The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 6 of 6

"Again I assure you, my dear child," said the abbess, "your modesty deceives you. The unanimity of the choice of your sisters proves how worthy you are to replace me. It is not the princess – it is Sister Amelie who is elected. For us your life began on the day when you first put foot in this house of the Lord, and it is this exemplary and holy life that we recompense. I will say more, my dear daughter; if before you entered this retreat your life had been as wrong as it has been, on the contrary, pure and praiseworthy, the heavenly virtues of which you have given me an example since your abode here would expiate and ransom, in the eyes of the Lord, any past life, however culpable. And now, my dear daughter, judge if your modesty ought not to be reassured."

These words of the abbess were, as you may think, my Clémence, the more precious for Fleur-de-Marie, as she believed the past ineffaceable. Unfortunately, this scene had deeply moved her, and, although she affected calmness and serenity, I saw that her features altered in a most distressing manner.

"I believe I have convinced you, my dear daughter," said the Princess Juliana; "and you will not cause so great a grief to your sisters as to refuse this mark of their confidence and affection?"

"No, holy mother," she said, with an expression which struck me, and in a voice more and more feeble, "I think now I may accept; but as I feel myself fatigued and in pain, if you will permit it, holy mother, the ceremony of the consecration shall not take place for a few days."

"As you wish, my dear daughter; but in the meanwhile, until your dignity is blessed and consecrated, take this ring, come to your place, and our dear sisters will do you homage according to our rules."

And the superior, putting the pastoral ring on Fleur-de-Marie's finger, led her to the abbatial seat. It was a simple and touching sight. Supported on one side by the grand prioress, bearing the golden crozier, and on the other by the Princess Juliana, each of the sisters, as she passed by, made obeisance to our child, and respectfully kissed her hand. But judge of my affright when she swooned before the procession of the sisters was terminated. David had not quitted the convent, and he hastened to the abbess's apartment, whither we had conveyed her, and then attended to her.

The superior having returned to close the sitting of the chapter, I remained alone with my daughter. After looking at me for some time, she said:

"My dear father, can you forget my ingratitude? Can you forget that at the moment when I was about to make my painful confession – when you implored me – "

"Silence! I beseech you!"

"And I did not reflect," she continued, with bitterness, "that, in telling in the face of all the world from what an abyss of depravity you had rescued me, I revealed a secret which you had preserved out of tenderness to me! It would have been to accuse you publicly – you, my father – of a dissimulation, which you only resigned yourself to to assure me a brilliant and honoured existence! Can you ever forgive me?"

Instead of replying, I pressed my lips on her forehead; she felt my tears flow. Having kissed my hands many times, she said:

"Now I feel better, and, as now I am dead to the world, I should like to make a few bequests in favour of several persons; but as all I have comes from you, do you authorise me, dearest father?"

"Say, dearest, and I will do all you desire."

"I should wish my beloved mother to keep always in the little boudoir in which she usually sits my embroidery-frame, with the work I began."

"It shall be so, love; your apartment is as when you left it. Clémence will be deeply touched by your thought of her."

"As for you, dear father, take, I pray, my large ebony armchair, in which I have thought of – reflected upon so much."

"I will put it beside my own, in my own private closet, and will imagine I see you in it every day, where you have so often sat," I said, unable to repress my tears.

"And now I would leave some souvenirs to those who took so much interest in me when I was unhappy. To Madame Georges I would give the writing-desk I have lately used; she taught me to write originally, so the gift will be very appropriate," she said, with her sweet smile. "As to the venerable curé of Bouqueval, who instructed me in religion, I intend for him the beautiful crucifix in my oratory."

"Very well, my dearest child."

"I should like to send my bandeau of pearls to my good little Rigolette; it is a simple ornament which she may wear in her beautiful black hair. And as you know where Martial and La Louve are in Algeria, I should like to send to the brave woman who saved my life my gold enamelled cross. These different keepsakes, dearest father, I would have sent to them 'from Fleur-de-Marie.'"

"I will do all you wish, – I will not forget one."

"I am sure you will not, dearest father."

"Is there no other person present to your memory?"

The dear child understood me, and pressed my hand, whilst a slight blush tinged her pale cheeks as I said, "He is better – out of danger."

"And his father?"

"Better as his son is better. And what will you give to Henry? A souvenir from you will be a consolation so dear and precious!"

"My father, offer him my prie-Dieu. Alas! I have often watered it with my tears when begging from Heaven for strength to forget Henry, as I was unworthy of his love."

"How happy it will make him to see that you have had one thought of him!"

"As to the asylum for the orphans and young girls abandoned by their parents, I should wish, my dear father, that – "

Here Rodolph's letter was broken off by these words, almost illegible:

"Clémence, Murphy will conclude this letter! I am lost, – bereft of sense! Ah, the thirteenth of January!"

At the end of this letter Murphy had written as follows:

Madame: – By the order of his royal highness I complete this sorrowful recital. The two letters of monseigneur will have prepared your royal highness for the overwhelming news I have to communicate. Three hours since, whilst monseigneur was writing to your royal highness, I was waiting in the antechamber for a letter to be despatched by a courier, when suddenly I saw the Princess Juliana enter in the greatest consternation.

"Where is his royal highness?" she said to me, in an agitated voice.

"Writing to the grand duchess," I replied.

"Sir Walter," she said, "you must inform monseigneur of a terrible event. You are his friend, – you should tell him; from you the blow may be less terrible!"

I understood all, and thought it most prudent to charge myself with the distressing intelligence. The superior having added that the Princess Amelie was sinking gradually, and that monseigneur must hasten to receive his daughter's last sigh, I went into the duke's room, who saw how pale I was.

"You have some bad news for me?"

"Terrible, monseigneur! But courage! Courage!"

"Ah, my forebodings!" he exclaimed; and, without adding a word, he ran to the cloisters. I followed him.

From the apartment of the superior, the Princess Amelie had been conveyed to her cell, after her last interview with monseigneur. One of the sisters watched over her, and at the end of an hour she perceived that the Princess Amelie's voice, who spoke to her at intervals, was weaker, and more and more oppressed. The sister hastened to inform the superior, who sent for Doctor David, who administered a cordial; but it was useless, the pulse was scarcely perceptible. He saw with despair that the reiterated emotions having probably exhausted the little strength of the Princess Amelie, there was not a hope of saving her left. Monseigneur arrived at this moment. The Princess Amelie had just received the last sacrament; a slight degree of consciousness remained. In one hand, crossed over her chest, she held the remains of her little rose-tree.

Monseigneur fell on his knees at the foot of the bed, and sobbed, "My child! My beloved child!" in a voice of piercing agony. The Princess Amelie heard him, turned her head a little towards him, opened her eyes, tried to smile, and said, in a faint voice, "My dearest father, pardon! – Henry, too! – and my beloved mother! – pardon!"

These were her last words. After a slight struggle of one hour, she rendered her soul to God.

When his daughter had breathed her last sigh, monseigneur did not say a word; his calmness and silence were frightful. He closed the eyelids of the princess, kissed her forehead several times, took piously from her hands the relics of the little rose-tree, and left the cell. I followed him, and he returned to the house outside the cloister, when, showing me the letter he had commenced writing to your royal highness, and to which he in vain endeavoured to add a few words, for his hand trembled too convulsively, he said to me, "I cannot write! I am crushed! My senses are gone! Write to the grand duchess that I have no longer a daughter!"

I have executed the orders of monseigneur. May I be allowed, as his old servant, to entreat your royal highness to hasten your return as soon as the health of M. d'Orbigny will permit? Nothing but the presence of your royal highness can calm monseigneur's despair. He will watch his daughter's remains every night until the day when she is to be buried in the grand-ducal chapel.

I have accomplished my sad task, madame. Deign, to excuse the incoherence of this letter, and to receive the expression of respectful devotion with which I have the honour to be

    Your royal highness's most obedient servant,
    Walter Murphy.

On the evening before the funeral of the Princess Amelie, Clémence arrived at Gerolstein with her father. Rodolph was not alone on the day of Fleur-de-Marie's interment.

THE END

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