, and possesses a considerable
sum of money, which she wishes to bestow on the convent she enters."

"I undertake to provide for her," said Fleur-de-Marie; "since she
repents, she is worthy of compassion; her remorse must be more bitter in
proportion as it is sincere."

"I hear the grand duke," said the lady in waiting, without remarking
Fleur-de-Marie's agitation; and, as she spoke, Rodolph entered, holding
a large bouquet of roses in his hand.

At the sight of the prince the countess retired, and scarcely had she
left the apartment than Fleur-de-Marie threw herself into her father's
arms, and leant her head on his shoulder.

"Good morning, love," said Rodolph, pressing her to his heart. "See what
beautiful roses; I never saw finer ones." And the prince made a slight
motion as if to disengage himself from her and look at her, when, seeing
her weeping, he threw down the bouquet, and, taking her hands, cried:

"You are weeping! What is the matter?"

"Nothing, dear father," said Fleur-de-Marie, striving to smile.

"My child," replied Rodolph, "you are concealing something from me; tell
me, I entreat you, what thus distresses you. Never mind the bouquet."

"Oh, you know how fond I am of roses; I always was! Do you recollect,"
added she, "my poor little rose-tree? I have preserved the pieces of it
so carefully!"

At this terrible allusion, Rodolph cried:

"Unhappy child! Is it possible that, in the midst of all the splendour
that surrounds you, you think of the past? Alas! I hoped my tenderness
had made you forget it."

"Forgive me, dear father; I did not mean what I said. I grieve you."

"I grieve, my child, because I know how painful it is for you thus to
ponder over the past."

"Dear father, it is the first time since I have been here."

"The first time you have mentioned it, but not the first time you have
thought of it; I have for a long time noticed your sadness, and was
unable to account for it. My position was so delicate, though I never
told you anything, I thought of you constantly. When I contracted my
marriage, I thought it would increase your happiness. I did not venture
to hope you would quite forget the past; but I hoped that, cherished and
supported by the amiable woman whom I had chosen for my wife, you would
look upon the past as amply atoned for by your sufferings. No matter
what faults you had committed, they have been a thousand times expiated
by the good you have done since you have bee