,

"RIGOLETTE GERMAIN.

"P.S. Ah, monseigneur, in reading my letter over again, I see I
have often written M. Rodolph, but you will excuse me, for you
know, monseigneur, that under any and every name we respect and
bless you alike."

"Dear little Rigolette!" said Clemence, affected by the letter; "how
full of good and right feeling is her letter!"

"It is, indeed!" replied Rodolph. "She has an admirable disposition, her
heart is all that is good; and our dear daughter appreciates her as we
do," he added, addressing Fleur-de-Marie, when, struck by her pale
countenance, he exclaimed, "But what ails you, dearest?"

"Alas! what a painful contrast between my position and that of
Rigolette. 'Labour and discretion, honour and happiness,' these four
words declare all that my life has been, all that it ought to have
been,--a young, industrious, and discreet girl, a beloved wife, a happy
mother, an honoured woman, such is her destiny; whilst I--"

"What do you say?"

"Forgive me, my dear father; do not accuse me of ingratitude. But in
spite of your unspeakable tenderness and that of my second mother, in
spite of the splendour with which I am surrounded, in spite of your
sovereign power, my shame is incurable. Nothing can destroy the past.
Forgive me, dear father. Until now I have concealed this from you; but
the recollection of my original degradation drives me to despair--kills
me--"

"Clemence, do you hear?" cried Rodolph, in extreme distress. "Oh,
fatality--fatality! Now I curse my fears, my silence. This sad idea, so
long and deeply rooted in her mind, has, unknown to us, made fearful
ravages; and it is too late to contend against this sad error. Oh, I am
indeed wretched!"

"Courage, my dearest!" said Clemence to Rodolph. "You said but now that
it is best to know the enemy that threatens us. We know now the cause of
our child's sorrow, and will triumph over it, because we shall have with
us reason, justice, and our excessive love for her."

"And then she will see, too, that her affliction, if it be, indeed,
incurable, will render ours incurable," said Rodolph.

After a protracted silence, during which Fleur-de-Marie appeared to
recover herself, she took Rodolph's and Clemence's hands in her own, and
said in a voice deeply affected, "Hear me, beloved father, and you my
best of mothers. God has willed it, and I thank him for it, that I
should no longer con