imself.'" Adieu, dear Clemence! It consoles
me to see you grieve with me, for I can say 'our' child without
egotism in my sufferings. Often this thought lightens my sorrow,
for you are left to me, and what is left to Fleur-de-Marie?
Adieu again; return soon.

R.

ABBEY OF STE. HERMANGELD.
Four o'clock in the morning.

Reassure yourself, Clemence! Thank God, the danger is over, but
the crisis was terrible!

Last evening, agitated by my thoughts, I recollected the
paleness and languor of my poor child, and that she was obliged
to pass almost all the night in the church in prayer.

I sent Murphy and David to demand the Princess Juliana's
permission to remain until the morrow in the mansion that Henry
occupied usually; thus my child would have prompt assistance,
and I prompt intelligence, in case that her strength failed
under this rigorous, I will not say cruel, obligation to pass
the whole of a cold winter's night in the church.

[Illustration: "In the Church in Prayer"
Original Etching by Mercier]

I wrote to Fleur-de-Marie that, whilst I respected her religious
exercises, I besought her to watch in her cell and not in the
church. This was her reply:

"_My dear Father_:--I thank you for this fresh proof of
your tenderness, but be not alarmed, I am sufficiently
strong to perform my duty. Your daughter must be guilty
of no weakness. The rule orders it, I must submit. Should
it cause me some physical sufferings, how joyfully shall
I offer them to God! Adieu, dear father! I cannot say I
pray for you, because whenever I pray to Heaven I cannot
help remembering you in my prayers. You have been to me
on earth what God will be, if I merit it, in heaven.
Bless your child, who will be to-morrow the spouse of
Heaven.

"SISTER AMELIE."

This letter, in some measure, reassured me; however I had, also,
a vigil to keep. At nightfall I went to a pavilion I had built,
near my father's monument, in expiation of this fatal night.

About one o'clock I heard Murphy's voice. He came from the
convent in order to inform me that, as I had feared, my unhappy
child, spite of her resolutio