“Cornelia! then there is no possible doubt about it,” murmured the prince to himself, in great agitation. “Yes, it is certainly she whom I have been seeking all these years—and now to find her thus!”
Then, controlling his emotion, he resumed his usual calm, majestic demeanour, and turning back to Isabelle, said to her, “Permit me to keep this ring for the present; I will soon give it back to you.”
“I am content to leave it in your lordship’s hands,” the young actress replied, in whose mind the memory of a face, that she had seen long years ago bending over her cradle, was growing clearer and more distinct every moment.
“Gentlemen,” said the prince, turning to de Sigognac and his companions, “under any other circumstances I might find your presence here, in my château, with arms in your hands, unwarranted, but I am aware of the necessity that drove you to forcibly invade this mansion, hitherto sacred from such scenes as this—I know that violence must be met with violence, and justifies it; therefore I shall take no further notice of what has happened here to-night, and you need have no fears of any evil consequences to yourselves because of your share in it. But where is the Duke of Vallombreuse? that degenerate son who disgraces my old age.”
As if in obedience to his father’s call, the young duke at that moment appeared upon the threshold of the door leading into what had been Isabelle’s apartment, supported by Malartic. He was frightfully pale, and his clinched hand pressed a handkerchief tightly upon his wounded chest. He came forward with difficulty, looking like a ghost. Only a strong effort of will kept him from falling—an effort that gave to his face the immobility of a marble mask. He had heard the voice of his father, whom, depraved and shameless as he was, he yet respected and dreaded, and he hoped to be able to conceal his wound from him. He bit his lips so as not to cry out or groan in his agony, and resolutely swallowed down the bloody foam that kept rising and filling his mouth. He even took off his hat, in spite of the frightful pain the raising of his arm caused him, and stood uncovered and silent before his angry parent.
“Sir,” said the prince, severely, “your misdeeds transcend all limits, and your behaviour is such that I shall be forced to implore the king to send you to prison, or into exile. You are not fit to be at large. Abduction—imprisonment—criminal assault. These are not simple gallantries; and though I might be willing to pardon and overlook many excesses, committed in the wildness of licentious youth, I never could bring myself to forgive a deliberate and premeditated crime. Do you know, you monster,” he continued approaching Vallombreuse, and whispering in his ear, so that no one else could hear, “do you know who this young girl is? this good and chaste Isabelle, whom you have forcibly abducted, in spite of her determined and virtuous resistance! She is your own sister!
“May she replace the son you are about to lose,” the young duke replied, attacked by a sudden faintness, and an agony of pain which he felt that he could not long endure and live; “but I am not as guilty as you suppose. Isabelle is pure—stainless. I swear it, by the God before whom I must shortly appear. Death does not lie, and you may believe what I say, upon the word of a dying gentleman.”
These words were uttered loudly and distinctly, so as to be heard by all. Isabelle turned her beautiful eyes, wet with tears, upon de Sigognac, and read in those of her true and faithful lover that he had not waited for the solemn attestation, “in extremis,” of the Duke of Vallombreuse to believe in the perfect purity of her whom he adored.
“But what is the matter?” asked the prince, holding out his hand to his son, who staggered and swayed to and fro in spite of Malartic’s efforts to support him, and whose face was fairly livid.
“Nothing, father,” answered Vallombreuse, in a scarcely articulate voice, “nothing—only I am dying”—and he fell at full length on the floor before the prince could clasp him in his arms, as he endeavoured to do.