"The duties and consolations of a religious life," said Rodolph, "might, certainly, if not cure, at least alleviate the anguish of your lacerated and desponding mind, and although your resolution will cost me dear, I cannot but approve of it." "Rodolph!" cried the astonished Clemence, "do I hear aright? Is it possible you--" "Allow me more fully to explain myself," replied Rodolph. Then addressing his daughter, he said, "But before an irrevocable decision is pronounced, it would be well to ascertain if nothing more suitable, both to your inclinations and our own, could be found for you than the life of a nun." Fleur-de-Marie and Clemence started at Rodolph's words and manner, while, fixing an earnest gaze on his daughter, the prince said, abruptly: "What think you, my child, of your cousin, Prince Henry?" The brightest blush spread over the fair face of Fleur-de-Marie, who, after a momentary hesitation, threw herself weeping in her father's arms. "Then you love him, do you not, my darling child?" cried Rodolph, tenderly pressing her hands. "Fear not to confide the truth to your best friends." "Alas!" replied Fleur-de-Marie, "you know not what it has cost me to conceal from you the state of my heart! Had you questioned me on the subject, I would gladly have told you all, but shame closed my lips, and would still have done so, but for your inquiry into the nature of my feelings." "And have you any suspicion that Henry is aware of your love?" "Gracious heavens, dearest father!" exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, shrinking back in terror, "I trust not!" "Do you believe he returns your affection?" "Oh, no, no! I trust he does not! He would suffer too deeply." "And what gave rise to the love you entertained for your cousin?" "Alas, I know not! It grew upon me almost unconsciously. Do you remember a portrait of a youth dressed as a page, in the apartments of the Abbess de Ste. Hermangeld?" "I know; it was the portrait of Henry." "Believing the picture to be of distant date, I one day in your presence remarked upon the extreme beauty of the countenance, when you jestingly replied that it was the likeness of an ancestor who, in his youth, had displayed an extraordinary share of sense, courage, and every estimable quality; this strengthened my first impression, and frequently after that day I used to delight in recalling to my mind the fine countenance and noble features of one I believed to have been long numbered with the dead. By degrees these reveries began to form one of my greatest pleasures, and many an hour have I passed gazing, amid smiles and tears, on one I fondly hoped I might be permitted to know and to love in another world. For in this," continued poor Fleur-de-Marie, with a most touching expression, "I well know I am unworthy to aspire to the love of any one but you, my kind, indulgent parents." "I can now understand the nature of the reproof you once gave me for having misled you on the subject of the portrait."