The princess heard the voice behind the curtain whisper: "She lives." Looking steadily at Gonzague, she said: "She lives, in spite of you, by the grace of God."
The agitation of the audience was very great. The king directly addressed the princess: "Can you produce her?"
Again the voice whispered to the Princess, "Yes," and again the Princess repeated, "Yes," as confidently as before.
"When?" asked the king, to whom Gonzague had at once yielded the privilege of question.
The voice whispered, "To-night," and the princess repeated the words.
The voice whispered again, "At the ball in the Palais Royal," and again the Princess echoed it, "At the ball in the Palais Royal."
The king had no more to say; he was silent. Gonzague groaned aloud as he turned to Flora. "My poor child, only God can give you back the heart of your mother."
The girl, with the quick impulsiveness of her race, again flung herself on her knees before the princess, while she cried: "Madame, whether you are my mother or not, I respect you, I love you!"
The princess laid her hand gently on the girl’s dark hair. "My child, my child, I believe you are no accomplice of this crime. I wish you well."
Flora was now sobbing bitterly, and seemed unable to rise. Peyrolles hastened to her side, hastened to lift her to her feet, and hurriedly conducted the weeping girl from the room. The princess, holding her head high, turned and addressed the king: "Your majesty, my mourning ends to-day. I have recovered my daughter. I shall be your guest to-night, sire."