"Oh, refuse me not," said Rodolph, tenderly; "let this day decide the happiness of my future life."
Clémence had also nourished a deep and sincere passion for the prince; and his open, manly avowal of a similar feeling towards herself, made under such peculiar circumstances, transported her with joy, and she could but falter out in a hesitating voice:
"My lord, 'tis for me to remind you of the difference of our stations, and the interests of your sovereignty."
"Permit me first to consider the interest of my own heart, and that of my beloved child. Oh, make us both happy by consenting to be mine! So that I who, but a short time since, owned no blessed tie, may now proudly indulge in the idea of having both a wife and daughter; and give to the sorrowing child who is just restored to my arms the delight of saying, 'My father—my mother—my sister!'—for your sweet girl would become mine also."
"Ah, my lord," exclaimed Clémence, "my grateful tears alone can speak my sense of such noble conduct!" Then suddenly checking herself, she added, "I hear persons approaching, my lord; your daughter comes."
"Refuse me not, I conjure you!" responded Rodolph, in an agitated and suppliant tone. "By the love I bear you, I beseech you to make me happy by saying, 'Our daughter comes!'"
"Then be it our daughter, if such is your sincere wish," murmured Clémence, as Murphy, throwing open the door, introduced Fleur-de-Marie into the salon.
The astonished girl had, upon entering the immense hôtel from the spacious portico under which she alighted from the marquise's carriage, first crossed an anteroom filled with servants dressed in rich liveries; then a waiting-room, in which were other domestics belonging to the establishment, also wearing the magnificent livery of the house of Gerolstein; and lastly, the apartment in which the chamberlain and aides-de-camp of the prince attended his orders.
The surprise and wonder of the poor Goualeuse, whose ideas of splendour were based on the recollection of the farm at Bouqueval, as she traversed those princely chambers glittering with gold, silver, paintings, and mirrors, may easily be imagined.
Directly she appeared, Madame d'Harville ran towards her, kindly took her hand, and throwing her arm around her waist, as though to support her, led her towards Rodolph, who remained supporting himself by leaning one arm on the chimneypiece, wholly incapable of advancing a single step.