[_All have hurried toward the door on the right, but the door on the left opens quickly; the_ DUKE _appears on the threshold and sees them all standing before him. After a long look which takes in the situation:_] THE DUKE. Ah!--I see. [_He draws himself up, and comes toward them with sudden majesty._] I thank the breaking heart that broke the silence; Let her who wept feel no remorse for weeping: They had no right to rob me of my death. [_To the_ ARCHDUKES _and_ ARCHDUCHESSES, _who withdraw respectfully._] But leave me now, my Austrian family! "My son was born a Frenchman; until death Let him remember that." And I remember. [_To the_ PRINCES _who are leaving._] Farewell. [_To the others_.] Whose was the breaking heart? THERESA. [_Who has remained humbly on her knees in a corner._] My Lord--! THE DUKE. [_Approaching her, and speaking with great tenderness._] You are not very reasonable! Once Over your book you wept to see me live An Austrian Prince with flowers in my coat; And now you weep because that life has killed me. THERESA. The tryst-- THE DUKE. Well? THERESA. I was there. THE DUKE. Alas, poor soul! THERESA. Yes-- THE DUKE. Why? THERESA. Because I love you. THE DUKE. [_To the_ COUNTESS.] Madam, You hid this from me. Why? THE COUNTESS. Because I love you. THE DUKE. [_To_ THERESA _and the_ COUNTESS.] Who brought you both to see me? [THERESA _and the_ COUNTESS _look at the_ ARCHDUCHESS.] THE DUKE. [_To the_ ARCHDUCHESS.] You? THE ARCHDUCHESS. Myself. THE DUKE. Why so much thoughtfulness? THE ARCHDUCHESS. Because I love you. THE DUKE. Women have loved me as they love a child-- [_The_ THREE WOMEN _make a gesture of protest._] Ah, yes! The child they pity, spoil, and shelter-- And with maternal fingers, on my brow Still sought the golden curls which Lawrence painted. THE COUNTESS. No, no! We knew the struggles of your soul! THE DUKE. And history itself will not record The Prince whose soul was seared with all ambitions, But see the solemn, rosy, fair-haired child Tricked out in laces in his little goat-cart, Holding the globe as 'twere an air-balloon. MARIA LOUISA. Speak to me! I am here! Give me a word To soothe remorse, for through no fault of mine I was too small beside your mighty dreams. I have the thriftless conscience of a bird! The tinkling bells that jangle in my brain Have never ceased till now. Look at me now! Speak to me now! Forgive me now! THE DUKE. O God! Inspire me with the deep, yet tender word With which a son forgives his mother. MARIA LOUISA.