Sarah, interrupting Rodolph, "be assured that I have
not deceived you! I believe that I have but very few hours to live.
Pardon me a last display of coquetry! I wished to spare you the gloomy
symptoms that usually attend the dying hour, and to die attired as I was
the first time I saw you. Alas, after ten years of separation, I see you
once again! Thanks, oh, thanks! But in your turn give thanks to God for
having inspired you with the thought of hearing my last prayer! If you
had refused me, I should have carried my secret with me to the grave,
which will now cause the joy, the happiness of your life,--joy, mingled
with some sadness, happiness, mingled with some tears, like all human
felicity; but this felicity you would yet purchase at the price of half
the remainder of your existence!"

"What do you mean?" asked the prince, with great amazement.

"Yes, Rodolph, if you had not come, this secret would have followed me
to the tomb! That would have been my sole vengeance. And yet, no, no! I
shall not have the courage. Although you have made me suffer deeply, I
yet must have shared with you that supreme happiness which you, more
blessed than myself, will, I hope, long enjoy!"

"Madame, what does this mean?"

"When you know, you will be able to comprehend my slowness in informing
you, for you will view it as a miracle from heaven; but, strange to say,
I, who with a word can cause you pleasure greater than you have ever
experienced, I experience, although the minutes of my life are counted,
I experience an indefinable satisfaction at prolonging your expectation.
And then, I know your heart; and in spite of the fierceness of your
character, I fear, without preparation, to reveal to you so incredible a
discovery. The emotions of overwhelming joy have also their dangers."

"Your paleness increases, you can scarcely repress your violent
agitation," said Rodolph; "all this indicates something grave and
solemn."

"Grave and solemn!" replied Sarah, in an agitated voice; for, in spite
of her habitual impassiveness, when she reflected on the immense effect
of the disclosure she was about to make to Rodolph, she was more
troubled than she believed possible; and, unable any longer to restrain
herself, she exclaimed, "Rodolph, our daughter lives!"

"Our daughter!"

"Lives, I say!"

These words, the accents of truth in which they were pronounced, shook
the prince to his very heart. "Our child!" he repeated, going hurriedly
to