“Well, that will enhance the value it has in my eyes. Whenever I shall look at the picture of the mother, I will remember the son. I will give you _my_ picture, in lieu of it; will you resign it to me on that condition?” I bowed respectfully, she opened a drawer, putting my picture in it, and took another out of it, which was adorned with jewels much more precious than that of my mother. “Take it, Duke, and whenever you look at it, think that it is the picture of--a very unhappy woman.” So saying, she gave me the picture. The accent and the mien with which these words were pronounced, wounded my heart. I prostrated myself---“How, amiable Queen, should you really be unhappy? and this pledge of your condescension should be to me a remembrancer of your misfortunes? O, name the source of your sorrows, and if the power of a mortal being can remove it, I will do it with pleasure, will attempt it even at the peril of my life!” So saying, I pressed my lips with vehemence on her hand. “Rise! the interest which you take in my unhappiness renders me less unfortunate. It will not be in your power to make me happy, though I should be at liberty to unfold a mystery to you which never must be revealed. Rise, Duke!” She stooped to raise me up, her cheek touched my face, and a tremor of joy trembled through my frame. “Take courage!” I exclaimed, “though neither my power nor that of any man living should be able to render you happy, yet I know a person who possesses supernatural powers, and I flatter myself he will not refuse to grant my prayers. He shall make you happy, my Queen!” She looked at me with weeping eyes, then up to heaven, and then again at me. “Your prayer,” she said at length, “would be fruitless; for if an angel would descend from heaven to offer me his assistance, he could not restore me to happiness, while certain human laws and political relations are in force.”---- I plainly perceived the dreadful struggles of her soul, and it would have been cruel to render her victory more difficult by farther persuasions. I beheld with respectful silence the workings of her mind; however, she could not but observe that I adored her---her looks bespoke the grateful emotions of her heart. “You have told me a few minutes ago, that your mother is no more,” she began after a long pause. “I hope your father is yet alive?” “I have little reason to think he is.” The Queen turned as pale as a corpse. “You doubt?” she stammered, “you doubt whether your father is alive?” “A dangerous illness which has confined him to his bed, gives me reason to apprehend---but what is the matter with your Majesty?” “Nothing---nothing at all---A dangerous illness did you say.” “So he has informed me sometime since, by a letter, and requested me, at the same time, to hasten to his arms, that he might see me once more before his death, and give me his blessing.”