"Not your child!" exclaimed De Lucenay and Alphonse in a breath.
"No, not my child," replied the Conde. "The story is a long one, but with my generous preservers I can have no secrets. Just seventeen years ago, I was returning from a visit, by the banks of the Guadiana, with only two attendants, when I heard a faint cry from amongst the rushes on the water's edge; dismounting from our horses, we forced our way through the briars to the spot whence the sound proceeded. To our great surprise, we discovered there a little infant, which had evidently been carried down the stream, and its dress having got entangled amongst the thorns had prevented its being swept further on. Our providential arrival saved its life; for it was drawing towards the close of evening, and the little creature, already half dead with cold and exposure, must inevitably have perished in the course of the night. In one word, we carried it to my chateau, where it grew up to be the beautiful girl you see—the sole comfort and happiness of my life."
"But her parents, did you never discover any thing about them—who or what they were—the motive of so strange an abandonment?" exclaimed General de Lucenay in an agitated voice. "Was there no clue by which to trace them?"
"No, I made all inquiries, but in vain. Besides, it was many miles from any habitation that we found her. I sent the following day, and made many inquiries in the neighbourhood; but no one could give us any information on the subject; so, after an interval of months, I gave the point up as hopeless. One thing only is certain, that they were not inferiors; the fineness of her dress, and a little relic encased in gold and precious stones, that she wore round her neck, were sufficient proofs of that."
"This is, indeed, most singular!" cried the General. "And do you recollect the precise date of this occurrence?"
"Recollect a day which for many years I have been in the habit of celebrating as the brightest of my life! Assuredly—it was the fourteenth of May—and well do I remember it."
"The fourteenth of May! it must be, it is, my long-lost, my long-mourned daughter!" cried the General.
"Your daughter!" exclaimed all around in the greatest astonishment.
"Yes, my daughter," repeated the General. "You shall hear all: but first—the relic, the relic! where is it? let me see it. That would be the convincing proof indeed."
"It is easy to satisfy you," replied Inez, "for it never leaves me;" and, taking a small chain, she handed him a little filigree gold case that she wore in her bosom.