"Alas!" said the Prince, "there can be found but little interest in one as old as I am, and so unhappy too. Listen to me, Aminta, it is cruel to make children die before their parents. It reverses the order of nature to see the flower wither while the parent stem is green. I spoke to you of fate, because I was unwilling to mention God. Grief makes us pious. I dare not object to your decrees."
"Have you not yet a daughter?" said Aminta, passing her arm around the Prince's neck; "have you not a daughter who loves you?"
"Yes, yes, my daughter." The Prince laid an emphasis on the last word. "You are now my only child, and I wish to secure your happiness; and for that purpose will consecrate to you the remnant of my life. Yet I do not know what to do."
The young woman blushed—for perhaps she could have made a suggestion. The Prince, though, did not remark it, and continued:
"Our life is sadder even than it was. The friends of this world are like bees who hover only around flowers when they bloom, and scorn those which begin to wither. They avoid this house—"
"All friends do not act thus," said Aminta, concealing her emotion; "one of them, one who pleases you most, whom you love, Signor Monte-Leone, often comes hither to see you alone—"
"To see me?" said the Prince, looking shrewdly at his daughter-in-law; "perhaps he comes to see you. Since, however, his misfortune, the Count never comes near us. Perhaps he judges us incorrectly. He may have fancied the loss of fortune involved the sacrifice of our friendship. It is a bad judgment, and I say it with regret, of a bad heart."
"Ah father," said Aminta, "the Count must have had another reason to keep him away."
"Certainly," said M. de Maulear, "but these reasons have not kept him from seeing me. During the last fortnight, I have been ten times to his house. I am, however, glad he has acted thus, for his conduct will diminish my sorrow at his departure—"
"His departure?" said Aminta, unable to restrain an expression of surprise.