'About two months ago. I stood by the side of Marie Louise at this sacrifice—a most cruel and wicked sacrifice it was! Yet I would rather see her the bride of this harmless little boy, than of any living man,' continued René, with an emotion that too evidently was not caused by the pain of his wound. 'Yet what is it to me—this cross is my bride?'
'And how did Louise look?'
'Oh, lovelier and paler than ever, M. Blane!'
'Did she weep?' I asked, sternly.
'No—not a tear fell from her; she was pale as marble; and when her father—cold, stern, and proud—kissed her after the cruel ceremony, and whispered gaily (for I heard him), "Mademoiselle, your spouse will grow older, so remember the ancient rhyme,
"As your wedding-ring wears,
So will your cares,'
a sickly smile flitted over her wan face; and her child-husband, who is attracted by her gentleness, and has for her all the love of a son for a mother, or of a brother for a pale and kind sad sister, clung to her robe as he left the altar by her side, confounded and perplexed by the strange ceremony in which he had borne a part so prominent; and more pleased evidently with a handsome falcon given to him by Vaudemont, than the beautiful bride just given him by God.'
'Do not say so!' I exclaimed, passionately.
'True—'tis almost blasphemous—by duke Charles then.'
Here was ample food for thought and sorrow!