"My G.o.d! I was wrong, forgive me; if you only knew the uneasiness, I might almost say the fear, that you inspire in me, my dear marquise!"

"Come, I forgive you the past, monseigneur, and promise you to allow myself to be captivated with the best will in the world, and, as I am very frank, I will even add that it does seem to me that I would like you so much that you might succeed."

"Truly!" cried the prince, transported.

"Yes; you are half a sovereign, and you perhaps will be one some day, and there may be all sorts of good and beautiful things for you to order through the influence of this consuming pa.s.sion you have just branded like a real capuchin,--allow me the expression. Come, monseigneur, if the good G.o.d has put this pa.s.sion in all his creatures, he knew what he was doing. It is an immense power, because, in the hope of satisfying it, those who are under its influence are capable of everything, even the most generous actions, is it not true, monseigneur?"

"So," added the prince, with increasing rapture, "I can hope--"

"Hope all at your ease, monseigneur, but, I tell you plainly, I bind myself to nothing. My faith! fan your flame, make it burn, let it melt my snow."

"But, in a word, suppose that I grant all that you ask, what would you feel for me?"

"Perhaps this first proof of devotion to my wishes would make a deep impression upon me, but I cannot a.s.sert it, my power of divination does not extend so far as that, monseigneur."

"Ah, you are pitiless!" cried the archduke, with a vexation that had a touch of sorrow in it, "you only know how to exact."

"Would it be better to make false promises, monseigneur? That would be worthy neither of you nor of me, and then, in a word, let us speak as people who have hearts. Once more, what is it I ask of you? to show justice and mercy to the most honourable of men, and paternal affection for the orphan you have reared! If you only knew how these poor orphans love each other! What innocence! what tenderness! what despair! This morning, as she told me of the ruin of her hopes, Antonine was moved to tears."

"Frantz is of ill.u.s.trious birth. I have other plans and other views for him," replied the prince, impatiently. "He ought not to make a misalliance."

"The word is a pretty one. And then who am I, monseigneur? Magdalena Peres, daughter of an honest Mexican merchant, ruined by failures in business, and a marquise by chance. You love me, nevertheless, without fear of misalliance."

"Ah, madame! I! I!"

"You, you, it is another thing, is it not? as the comedy says."

"At least, I am free in my actions."

"And why should not Frantz be free in his, when his tastes restrain him to a modest and honourable life, adorned by a pure and n.o.ble love? Come, monseigneur, if you were, as you say, smitten with me, how tenderly you would compa.s.sionate the despairing love of those two poor children, who adore each other with all the ardour and innocence of their age! If pa.s.sion does not render you better and more generous, this pa.s.sion is not true, and if I am to share it I must begin by believing in it, which I cannot do when I see your relentless cruelty to Frantz."

"Ah, my G.o.d, if I loved him less I would not be relentless!"

"A singular way to love people!"

"Have I not told you that I intended him for a high destiny?"

"And I tell you, monseigneur, that the high destiny you reserve for him would be odious to him. He is born for a happy, sweet, and modest life; his tastes are simple, the timidity of his character, his qualities even, separate him from all that is showy and pompous; is it not true?"

"Then," said the prince, greatly surprised, "you are acquainted with him?"

"I have never seen him."

"How, then, do you know?"

"Has not this dear Antonine given me all her confidence? Is it not true that, according to the way you love people, you are able to divine their true character? In a word, monseigneur, the character of Frantz is such as I have described, is it not,--yes or no?"

"It is true, such is his character."

"And you would have the cruelty to impose upon him an existence which would be insupportable to him, when there under his hand he would find the happiness of his life?"

"But, know that I love Frantz as my own son, and I will never consent to be separated from him."

"Great pleasure for you to have constantly under your eyes the sad face of a poor creature whose eternal misery you have caused! Besides, Antonine is an orphan; nothing forbids her accompanying Frantz; in the place of one child, you would have two. What a relief from your grandeur, from the adulations of a false and selfish and artificial society would the sight of this sweet and smiling happiness be to you; with what joy would you go to refresh your heart and soul in the home of these two children who would cherish you with all the happiness they would owe to you!"

"Stop, leave me," cried the prince, more and more moved. "I do not know what inconceivable power your words have, but I feel my firmest resolutions give way, I feel the convictions of my whole life growing weak."

"Do you complain of that, monseigneur! Hold! Between us, without detracting from princes, I think they would often do well to renounce the convictions of all their life, for G.o.d knows what these convictions may be. Come, believe me, yield to the impression which now dominates you, it is good and generous."

"Ah, my G.o.d, in this moment do I know how to distinguish good from evil?"

"For that, monseigneur, interrogate the faces of those whose happiness you have a.s.sured; when you will say to one, 'Go, poor exile, return to the country that you weep; your brothers wait for you with open arms,'

and to the other, 'My beloved child, be happy, marry Antonine,' then look well at both, monseigneur, and if tears moisten their eyes, as at this moment they moisten yours and mine, be tranquil, monseigneur, you have done good, and for this good, to encourage you because your emotion touches me, I promise you to accompany Antonine to Germany."

"Truly," cried the prince, "you promise me?"

"I must, monseigneur," said Madeleine, smiling, "give you the opportunity to captivate me."

"Ah, well, whatever may happen, whatever you may do, for perhaps you are making sport of me," said the prince, throwing himself at Madeleine's knees, "I give you my royal word that I will pardon the exile, that I--"

The archduke was suddenly interrupted by a violent noise outside the door of his study, a noise which revealed the sharp contention of several voices, above which rose distinctly the words:

"I tell you, sir, you shall not enter!"

The archduke got up from his position suddenly, turned pale with anger, and said to Madeleine, who was listening also to the noise with great surprise:

"I beseech you, go into the next chamber; something extraordinary is taking place. In an instant I will rejoin you."

At that moment a violent blow resounded behind the door.

The prince added, as he went to open the adjacent room for Madeleine:

"Enter there, please."

Then, closing the door, and wishing in his anger to know the cause of this insolent and unusual noise, he went out of his study quickly, and saw M. Pascal, whom two exasperated officers were trying to restrain.

CHAPTER XVII.

At the sight of the archduke, the officers turned aside respectfully, and M. Pascal, who seemed to have lost control of himself, cried:

"Zounds! monseigneur, you receive people here singularly!"

The prince, remembering the appointment that he had made with M. Pascal, and fearing for his own dignity some new insult from this brutal person, said, making a sign to him: