“The sunshine of my life goes with thee.” Le Ber spoke in a low, moved voice.
“It is your desire that I should serve your interests at the Court, my uncle.”
“My little one, could I but accompany thee!” Then the Marquise added brightly, “Though the journey is beyond my strength, I can always pray for thy welfare. I can think of thee as occupying thy rightful place in the world, and I can praise the good God that the desire of my heart has been realized. Thy marriage has removed the last trace of anxiety from my mind; I can await my end in peace. Thy duty lies before thee, my daughter. Let no remembrance of a feeble old woman, whose stormy life is ending in a haven of rest, weaken thy peace. Think of me always as rejoicing in thy prosperity.”
As the good ship Renommée disappeared below the horizon, Nanon lifted up her voice and wept with boisterous vehemence.
“When I looked my last look upon my demoiselle her face was like that of an angel. Never shall I see the like again. My little one, that I cradled in my arms, and who loved me with her whole heart. I am but of the people—if my heart is broken I have no need to look like a stone; now that she has left me I shall please myself by weeping like a waterspout. She said to me, speaking, oh! so gently, at the very last, ‘It is thy duty to stay with Madame, to comfort and care for her, as it is mine to leave her. Neither of us must forget her obligations, we will both strive to fulfil them nobly and faithfully, good and loving Nanon.’ Oh! my brave and beautiful demoiselle, I coveted greatness for her, I wanted to see her set high above all the world, and behold! Her Grace Madame la Duchess de Ronceval is taken away from my sight. It sounds well, that title, even if my heart is broken. How can I live without her? what can the blessed saints be thinking of up in heaven there? Behold that blonde English sheep, selfish and cold-blooded as a snake, the happy wife of M. de Gallifet, no less! No one will ever cry her eyes out for her.”
At the Court of Louis the Magnificent, Diane de Ronceval lived out the years that remained to her. The vivifying breath of an utterly unselfish affection had touched her. All egotism had been annihilated by the fierce sweep of a spiritual flame, before which every unworthy desire and ambition had perished. In the midst of a corrupt society, she preserved a noble and lofty ideal. With an earnest and simple contriving of gentle charities, she strove to make some rough places smooth. Brave with the inspiration of faith and hope, she found happiness in identifying herself with the needs and claims of others.
If she were conscious of a wound which throbbed and bled, of unquenchable longings, of memories which never were to be forgotten, she contrived to carry her cross in such fashion that no other heart should be saddened, no other’s joy shadowed. And the world was purer and brighter for one woman’s faith and courage.
THE END.