"Be so kind as to explain yourself, my father," said Fleur-de-Marie, blushing.
"Now I can do it; I could not sooner, not knowing how much you despaired of your fate. Listen, my beloved daughter! You believe yourself, or rather, you are, very unhappy. When, at the beginning of our conversation, you spoke to me of the hopes which remained to you, I understood—my heart was broken, for I was to part with you forever—that I was to see you shut yourself up in a cloister—to see you descend living to a tomb. Is it your wish to enter a convent?"
"Father!"
"My child, is this true?"
"Yes, if you will permit me to do it," replied Fleur-de-Marie, with a stifled voice.
"Leave us!" cried Clémence.
"The Abbey of Saint Hermangilda is very near Gerolstein. I shall often see you and father."
"Do you consider that such vows are eternal, my dear child? you are only eighteen years old, and perhaps some day—"
"Oh, I shall never repent the resolution I have taken. I shall never find repose and forgetfulness but in the solitude of the cloister, if you, my father, and you my second mother, continue your affection to me."
"The duties and consolations of a religious life might, indeed," said Rudolph, "if they could not heal, at least calm, the sorrows of your poor depressed and distracted spirit. And though half the happiness of my life is the forfeit, I may perhaps approve your resolution. I know what you suffer, and I do not say that renouncing the world may not be the fatally logical end of your sorrowful existence."