"You loved him, then, my child, from merely seeing his likeness and hearing his praises?"
"Without positively loving him, I felt myself attracted towards him by an irresistible impulse, for which I bitterly reproached myself; my only consolation was the thought that no person knew my fatal secret. For how could I presume to love? How excuse my ingratitude in not contenting myself with the tenderness bestowed on me by you, my father, and you, also, dearest mother? In the midst of all these conflicting feelings I met my cousin, for the first time, at a ball given by you to the Archduchess Sophia; his resemblance to the portrait too well assured me it was he; and your introducing Prince Henry to me as a near relative afforded me ample opportunities of discovering that his manners were as captivating as his mind was cultivated."
"It is easy to conceive, then, that a mutual passion sprung up between you! Indeed, he won upon my regard ere I was aware of the ground he had gained; he spoke of you so admiringly, yet so respectfully."
"You had yourself praised him so highly."
"Not more than he deserved. It is impossible to possess a more noble nature, or a more generous and elevated character."
"I beseech you, dearest father, to spare me the fresh trial of hearing him thus praised by you. Alas! I am already wretched enough."
"Go on, my child. I have a reason in thus extolling your cousin—I will explain hereafter. Proceed."
"Though aware of the danger of thus daily associating with my cousin, I felt unable to withdraw myself from the pleasure his society afforded me; nor, spite of my implicit reliance on your indulgence, dear father, durst I disclose my fears to you. I could then only redouble my efforts to conceal my unfortunate attachment, and—shall I confess?—there were moments when, forgetting the past, I gave myself up to all the dear delights of a friendship hitherto unknown to me. But the departure of Prince Henry from your court tore the veil from my eyes, and showed me how truly and ardently I loved him, though not with a sister's love, as I had made myself believe. I had resolved to open my heart entirely to you on this subject," continued Fleur-de-Marie, whose strength seemed utterly exhausted by her long confession, "and then to ask you what remained for one so every way unfortunate but to seek the repose of a cloister."
"Then, dearest daughter, let me answer the question ere you have put it, by saying there is a prospect as bright and smiling awaits your acceptance, as that you propose is cheerless and gloomy."
"What mean you?"