At length, at a sign from Madame d'Harville, who, leaning over Fleur-de-Marie, held one of the poor girl's thin, wasted hands in hers, the prince gently approached the side of the chair, and now, more collected, he said to Fleur-de-Marie, as she turned her sweet face to welcome him: "At last, my child, your friends have recovered you, and be sure it is not their intention ever to part with you again. One thing you must endeavour to do, and that is to banish for ever from your mind all your past sufferings." "Yes, my dear girl," said Clemence, "you can in no way so effectually prove your affection for your friends as by forgetting the past." "Ah, M. Rodolph, and you, too, madame, pray believe that if, spite of myself, my thoughts do revert to the past, it will be but to remind me that but for you that wretched past would still be my lot." "But we shall take pains to prevent such mournful reminiscences ever crossing your mind. Our tenderness will not allow you time to look back, my dear Marie," said Rodolph; "you know I gave you that name at the farm." "Oh, yes, M. Rodolph, I well remember you did. And Madame Georges, who was so good as even to permit me to call her mother, is she quite well?" "Perfectly so, my child; but I have some most important news for you. Since I last saw you some great discoveries have been made respecting your birth. We have found out who were your parents, and your father is known to us." The voice of Rodolph trembled so much while pronouncing these words that Fleur-de-Marie, herself deeply affected, turned quickly towards him, but, fortunately, he managed to conceal his countenance from her. A somewhat ridiculous occurrence also served at this instant to call off the attention of the Goualeuse from too closely observing the prince's emotion,--the worthy squire, who still remained behind the curtain, feigning to be very busily occupied in gazing upon the garden belonging to the hotel, suddenly blew his nose with a twanging sound that reechoed through the salon; for, in truth, the worthy man was crying like a child. "Yes, my dear Marie," said Clemence, hastily, "your father is known to us--he is still living." "My father!" cried La Goualeuse, in a tone of tender delight, that subjected the firmness of Rodolph to another difficult test. "And some day," continued Clemence,--"perhaps very shortly, you will see him. But what will, no doubt, greatly astonish you, is that he is of high rank and noble birth." "And my mother, shall I not see her, too, madame?" "That is a question your father will answer, my dear child. But tell me, shall you not be delighted to see him?" "Oh, yes, madame," answered Fleur-de-Marie, casting down her eyes. "How much you will love him when you know him!" said Clemence. "A new existence will commence for you from that very day, will it not, Marie?" asked the prince.