‘It is indeed,’ he answered, laughing. ‘Lizzie, did you seriously think that it was I? Why, what a taste you must give me credit for, to choose that pretty little piece of white-and-pink china, after having had the chance of such a woman as yourself! And now, what is my answer?’ What it was I leave for my readers to guess. Let those who have thirsted until life’s blood lay as dry dust in their veins, thrust the chalice of sparkling wine from their parched lips if they will: I am not made of such stern stuff as that. THE END. [Illustration] LEOPOLD-FERDINAND, DUC DE BRABANT. The death of a child is at all times a subject of mournful interest: it is so sad to see the hereditary curse falling on the innocent heads of those who in themselves have done nothing to merit the punishment of sin. But when the lost child is an only child, or an only son, our sympathies with the bereavement are increased tenfold; so proud do we know each other to be, of perpetuating the frailties of which we are but too conscious, and leaving behind us an inheritor of the misery we have endured. And if ordinary children (of which a few hundreds more or less in the world make little difference) are to be thus bewailed, what words can paint strongly enough the condolence with which we should approach the subject of that royal parent who so lately lost at one stroke his only son, and (in the direct line) the sole heir to his throne! The interest felt by all Englishmen in the royal family of Belgium lies deeper than in the mere fact of their near connection with our own Sovereign and her lamented consort. From the time that the first Leopold came over, a gallant bridegroom, to our shores, to wed the Princess Charlotte (that darling of the nation), and left them so shortly afterwards widowed and childless, we have taken almost as keen an interest in all that concerned him and his children as though death had never stepped in to sever the link between us. And this feeling has been warmly kept up as much by the condescension with which Leopold II. has followed in the footsteps of his father, by taking an interest in all things British, and showing the utmost courtesy to, and consideration for, the foreigners of that nation residing in his dominions, as by the intimate relations maintained between the royal families of England and Belgium. It may be said, then, and without exaggeration, that when the sad news that the young Duc de Brabant had at last succumbed to the cruel malady which had kept him in constant suffering, and the nation’s hopes in a state of fluctuation for nine months past, was disseminated throughout Brussels, his royal parents received as much sympathy in their sorrow from the English residents in that capital as from their own people. The Belgians mourned their future king; but we wept with the father and mother over the cradle of their only son.