"I had thought myself incapable of tears. I had wept so much that it seemed impossible to weep always. But this letter has unsealed my tear ducts. This man knows only what my brother would know. He entreats an interview. He wishes me to decide his claim. He asks that my heart be judge, though he offers to bring documentary proofs which any court would sustain. Why do we refuse to hear him?" The Duke's perturbation increased. "Thérèse," he said at length, "your affection for your dead brother is so well known that these pretenders seek to exploit that affection. Beware! An imprudent act may blight the dynasty and France; be the ruin of us all. It rests with you to avert this impending disaster." "With me? Why with me?" "Yes, with you," he said almost harshly. "Why did you refuse the embalmed heart sent you by the physician who performed the autopsy on the dead boy in the tower? It was a mistake,--a terrible mistake. The public got wind of it--" "You say I should have received that offering?--that heart which never beat in my brother's breast? You dare reproach me with that refusal? Answer me this: why has the King refused up to this day to be anointed? Why has the Pope forbidden us to celebrate Charles Louis's funeral rites? Have you forgotten the singular proceeding of suspending the mortuary ceremony after the church has been draped in black and the clergy vested? Have you forgotten the Nuncio's announcement: 'The Church offers up requiem masses only for the dead?'" The Duke was dumb. "Listen," she continued. "Last night as I lay awake the voice of my mother came to me softly and full of tears. She said only: 'Marie Thérèse! Marie Thérèse!'" Losing control of herself, the Duchess sobbed aloud, her face in her hands. "We must restore the stolen crown, descend from the usurper's throne. Ferdinand is right. Why fight an unworthy battle? There are proofs before which we must recede. You say I am the only man of the family. 'Tis that I am the only member of the family who looks the situation in the face. Tell the King that there is but one way of demonstrating his courage; to deliver up his ill gotten goods and make restitution." The Duke unable to find his voice, mutely rose. Saluting his wife with the same reverential air he had employed on entering, he passed out of the door. Chapter III REASONS OF STATE The interior of the King's cabinet contrasted strikingly with the apartment we have just left. Here we find a veritable museum arranged by an intelligent hand which has collected something of the most beautiful in each esthetic epoch. The Monarch stretched upon his invalid's couch, surrounded by cushions, his limbs bandaged, converses with his Minister of Police. A fire glows on the hearth, notwithstanding the warmth of the apartment, all the windows and doors being closed. 'Tis the loving heart of the young Countess Cayla that has designed the arrangement of furniture, etc., with the effect of securing the greatest comfort.