"Have you fortitude to listen to a dreadful secret, the possession of which has well nigh destroyed the life of your mother?"
"God will give me strength to bear any stroke," replied Henri. "Thanks to your instruction and example, I have schooled myself to suffer, unrepining, whatever Providence, in its infinite wisdom, sees fitting to inflict. If I have a soul for the dangers of the field, I have also, I think, the courage to confront those trials that pierce the heart with keener agonies than any the steel of a foeman can inflict. Fear not to task me beyond my strength."
"I will be as brief as possible," said the lady. "Your father, Henri, was of noble birth and possessed of fortune. My own share of the world's goods was small, and yet it was on this pittance alone that we were sustained, till the exertions of a generous friend procured you, under the name of De Grandville, (my maiden name,) a commission in the guards."
"Then De Grandville was not the name of my father."
"No—he belonged to the noble house of Montmorenci. The early years of our married life were passed in happiness that I always feared was too great to be enduring. It was brought to a bitter and miserable end. Deadly enemies—for the best and noblest have their foes—conspired against your father, and he was accused—falsely accused, mark me—of treason to his king and country. I will not tell you by what forgery and perjury he was made to appear guilty—but he was convicted—and sentenced—"
"Sentenced!"
"Ay, sentenced, and suffered. He died by the hands of Monsieur de Paris!"
"Monsieur de Paris!"
"The executioner!"
Henri uttered a piercing cry, and covered his face with his hands. He remained a long time in this attitude, his frame convulsed by the agonies of grief, while his mother watched, with streaming eyes, the effect of her communication. At length he removed his hands, and raised his head. His countenance was deadly pale,—the only indication of the train of emotions which had just convulsed him,—but his look was firm and high.