Beautiful had that face been in youth, but suffering has obliterated all trace of beauty. The hair once pale yellow,--the family color,--and so abundant that it was whispered she wore a wig, has now an ashen, almost a cobwebby look; the skin is yellow and marked with wrinkles; the dry eyes are inflamed with tears that do not flow. The lips are drawn tight,--the lips that neither laugh nor kiss. The clasped hands are emaciated and of waxen whiteness. Bitter thoughts seem to hover around the pale forehead,--cruel doubt and insistent remorse. An expression of appalling incertitude, the terror of faith stripped of celestial consolation are there. Incoherent, rebellious words come from the lips. At last, heaving a deep sigh, she arose, unclasped her hands and passed the right one over her forehead as though in an effort to banish her thoughts. Approaching the lamp, she unfastened two buttons of her waist and took from her bosom a roll of paper,--a letter. She glanced around, as if to assure herself that she was alone, and then began to read: "My sister, well beloved: I live, I live; the hand of your brother directs these words; disregarding court etiquette, I assure you of my love--" Here two timid raps sounded on the door and a gentle voice called: "Your Grace!" The lady hastily replaced the paper and buttoned her bodice with an unsteady hand. By a strong effort of the will, she assumed the impenetrable mask she put on habitually and opened the door, with a look of cold surprise on her face. The attendant apologized profusely for the interruption. "His--his--Royal Highness wishes urgently to speak with you. He has ordered me to--" Without moving a muscle of her face, the Duchess bowed in assent and, with the gait of an automaton, passed on to meet her husband, who awaited her in the visitors' room, a small apartment, containing a desk, some books of devotion and a few classics. On her entry, the Duke saluted gravely as tho at an official ceremony. She seated herself, but he continued standing. He was tall and of patrician and martial bearing. She addressed him a mute interrogatory. The absence of cordiality between them was at once apparent. "Thérèse, I come to trouble you and this I regret infinitely. But 'tis indispensable. I come to talk of state matters, that is of matters closely related to the state. Some time ago we banished this topic from our conversation, Thérèse, because--we happen to differ in our views. You find me somewhat--what phrase shall I use?--well, liberal. I find you obstinate,--opposed to making concessions and blind to the exigencies of the times. I am inclined to adopt the opinion of the King and Ferdinand; you, like our good father--but Thérèse, think as we individually may, we both desire the same accomplishment. At bottom there is harmony between us. I could not bear to believe otherwise."