"I!" exclaimed Marguerite.
"Yes, and after your promise you are expected; so that if you do not come every one will wonder why."
"Excuse me, brother," said Marguerite, "you see that I am suffering greatly."
"Exert yourself."
For an instant Marguerite seemed to try to summon her courage, then suddenly she gave way and fell back among the cushions.
"No, no, I cannot go," said she.
Charles took her hand and seating himself on the divan said:
"You have just lost a friend, I know, Margot; but look at me. Have I not lost all my friends, even my mother? You can always weep when you wish to; but I, at the moment of my greatest sorrows, am always forced to smile. You suffer; but look at me! I am dying. Come, Margot, courage! I ask it of you, sister, in the name of our honor! We bear like a cross of agony the reputation of our house; let us bear it, sister, as the Saviour bore his cross to Calvary; and if on the way we stagger, as he did, let us like him rise brave and resigned."
"Oh, my God! my God!" cried Marguerite.
"Yes," said Charles, answering her thought; "the sacrifice is severe, sister, but each one has his own burden, some of honor, others of life. Do you suppose that with my twenty-five years, and the most beautiful throne in the world, I do not regret dying? Look at me! My eyes, my complexion, my lips are those of a dying man, it is true; but my smile, does not my smile imply that I still hope? and in a week, a month at the most, you will be weeping for me, sister, as you now weep for him who died to-day."