He could not call to mind a single unkind word; Clemence, on the contrary, had always striven to make her husband forget his cares and anxieties. And even now, although well aware of this scheme for their separation, she never gave utterance to one murmur or reproach; all her efforts were directed to conceal her sadness and despair. But his wife's anguish was not unknown to the Duke. He admired the generous spirit of the n.o.ble woman, and it cost him many a heartache, to feel himself, as it were, compelled to do her such a cruel wrong. Had the d.u.c.h.ess reproached him with his injustice, the struggle would have been less difficult, but this mute sorrow, this submissive love disarmed him. It was in vain that he looked back over years long gone by, he could discover nothing worthy of dissatisfaction, for each succeeding year since their marriage gave new proofs of Clemence's affection and fidelity.

Sad thoughts filled his mind as he sat beneath an arbor of clematis in the convent garden. His back leaning against the wall, his limbs stretched out and his hands clenched upon his breast, his haggard, downcast face denoted the painful struggle raging within him, which from time to time took vent in a deep sigh.

A child's clear voice awoke him from his mournful revery. At the end of the grove his wife appeared, leading his little daughter Adelaide by the hand. As soon as she perceived her father, she ran towards him, but suddenly stopped at a short distance with an air of indecision and doubt.

"Well, well! little one, come on!" said Henry, forcing a smile.

The child obeyed, but it was plain that she did not feel at ease, for she looked anxiously towards her mother.

Henry seemed annoyed as Clemence seated herself beside him, but although the n.o.ble woman had remarked his grave and troubled expression and divined its cause, her strong will concealed her sad emotions.

"Father, why do you always wear these iron clothes?" said the child, playing with the rings of his coat of mail.

"Because it is necessary in time of war, my child. Would you not like to have one like it? See how it shines and sparkles!"

"No, father; it is too hard and stiff; I like my mother's dresses better."

"If you were a boy, instead of a little girl, it would please you more."

These words produced a strange effect upon the infant. She first turned towards Clemence who seemed ready to burst into tears, and then threw her arms around her father's neck, as if to prevent him reproaching her mother.

"I want to be a boy, father!" said Adelaide, laughing through her tears.

"You do, do you? and what for?"

"So that my mother may not cry any more!"

"Nonsense, little chatterbox; why should your mother cry?"

"Oh yes, she does cry, and a great deal too; only when you come, she dries her eyes, and smiles."

The Duke was touched; these artless words from the mouth of his child contained a reproach which shamed him. Until then, he had never spoken to his wife of the proposed divorce, and even now, although the opportunity seemed favorable, he hesitated, for the consciousness of his injustice deprived him of his courage.

Clemence read his thoughts, and a mingling of love for her husband and pity for his weakness, joined to a faint hope that, even yet, he might be weaned from his determination, decided her to speak.

"Dear Henry," she began, "a wife's duty is to watch and pray, whenever a danger menaces her lord. I can no longer remain silent in the presence of the schemers who seek to beguile you. The sinful projects of the chancellor Rinaldo will destroy your eternal soul. Believe me, no motive can excuse an evil deed; nothing can make innocent that which the laws of G.o.d forbid. I am ready, if it were possible, to make any sacrifice to your happiness, even were my heart to break in the attempt!"

Tears choked her further utterance; but the Duke well knew that her words were not an idle speech, but that they were dictated by true and sincere affection.

"Why do you allude to this circ.u.mstance, so painful to us both," he said. "There are some things which must be placed even above the feelings of the heart. On the honor of a knight, Clemence, I look upon you as the n.o.blest of women, and yet, with me the Guelphic dynasty in the North will end."

"I know the chancellor's famous discovery of our consanguinity!"

replied the d.u.c.h.ess. "Henry, you know that the plea is false. If our divorce will make you happier, I would submit, without a murmur; but the certainty that this divorce will imperil your immortal soul, wrings my heart with anguish. Henry! I implore you, give up this guilty project! Trust to the future.--Perhaps--perhaps, my days are numbered."

At this moment a horse's hoofs rang on the pavement of the outer court, and almost immediately Rinaldo stood before the arbor. Clemence rose hastily; although pale and trembling, her tears had ceased, and she gazed upon the chancellor with a look of horror. Slowly leaving with her child the presence of her husband, she cast upon him one lingering glance in which were reflected the feelings of her soul.

Robed in the magnificent costume which he wore only on great occasions of ceremony, wearing on his finger the pastoral ring of the Archbishopric of Cologne (conferred upon him by the Emperor), a costly chain of triple gold around his neck, and on his head a splendid mitre, the Count of Da.s.sel, with a smiling face, saluted the Saxon Duke.

"I have ridden over to examine the tower which your Highness has built," he said, with a low bow; "what a n.o.ble piece of work! I can only compare it to the one constructed by the Emperor for the Siege of Cremona."

This was one of Henry's weak points, and the crafty Da.s.sel knew it.

"You are in error, my dear Count," he replied; "it is very true that my Imperial cousin constructed a splendid machine for that siege, but his tower could not accommodate, by two hundred men, as many as mine.

Besides, it could only be moved slowly and with much danger."

Rinaldo did not venture to doubt the superiority of the ducal construction.

"Oh, if that is the case, the perfection of your edifice threatens to become dangerous."

"Dangerous! and how so?"

"Yes," said Da.s.sel; "dangerous to the fame and aspirations of more than one hero who has built up his dreams of glory and renown upon the taking of Milan. Think of the disappointment of the Count Palatine Otho, of the Duke of Austria, of the Landgrave of Thuringen, and a host of other ill.u.s.trious captains, when they see the Suabian lion float over the ramparts of the city."

The Duke laughed boisterously.

"The thoughts of your triumph recalls to me naturally the cert.i.tude of your good fortune. His Holiness, the Pope, has expressed his readiness to annul the marriage which you have contracted with your relative."

At these words the Duke's face darkened as his right hand began to play with his beard, while the left sought angrily his sword-hilt.

"It only remains for your Highness to indicate the day and hour for this wished-for divorce," added the Chancellor.

"Hum! you appear very much interested in my affairs," replied the Duke.

"Why this precipitation?"

"Was it not your desire, my lord?"

"Certainly, it was my desire. But I will not submit to dictation from any one, and it may suit me better to leave matters as they are."

The courtier appeared surprised.

"Oh! that amazes you; yes, I said it might suit me better to leave matters as they were, my dear Count."

"Your Highness is certainly the best judge of your own affairs,"

replied Da.s.sel, cautiously, as if he felt himself in the presence of an unchained lion; "still I must observe that matters are already pretty far advanced."

"Well, turn them back again. That must be an easy matter for you; you have experience in such things."

"May I venture to inquire the reasons which have influenced your Highness to this sudden change?"

"The reasons!" he cried angrily; "the reasons! because it would be infamous! Why do you stare at me thus? Look there!"

And he pointed to where, at the extremity of the garden, Clemence, half hidden by the rose-trees, was kneeling before an image of the Madonna.

Near her stood the little Adelaide with clasped bands, gazing alternately at the image and at her weeping mother. Rinaldo saw the mother and the child; he understood the Duke's anger; he resolved to complete his infernal work.

"She is a pious woman," he said; "a model for her s.e.x! The separation will be most painful to her. I understand it well; but it is also painful for a valiant prince to witness the extinction of his race."

"Oh! the pangs of separation, the grief which they cause a loving heart, may be healed in time," said Henry; "but, my dear Count, this action will be not only cruel and pitiless, but it will be criminal in the sight of G.o.d."

"Criminal in the sight of G.o.d! this is a new phase to give to the affair. The Pope annuls your marriage; he knows his privileges, and is responsible for the consequences."