The blond bride, with her beautiful pale face, was silent for a moment, then she raised her eyes resolutely and desperately.
“I shall never have the strength for this renunciation—never, never.”
“Ask for strength, and you will have it.”
“Who will give it to me?”
“Pray, and you will have it.”
“Bless me, aunt,” murmured the unhappy woman, kneeling before the venerable figure and bowing her head.
The face of the Duchess seemed to shine with purest light. She touched Vittoria’s forehead lightly with her hand, and raising her eyes to Heaven, “Bless, O Lord, this my daughter. Give her strength, and she shall have peace.”
Vittoria arose, but neither the prayer nor the blessing had given consolation to her anguish.
IX
“Modane! Modane!” was cried from all sides as the train-de-luxe, arriving from Paris, rumbled heavily into the station.