“God has endowed you with a soul, my mother, firm and austere; but you should not expect the same strength and firmness in the souls of others. You would destroy them.” “And therefore is it,” replied the marchioness, letting her hand fall upon the table, “that all I ask of you is obedience. The marquis is dead, Marguerite, and Emanuel is now the head of the family. You must immediately set out for Bennes with Emanuel.” “I!” exclaimed Marguerite, “I set out for Bennes! and for what purpose?” “Because the chapel of the castle is too narrow to contain at the same moment the wedding party of the daughter, and the funeral procession of the father.” “My mother!” replied Marguerite with an indescribable accent of anguish, “it would seem to me to be more pious to place a longer interval between two ceremonies of so opposite a nature.” “True piety,” rejoined the marchioness, “should lead us to fulfil the last wishes of the dead. Cast your eyes upon this contract, and see the first letters of your father’s name.” “Oh! madam!” cried Marguerite, “allow me to ask you whether my father, when he traced these letters, which death prevented him from finishing, was in possession of his faculties, and did he write them of his own free will?” “Of that, I am ignorant, mademoiselle,” replied the marchioness, with that imperative and icy tone, which until this time had subjected all that approached her. “I am ignorant of that, but this I know, that the influence which made him thus act, he fully understood; and I know, also, that parents, as long as they exist, should, in the eyes of their children, have the authority of God. Now, God has ordained me to effect things terrible in themselves, and I have obeyed. Do as I have done, mademoiselle, obey!” “Madam,” said Marguerite, who had remained standing, but who now seemed motionless, with somewhat of that determined tone, which in her mother was so terrible, and in which she had inherited from her; “madam! it is only three days ago, that with tearful eyes, I threw myself first at the feet of Emanuel, then at the feet of the man whom you would compel me to receive as my husband, and then at my father’s. Neither of them would or could listen to me, for grasping ambition, or reckless madness hardened their hearts, and drowned my voice. At length, I am now at your feet, my mother, you are the last whom I can supplicate, but also, you are best capable of understanding me, Listen, then, attentively, to what I am about to say. Had I only to sacrifice my own happiness to your will, I would make that sacrifice: my love! I would sacrifice that also; but I must also sacrifice my son.--You are a mother, and I also, madam.” “A mother!--a mother!” cried the marchioness. “Yes! a mother, but by a dreadful fault----”