Mysteries of Paris -- Volume 03

h's care, with extreme taste and elegance. From the balcony of the young girl's oratory could be seen, in the distance, the two towers of the Convent of

r made of carved ebony and cramoisie velvet, her elbow supported by one arm of this seat, her head a little bent down, she supported her cheek upon the back of her small white hand, delicately veined with azure. The languishing attitude of Fleur-de-Marie, her paleness, the fixedness of her gaze, the bitterness of her half-smile, revealed a deep melancholy. After some moments, a heavy, sad sigh relieved her breast. Then, letting her hand which supported her cheek fall

wish, my de

it him; for he will meet you here in a few minutes," replied

ing with so much impatience! But I hope that I do not owe to any illness of Fr?ulein Har

begged me to take her place to-day; to-morrow she will have the honor of r

he pleasure of seeing you two days in succession, my dear coun

id of honor, bending again; "this extrem

ow my eagerness to be

a subject so painful, that I should not have the courage to enter upon it, if it did not concern a v

ountess; I am always very grateful for every oc

your highness had established that institution, which is so charitable, and so us

ened to her? what

ghter, hardly sixteen years old when left to herself, quitted the country to follow to Vienna a seducer, who soon forsook her. Then, as always happens, the first s

did not escape the maid of honor. Fearing to have wounded the chaste susceptibility of t

ou by drawing your attention to so polluted a being; but the miserable one shows

e-Marie, conquering her sad emotion; "indeed, all err

the price of the most severe penance, the happiness of entering a religious house, where she might expiate her errors and deserve their redemption. The worthy widow to whom she has intrusted this confidence, knowing that I had the honor to serve your highness, has written to me to recommend to me this unfortunate one, who, by means of the all-powerful agency of your highness with the Princess Juliana, lady superior of the abbey, might hope to enter St. Hermangilda Abbey as lay sister; she asks as a favor to be emp

semblance did her past life offer to that of the unfortunate one in whose favor she was solicited: sh

hness. I hardly dared hope your highness would deig

mmiseration and inexpressible sadness; "it is right to nourish pity for her.

of honor, suddenly, without remarking the d

At the sight of the prince the countess discreetly retired. Hardly had she disappeared, when Fleur-de-Marie threw he

t yet observing her sadness. "See this mass of roses; what a fine harvest I gathered for you this morning; it was t

ughter from his arms and look at her; but seeing her burst into tears, he threw the bouquet upon

aid Fleur-de-Marie, drying her tears

at is the matter? What

s has just solicited my interest for a poor woman, so interesting

Is it on

Rudolph had thrown there; "but how you spoil me!" added she, "what a magnificent

conceal something from me; your smile is sad-constrained. Tell me, I b

ch-I have always loved them so much. You remember," added she, with an affectin

ns founded? In the midst of the splendor that surrounds you, would you yet sometimes thi

er! these words escap

ese returns to the past must be fearful to you-because they would po

ce. Since our arrival her

ve accused the past as causing your sadness. But, as I was uncertain, I dared not even attempt to combat the sad influence of these remembrances-to show you the uselessness, the injustice of the

these fears show me you

, you ought, feeling yourself cherished as a daughter by the noble woman who knew and loved you in the depth of your misfortunes-you ought, I say, to regard the past as sufficiently expiated for by your heavy miseries, and be indulgent, or rather just, toward yourself: for, indeed, my wife is entitled by her high qualities to the respect of all-is it not so? Ah, well, since you are to her a daughter, a cherished sister, ought you not to be encou

fath

dreaded it. God will that it may have a salutary result! It was mine to make you forget so many dreadful sorrows. I have a mission to fulfill towards you so august, so sacred, that I should

et love me tenderly, does not it, on the contrary, personify forgetfulness and pardon? Indeed, my father, wou

ure your happiness. You know not what self-denial Clémence has already voluntarily

God! And what have I

I had caused them. And when I see you smiling, pleased, I believe myself pardoned; my only aim, my only wish, is to render you as entirely happy as you have been unfortunate; to raise y

her; but to my rank, or, rathe

d by powers of attraction and fascination! You know not how to distinguish between these, because you know not yourself; because you know not that, by a wonderful intelligence and tact, which

ve you so much, that every one is sure o

aughter, and embracing her tenderly; "what a wicked child, wh

ied by attributing to you the good fee

be proud of myself, and I can and ought to be proud of you-yes, proud. And, again, you know not how divinely you are endowed; in fifteen months your education has become so marvelously complete th

your praises

ir victim, show themselves as charitable as they were wicked. Is this, then, nothing? Again, is it-yes or no-owing to you that La Louve, that ungovernable woman, has felt repentance, and desired an honest and laborious life? Ah, believe me, my dear child, that which conquered La Louve, and her turbulent companions, merely by the ascendancy of goodness, combined with a rare elevation of mind; this, although in other circumstances and in an utterly different sphere, must by the same charm (do not smile at such a parallel, miss) fascinate the stately Archdu

dear fath

converse to you of these comparisons, these parallels, which render you so admirable in my eyes. How many times have Clémence and I been enraptured with you. How many times moved so that the tears rose in her eyes, has she said to me, 'Is it not wonderful that this

lémence, Grand Duchess of Gerolstein,

ring it to you, that I might say good-morning to my indolent child, whom I ha

t through. "We were talking just now of the past; of that monster we must incessantly

those attacks of melanchol

rances; but, fortunately, we now know o

is this letter, my f

tte, the wif

leur-de-Marie; "what hap

me time glancing at Fleur-de-Marie, "do you not fear th

remembrances I wish to

ch them boldly, and I am

lent arms against them,

hild, and appreciated

d aloud the fol

Farm, Augus

iness which has befallen us, and to ask a new favor of you, to whom we already owe so many, or,

icture of Germain; be, that she is of me; our dear Mamma George says that she resembles both; the fact is she has charming blue eyes like Germain, and black hair, curl

t to be happy," said Rudolph. "If ever

ves her happiness,"

ot pass a day that we do not say, looking at each other, we too, Germain and I, 'How happy we are! O, God, how happy we are!' and, naturally, your name follows directly after these words. Excuse the scrawl there is just here, my lord, and the blot; I had written without thin

nder a slight illusion, and I am sure that Germain is occupied

d Clémence, looking at the letter, "the w

dolph; "formerly it would have taken eight

er, and this godfather and godmother, do you know who they are, my lord? Two persons whom you and her ladyship the Marchioness d'Harville have raised from misery to render happy, happy as we are. In a word, they are Morel, the jeweler, and Jeanne Duport, the sister of a poor prisoner named Pique-Vinaigre, a worthy woman whom I saw in prison when I went to visit my poor Germain there, and whom, afterward, her ladyship, the marchioness, brought out from the hospital. Now, my lord, you must know why we have chosen M. Morel for g

de-Marie, with emotion, "to take as godfather and godmother of t

said Clémence; "I am most d

at I have so well best

continuin

p his family upon, and the means of teaching his children some trade. The good Louise will, I think, marry a worthy laborer, who loves and

s against our enemy! You hear, it is the expression of the plain common sense of this honest and upright soul. She

g of this letter, trembled at the glance that her father fixed

who ate her out of everything and beat her; she has taken her eldest daughter with her, and she keeps a little lace shop, where she sells what she and her children make; their tra

nothing to him. To end your family of protégées, my lord, I will add that Germain has read in the papers that Martial, a planter in Algiers, has been spoken of with great praises for the courage he had shown in repulsing, at the head of his farmers, an attack of thievish Arabs, and that his wife, as intrepid as himself, had been slightly wounded in the side while she was discharging her gun like a real grenadier. From that time, they say in the papers, she has been called 'Mrs. Rifle.' Excuse this long letter, my lord, but I thought you would not be sorry to hear from us concerning those whose good Providence you have been. I write to you from the farm at Bouqueval, where we have been since spring with our good mother. Germain leaves every morning for his business, and returns at night. In the autumn we shall go back to live in Paris. How strange it is, M. Rudolph, I, who never loved the country, adore it now. I make it clear to myself: it is because Germain loves it so much. Speaking of the farm, M. Rudolph, you, who undoubtedly know where that good little Goualeuse is-if you have an opportunity, tell her how we always remember her as one of the sweetest and best beings in the world; and that I myself never think of our happiness without saying, since M. Rudolph was also the M. Rudolph of dear Fleur-de-Marie, through his care she must be as happy as we; and this makes

isdom-honor a

e of him who has been our good Providence, and that of all the wretched ones he has known. Pardon, my lord, for finishing thus; I have s

alute you with as much respect a

ften written M. Rudolph. You will pardon me? I may hope so? You know well t

," said Clémence, soft

"This simple epistle

th an excellent disposition; she has a heart of gold, and our dear child appreciates her as we

t is the

d happiness-those four words tell all that has happened to her. A laborious and sensible

what are y

standing your sovereign power, notwithstanding the respect and splendor with which I am surrounded, my shame is incurable. Nothing can annihilate the past

hear her?" cried R

er own, "our tenderness, the affection of those who surround you, and which you so well mer

idea, so long rooted in her mind, has made there, unknown to us, dreadful ravages, an

the enemy which threatens us. We now know the cause of our dear child's sorrow! we sha

uld render ours incurable also," replied Rudolph, "for in truth it would be to despai

Listen to me, my good father, and you also, my loving mother, this day is a solemn one-God has granted, and I thank Him for it, that it should be impossible for me to conceal from you any longer what I feel. In a litt

ried Rudolph; "there is n

ther, and this hope gives me

my poor child, since your present fat

ermit me to recall the past to you, to own to you, bef

aid Rudolph, seating himself w

happy, oh! so completely happy, that those delicious days would not be too well

ome days,

own everything; my pride was excited in spite of myself, so much was I honored in belonging to you. Then the few persons of your household who at Paris had occasion to speak to me called me 'your highness,' I could not prevent myself from being proud of this title. If I thought then, at times, vaguely of the past, it was to say to myself, 'I, formerly so hum

t that time I recollect you were delightfully gay; how many times have I seen you fall into my arms as if overpowered with happiness, and heard you say to me, with an enchanting accent, 'My father, it

ce, "what has changed into sadness this pur

and entirely unfor

circum

nquer a shuddering of horror; "you remember the sad scene which preceded

having again saved my life; he died there before us,

g, do you know whom I saw looking intently at me? Oh, that look, that

hom do you speak

e White Rabbit," mur

er seen aga

where the Slasher breathed his last. She

struck with terror by the murder of the Slasher, you thought

iant with happiness and hope, was suddenly frozen. Yes; to meet this woman at the moment when the Slasher was dying and repeating the words 'Heave

f yourself, in this abyss, you could not leave it, notwithstanding your remorse, your terror your despair, thanks to the atrocious indifference of that societ

told you, you were the victim, not the a

incessantly, no longer as formerly, in the midst of the peaceable inhabitants of a farm, or of the degraded women, my companions in Saint Lazare, but

ute before this frightful expression of invincible remorse. They,

forgive me! but the more my position is elevated, the more I have been struck with the profound degradation into which I had fallen. At each new homage which is rendered me, I feel myself guilty of a profanation. Think of it, oh, heaven! after having been what I have been to suffer old men to bow before me-to suffer noble young women, women justly respected, to feel themselves flattered to approach me-to suffer fina

, who know the past, are worthy of o

blind tenderness of a

over them-you insisting that they call themselves your sisters-wishing that they should call you so, since in fact you treat them as such, is this nothing to atone for faults which were not your own? Finally, the affection

; but when she quotes my example to the noble ladies who are engaged in religious offices in the abbey-when they see

tion, the more firm because it has its source in a generous and elevated sentiment. Since every moment you throw back a look on the past, th

sk pardon of me, for wh

of your beauty-those charms of the mind which surprised every one who approached you. I ought to have hidden my treasure-to have lived almost in retirement with Clémence and you; I should have renounced these fêtes-these numerous receptions, at which I loved so much to see you shine, thinking, foolishly, to elevate you so high-so high, that the past would disappear entirely from your eyes. But, alas! the reverse h

door of the saloon which

nterrupted this

hness for disturbing you, but a courier from Prince Herkausen-Oldenzaal has just brought a lette

away," said Rudolph, with a sigh; "pre

moment in the saloon, to read the letter which Mu

ss of Saint Hermangilda, has written me. The abbess, as you know, has often the honor of seeing this well-beloved daughter of your royal highness. During the time which my son passed at Gerolstein he saw, almost every day, the Princess Amelia; he loves her desperately, but he has always concealed this passion. I have thought it my duty, my lord, to inform you of this circumstance. You have deigned, as a father, to receive my son, and have invited him to the bosom of your family, and to live in that intimacy which was so precious to him. I should fail in loyalty to your highness if I dissimulated a circumstance which modified the reception which was reserved for my son. I know that it would be madness in us to dare hope to ally ourselves more nearly to the family of your royal highness. I know that the daughter of whom you hav

AVUS

Herkausen