"'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires th' horizon.——
The season smiles, resigning all its rage,
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue
Without a cloud, and white without a speck."
The duke looked—but he saw not, he spoke not, he heard not. No!—the serenity of the season was not in accordance with the sorrow of his heart. At once the chaplain saw it all, for the duke was deadly pale; but the cause of this despondence he did not know, nor did he dare to inquire.
But while he was about to ask the duke if he was unwell, the door opened, and the duchess re-entered; and bursting into a flood of tears, she flung herself into a chair. In so doing, a dagger fell from her apron on the ground. She fainted, and it was some time before she came to herself. When she did, she then said: "It is all involved in darkness and mystery; I cannot unravel the clue. Adelaide cannot—will not tell. She has sworn on the dagger's point never to reveal it until placed upon her death-bed. She has sworn upon this."
Here the chaplain took up the dagger; it was incrusted with blood. He examined the handle; it was of silver, and upon it was engraved Fuimus. It likewise fell from his hand, and trundled on the ground. Here he fearfully and involuntarily repeated, and in a sepulchral tone,
"fuimus non sumus!"