France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
They were interrupted by the servants, bringing in water to wash their
fingers, in a magnificent golden bowl, and this ceremony having been
duly gone through with, the prince threw down his napkin and led the
way into the adjoining _salon_, signing to Isabelle to follow him. He
seated himself in a large arm-chair in front of the blazing wood fire,
and bidding Isabelle place herself close beside him, took her hand
tenderly between both of his, and looked long and searchingly at this
lovely young daughter, so strangely restored to him. There was much of
sadness mingled with the joy that shone in his eyes, for he was still
very anxious about his son, whose life was in such jeopardy; but as he
gazed upon Isabelle’s sweet face the joy predominated, and he smiled
very lovingly upon the new _comtesse_, as he began to talk to her of
long past days.
“Doubtless, my beloved child, in the midst of the strange events that
have brought us together, in such an odd, romantic, almost supernatural
manner, the thought has suggested itself to your mind, that during all
the years that have passed since your infancy I have not sought you
out, and that chance alone has at last restored the long-lost child to
her neglectful father. But you are so good and noble that I know you
would not dwell upon such an idea, and I hope that you do not so
misjudge me as to think me capable of such culpable neglect, now that
you are getting a little better acquainted with me. As you must know,
your mother, Cornelia, was excessively proud and high-spirited. She
resented every affront, whether intended as such or not, with
extraordinary violence, and when I was obliged, in spite of my most
heartfelt wishes, to separate myself from her, and reluctantly submit
to a marriage that I could not avoid, she obstinately refused to allow
me to provide for her maintenance in comfort and luxury, as well as for
you and your education. All that I gave her, and settled on her, she
sent back to me with the most exaggerated disdain, and inexorably
refused to receive again. I could not but admire, though I so deplored,
her lofty spirit, and proud rejection of every benefit which I desired
to confer upon her, and I left in the hands of a trusty agent, for her,
the deeds of all the landed property and houses I had destined for her,
as well as the money and jewels—so that she could at any time reclaim
them, if she would—hoping that she might see fit to change her mind
when the first flush of anger was over. But, to my great chagrin, she
persisted in her refusal of everything, and changing her name, fled
from Paris into the provinces; where she was said to have joined a
roving band of comedians. Soon after that I was sent by my sovereign on
several foreign missions that kept me long away from France, and I lost
all trace of her and you. In vain were all my efforts to find you both,
until at last I heard that she was dead. Then I redoubled my diligence
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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