The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 6 of 6

"Whilst the praises of the abbess of Ste. Hermangeld refer only to my present conduct, I accept it without scruple; but when she cites my example to the noble young ladies who have taken vows in the abbey, I feel as if I were the accomplice of an infamous falsehood."

After a long silence Rodolph resumed, with deep melancholy:

"I see it is unavailing to persuade you! Reasoning is impotent against a conviction the more steadfast as it is derived from a noble and generous feeling. The contrast of your past and present position must be a perpetual punishment; forgive me for saying so, my beloved one!"

"Forgive you! And for what, my dear father?"

"For not having foreseen your excessive susceptibility, which, from the delicacy of your heart, I should have anticipated. And yet what could I have done? It was my duty solemnly to recognise you as my daughter; yet I was wrong – wrong to be too proud of you! I should have concealed my treasure, and lived in retirement with Clémence and you, instead of raising you high, so high that the past would disappear as I hoped from your eyes."

Several knocks were heard at this moment, which interrupted the conversation. Rodolph opened the door, and saw Murphy, who said:

"I beg your your royal highness's pardon for thus disturbing you, but a courier from the Prince of Herkaüsen-Oldenzaal has just arrived with this letter, which he says is very important, and must be delivered immediately to your royal highness."

"Thanks, good Murphy. Do not go away," said Rodolph, with a sigh, "I shall want you presently." And the prince, closing the door, remained a moment in the ante-room to read the letter which Murphy had brought him, and which was as follows:

"My Lord: – Trusting that the bonds of relationship existing between us, as well as the friendship with which you have ever honoured me, will excuse the boldness of the step I am about to take, I will at once enter upon the purport of my letter, dictated as it is by a conscientious desire to act as becomes the man your highness deigns to style his friend.

"Fifteen months have now elapsed since you returned from France, bringing with you your long-lost daughter, whom you so happily discovered living with that mother from whom she had never been parted, and whom you espoused when in extremis, in order to legitimise the Princess Amelie.

"Thus ennobled, of matchless beauty, and, as I learn from my sister, the abbess of Ste. Hermangeld, endowed with a character pure and elevated as the princely race from which she springs, who would not envy your happiness in possessing such a treasure?

"I will now candidly state the purport of my letter, although I should certainly have been the bearer of the request it contains, were it not that a severe indisposition detains me at Oldenzaal.

"During the time my son passed at Gerolstein he had frequent opportunities of seeing the Princess Amelie, whom he loves with a passionate but carefully concealed affection. This fact I have considered it right to acquaint you with, the more especially as, after having received and entertained my son as affectionately as though he had been your own, you added to your kindness by inviting him to return, as quickly as his duties would allow, to enjoy that sweet companionship so precious to his heart; and it is probable that my apprising you of this circumstance may induce you to withdraw your intended hospitality to one who has presumed to aspire to the affections of your peerless child.

"I am perfectly well aware that the daughter of whom you are so justly proud might aspire to the first alliance in Europe, but I also know that so tender and devoted a parent as yourself would not hesitate to bestow the hand of the Princess Amelie on my son, if you believed by so doing her happiness would be secured.

"It is not for me to dwell upon Henry's merits, – you have been graciously pleased to bestow your approval on his conduct thus far, and I venture to hope he will never give you cause to change the favourable opinion you have deigned to express concerning him.

"Of this be assured, that whatever may be your determination, we shall bow in respectful and implicit submission to it, and that I shall never be otherwise than your royal highness's most humble and obedient servant,

    "Gustave Paul,
    "Prince of Herkaüsen-Oldenzaal."

After the perusal of this letter Rodolph remained for some time sad and pensive; then a gleam of hope darting across his mind, he returned to his daughter, whom Clémence was most tenderly consoling.

"My dear child," said he, as he entered, "you yourself observed that this day seemed destined to be one of important discoveries and solemn explanations, but I did not then think your words would be so strikingly verified as they seem likely to be."

"Dear father, what has happened?"

"Fresh sources of uneasiness have arisen."

"On whose account?"

"On yours, my child. I fear you have only revealed to us a portion of your griefs."

"Be kind enough to explain yourself," said Fleur-de-Marie, blushing.

"Then hearken to me, my beloved child. You have, perhaps, good cause to fancy yourself unhappy. When, at the commencement of our conversation, you spoke of the hopes you still entertained, I understood your meaning, and my heart seemed broken by the blow with which I was menaced, for I read but too clearly that you desired to quit me for ever, and to bury yourself in the eternal seclusion of a cloister. My child, say, have I not divined your intentions?"

"If you would consent," murmured forth Fleur-de-Marie, in a faint, gasping voice.

"Would you, then, quit us?" exclaimed Clémence.

"The abbey of Ste. Hermangeld is in the immediate neighbourhood of Gerolstein, and I should frequently see yourself and my father."

"Remember, my child, that vows such as you would take are not to be recalled. You are scarcely eighteen years of age, and one day you may – possibly – "

"Oh, think not I should ever regret my choice! There is no rest or peace for me save in the solitude of a cloister. There I may be happy, if you and my second mother will but continue to me your affection."

"The duties and consolations of a religious life," said Rodolph, "might, certainly, if not cure, at least alleviate the anguish of your lacerated and desponding mind, and although your resolution will cost me dear, I cannot but approve of it."

"Rodolph!" cried the astonished Clémence, "do I hear aright? Is it possible you – "

"Allow me more fully to explain myself," replied Rodolph. Then addressing his daughter, he said, "But before an irrevocable decision is pronounced, it would be well to ascertain if nothing more suitable, both to your inclinations and our own, could be found for you than the life of a nun."

Fleur-de-Marie and Clémence started at Rodolph's words and manner, while, fixing an earnest gaze on his daughter, the prince said, abruptly:

"What think you, my child, of your cousin, Prince Henry?"

The brightest blush spread over the fair face of Fleur-de-Marie, who, after a momentary hesitation, threw herself weeping in her father's arms.

"Then you love him, do you not, my darling child?" cried Rodolph, tenderly pressing her hands. "Fear not to confide the truth to your best friends."

"Alas!" replied Fleur-de-Marie, "you know not what it has cost me to conceal from you the state of my heart! Had you questioned me on the subject, I would gladly have told you all, but shame closed my lips, and would still have done so, but for your inquiry into the nature of my feelings."

"And have you any suspicion that Henry is aware of your love?"

"Gracious heavens, dearest father!" exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, shrinking back in terror, "I trust not!"

"Do you believe he returns your affection?"

"Oh, no, no! I trust he does not! He would suffer too deeply."

"And what gave rise to the love you entertained for your cousin?"

"Alas, I know not! It grew upon me almost unconsciously. Do you remember a portrait of a youth dressed as a page, in the apartments of the Abbess de Ste. Hermangeld?"

"I know; it was the portrait of Henry."

"Believing the picture to be of distant date, I one day in your presence remarked upon the extreme beauty of the countenance, when you jestingly replied that it was the likeness of an ancestor who, in his youth, had displayed an extraordinary share of sense, courage, and every estimable quality; this strengthened my first impression, and frequently after that day I used to delight in recalling to my mind the fine countenance and noble features of one I believed to have been long numbered with the dead. By degrees these reveries began to form one of my greatest pleasures, and many an hour have I passed gazing, amid smiles and tears, on one I fondly hoped I might be permitted to know and to love in another world. For in this," continued poor Fleur-de-Marie, with a most touching expression, "I well know I am unworthy to aspire to the love of any one but you, my kind, indulgent parents."

"I can now understand the nature of the reproof you once gave me for having misled you on the subject of the portrait."

"Conceive, dearest father, what was my confusion when I learnt from the superior that the portrait was a living subject, – that of her nephew! My trouble was extreme, and earnestly did I endeavour to erase from my heart all the fond associations connected with that picture. In vain! the pertinacity with which I strove to forget but riveted the impression I had received; and, unfortunately, dear father, you rendered the task of forgetting more difficult, by continually eulogising the heart, disposition, and principles of Prince Henry."

"You loved him, then, my child, from merely seeing his likeness and hearing his praises?"