
thought myself dying, I felt comfort in persuading myself that God would
pity and pardon me, since M. Rodolph had deigned to do so."
Carried away by her intense feelings of gratitude and reverence for her
benefactor, Fleur-de-Marie broke through her habitual timidity; while
thus expressing herself a bright flush coloured her pale cheeks, while
her soft blue eyes, raised towards heaven as though in earnest prayer,
shone with unusual brilliancy.
A silence of some seconds succeeded to this burst of enthusiasm, while
the spectators of the scene were too deeply affected to attempt a reply.
"It seems, then, my dear child," said Rodolph, at length, "that I have
almost usurped your parent's place in your affections?"
"Indeed, M. Rodolph, I cannot help it! Perhaps it is very wrong in me to
prefer you as I do, but I know you, and my father is a stranger to me."
Then letting her head fall on her bosom, she added, in a low, confused
manner, "And besides, M. Rodolph, though you are acquainted with the
past, you have loaded me with kindness; while my father is ignorant
of--of--my shame,--and may, probably, regret, when he does know, having
found an unfortunate creature like myself. And then, too," continued the
poor girl, with a shudder, "madame tells me he is of high birth; how,
then, can he look upon me without shame and aversion?"
"Shame!" exclaimed Rodolph, drawing himself up with proud dignity; "no,
no, my poor child, your grateful, happy father will raise you to a
position so great, so brilliant, that the richest and highest in the
land shall behold you with respect. Despise and blush for you!--never!
You shall take your place among the first princesses of Europe, and
prove yourself worthy of the blood of queens which flows in your veins."
"My lord! My lord!" cried Clemence and Murphy at the same time, equally
alarmed at the excited manner of Rodolph, and the increasing paleness of
Fleur-de-Marie, who gazed on her father in silent amazement.
"Ashamed of you!" continued he. "Oh, if ever I rejoiced in my princely
rank it is now that it affords me the means of raising you from the
depths to which the wickedness of others consigned you. Yes, my child!
My long-lost, idolised child! In me behold your father!" And utterly
unable longer to repress his feelings, the prince threw himself at the
feet of Fleur-de-Marie, and covered her hand with tears and caresses.
"Thanks, my God," exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, passionately clasping her
hands, "for permitting me to indulge that love for my benefactor with
which my heart was filled. My father! Oh, blessed title, that enables me
to love him even as I--" And unable to bear up against the suddenness of
the disclosure, Fleur-de-Marie fell fainting in the prince's arms.
Murphy rushed to the waiting-room, and shouted vehemently:
"Send for Doctor David directly! Directly, do you hear? For his royal
highness,--no--no, for some one who is suddenly taken ill here."
"Wretch that I am!" exclaimed Rodolph, sobbing almost hysterically at
his daughter's feet, "I have killed her! Marie, my child, look up! It is
your father calls you! Forgive--oh, forgive my precipitancy--my want of
caution in disclosing to you this happy news! She is dead! God of
heaven! Have I then but found her to see her torn from me for ever?"
"Calm yourself, my lord," said Clemence, "there is no danger, depend
upon it. The colour returns to her cheeks; the surprise overcame her."
"But so recently risen from a bed of sickness that surprise may kill
her! Unhappy man that I am, doomed for ever to misery and suffering!"
At this moment the negro doctor, David, entered the room in great haste,
holding in one hand a small case filled with phials, and in the other a
paper he handed to Murphy.
"David!" exclaimed Rodolph, "my child is dying! I once saved your life,
repay me now by saving that of my daughter."
Although amazed at hearing the prince speak thus, David hurried to
Fleur-de-Marie, whom Madame d'Harville was supporting in her arms,
examined her pulse and the veins of her temples, then turning towards
Rodolph, who in speechless agony was awaiting his decree, he said:
"Your royal highness has no cause for alarm; there is no danger."
"Can it be true? Are you quite sure she will recover?"
"Perfectly so, my lord; a few drops of ether administered in a glass of
water is all that is requisite to restore consciousness."
"Thanks, thanks, my good, my excellent David!" cried the prince, in an
ecstasy of joy. Then addressing Clemence, Rodolph added, "Our daughter
will be spared to us."
Murphy had just glanced over the paper given him by David; suddenly he
started, and gazed with looks of terror at the prince.
"Yes, my old and faithful friend," cried Rodolph, misinterpreting the
expression of Murphy's features, "ere long my daughter will enjoy the
happiness of calling the Marquise d'Harville mother."
"Yesterday's news," said Murphy, trembling violently, "was false."
"What say you?"
"The report of the death of the Countess Macgregor, my lord, is
unfounded; her ladyship had undergone a severe crisis of her illness,
and had fallen into a state of insensibility, which was mistaken by
those around her for death itself, and from hence originated the account
of her having expired; but to-day hopes are entertained of her ultimate
recovery."
"Merciful heavens! Can this be possible?" exclaimed the prince, filled
with sudden alarm; while Clemence, who understood nothing of all this,
looked on with undisguised astonishment.
"My lord," said David, still occupied with Fleur-de-Marie, "there is no
need of the slightest apprehension respecting this young lady, but it is
absolutely necessary she should be in the open air; this chair might be
easily rolled out on the terrace, by opening the door leading to the
garden; she would then immediately recover consciousness."
Murphy instantly ran to open the glass door, which led to a broad
terrace, then, aided by David, he gently rolled the armchair on to it.
"Alas!" cried Rodolph, as soon as Murphy and David were at a distance,
"you have yet to learn that the Countess Sarah is the mother of
Fleur-de-Marie; and I believed her dead."
A few moments of profound silence followed; Madame d'Harville became
deadly pale, while an icy coldness seemed to chill her heart.
"Let me briefly explain," continued Rodolph, in extreme agitation,
mingled with bitter sarcasm, "that this ambitious and selfish woman,
caring for nothing but my rank and title, contrived, during my extreme
youth, to draw me into a secret marriage, which was afterwards annulled.
Being desirous of contracting a second marriage, the countess occasioned
all the misfortunes of her unhappy child, by abandoning her to the care
of mercenary and unprincipled people."
"Now I can account for the repugnance you manifested towards her."
"And you may likewise understand why she so bitterly pursued you, and
had twice so nearly effected your destruction by her infamous slanders.
Still a prey to her insatiate ambition, she hoped, by separating me from
any other attachment, to draw me a second time within her snares. And
this heartless woman still exists."
"Nay, nay, my lord, that tone of bitter regret is not worthy of you, any
more than the feeling which dictated it."
"You do not know the wretchedness she has already caused me; and even
now that I had dared to dream of happiness, and looked forward to
obtaining in you the comfort and solace of my life, as well as a mother
for my newly recovered child, this woman again crosses my path, and,
like the spirit of evil, dashes the cup from my lips ere it is tasted."
"Come, come, my lord," said poor Clemence, striving to look cheerful,
though her tears flowed fast, spite of all her efforts to restrain them,
"take courage, you have a great and holy duty to perform. But just now,
when impelled by a natural burst of paternal affection, you said that
the future destiny of your daughter should be happy and prosperous as
her past life had been the reverse, that you would elevate her in the
eyes of the world even more than she had been sunken and depressed. To
do this you must legitimise her birth, and the only means by which that
can be achieved is by espousing the Countess Macgregor."
"Never, never! That would be to reward the perjury, selfishness, and
unbridled ambition of the unnatural mother of my poor child. But Marie
shall not suffer by my resolution. I will publicly acknowledge her, you
will kindly take her under your protection, and, I venture to hope,
afford her a truly maternal shelter."
"No, my lord, you will not act thus! You will not permit the cloud of
doubt or mystery to hang over the birth of your daughter. The Countess
Sarah is descended from an ancient and noble family; such an alliance
is, certainly, disproportionate for you, but still is an honourable one;
it will effectually legitimise your daughter, and whatever may be her
future destiny, she will have cause to boast of her father, and openly
declare who was her mother."
"But think not I can or will resign you! It were easier to lay down my
life than surrender the blessed hope of dividing my time and affection
between two beings I so dearly love as yourself and my daughter."
"Your child will still remain to you, my lord. Providence has
miraculously restored her to you; it would be sore ingratitude on your
part to deem your happiness incomplete."
"You could not argue thus if you loved as I love."
"I will not undeceive you, great as is your error; on the contrary, I
would have you persist in that belief, it will make the task I recommend
less painful to you."
"But if you really loved me,--if you suffered as bitterly and severely
as I do at the thoughts of my marrying another, you would be wretched as
I am. What will console you for our separation?"
"My lord, I shall try to find solace in the discharge of my charitable
duties,--duties I first learned to love and practise from your counsels
and suggestions, and which have already afforded me so much consolation
and sweet occupation."
"Hear me, I beseech you,--since you tell me it is right, I will marry
this woman; but the sacrifice once accomplished, think not I will remain
a single hour with her, or suffer her to behold my child; thus
Fleur-de-Marie will lose in you the best and tenderest of mothers."
"But she will still retain the best and tenderest of fathers. By your
marriage with the Countess Sarah she will be the legitimate daughter of
one of Europe's sovereign princes, and, as you but just now observed, my
lord, her position will be as great and splendid as it has been
miserable and obscure."
"You are then pitilessly determined to shut out all hope from me?
Unhappy being that I am!"
"Dare you style yourself unhappy,--you so good, so just, so elevated in
rank, as well as in mind and feeling? Who so well and nobly understand
the duty of self-denial and self-sacrifice? When but a short time since
you bewailed your child's death with such heartfelt agony, had any one
said to you, 'Utter the dearest wish of your soul and it shall be
accomplished,' you would have cried, 'My child--my daughter! Restore her
to me in life and health!' This unexpected blessing is granted you, your
daughter is given to your longing arms, and yet you style yourself
miserable! Ah, my lord, let not Fleur-de-Marie hear you, I beseech you!"
"You are right," said Rodolph, after a long silence, "such happiness as
I aspired to would have been too much for this world, and far beyond my
right even to dream of. Be satisfied your words have prevailed,--I will
act according to my duty to my daughter, and forget the bleeding wound
it inflicts on my own heart. But I am not sorry I hesitated in my
resolution, since I owe to it a fresh proof of the perfection of your
character."
"And is it not to you I owe the power of struggling with personal
feelings and devoting myself to the good of others? Was it not you who
raised and comforted my poor depressed mind, and encouraged me to look
for comfort where only it could be found? To you, then, be all the merit
of the little virtue I may now be practising, as well as all the good I
may hereafter achieve. But take courage, my lord, bear up, as becomes
one of your firm, right-minded nature. Directly Fleur-de-Marie is equal
to the journey, remove her to Germany; once there, she will benefit so
greatly by the grave tranquillity of the country that her mind and
feelings will be soothed and calmed down to a placidity and gentle
enjoyment of the present, while the past will seem but as a troubled
dream."
"But you--you?"
"Ah, I may now confess with joy and pride that my love for you will be,
as it were, a shield of defence from all snares and temptations,--a
guardian angel that will preserve me from all that could assail me in
body or mind. Then I shall write to you daily. Pardon me this weakness,
'tis the only one I shall allow myself; you, my lord, will also write to
me occasionally, if but to give me intelligence of her whom once, at
least, I called my daughter," said Clemence, melting into tears at the
thoughts of all she was giving up, "and who will ever be fondly
cherished in my heart as such; and when advancing years shall permit me
fearlessly and openly to avow the regard which binds us to each other,
then, my lord, I vow by your daughter that, if you desire it, I will
establish myself in Germany, in the same city you yourself inhabit,
never again to quit you, but so to end a life which might have been
passed more agreeably, as far as our earthly feelings were concerned,
but which shall, at least, have been spent in the practice of every
noble and virtuous feeling."
"My lord," exclaimed Murphy, entering with eagerness, "she whom Heaven
has restored to you has regained her senses. Her first word upon
recovering consciousness was to call for you. 'My father!--my beloved
father!' she cried, 'oh, do not take me from him!' Come to her, my lord,
she is all impatience again to behold you!"
* * * * *
A few minutes after this Madame d'Harville quitted the prince's hotel,
while the latter repaired in all haste to the house of the Countess
Macgregor, accompanied by Murphy, Baron de Grauen, and an aide-de-camp.