ctive and influential chiefs of his order, had commanded a
regiment of hussars upon the Restoration, and had fought in aid of the
Russians against France.

Returned to Paris only this morning, the marquis had not seen the
princess since his mother, the Dowager Marchioness d'Aigrigny, had died
near Dunkirk, upon an estate belonging to Madame de Saint-Dizier, while
vainly calling for her son to alleviate her last moments; but the order
to which M. d'Aigrigny had thought fit to sacrifice the most sacred
feeling and duties of nature, having been suddenly transmitted to him
from Rome, he had immediately set out for that city; though not without
hesitation, which was remarked and denounced by Rodin; for the love of
M. d'Aigrigny for his mother had been the only pure feeling that had
invariably distinguished his life.

When the servant had discreetly withdrawn with Mrs. Grivois, the marquis
quickly approached the princess, held out his hand to her, and said with
a voice of emotion:

"Herminia, have you not concealed something in your letters. In her last
moments did not my mother curse me?"

"No, no, Frederick, compose yourself. She had anxiously desired your
presence. Her ideas soon became confused. But in her delirium it was
still for you that she called."

"Yes," said the marquis, bitterly; "her maternal instinct doubtless
assured her that my presence could have saved her life."

"I entreat you to banish these sad recollections," said the princess,
"this misfortune is irreparable."

"Tell me for the last time, truly, did not my absence cruelly affect
my mother? Had she no suspicion that a more imperious duty called me
elsewhere?"

"No, no, I assure you. Even when her reason was shaken, she believed
that you had not yet had time to come to her. All the sad details which
I wrote to you upon this painful subject are strictly true. Again, I beg
of you to compose yourself."

"Yes, my conscience ought to be easy; for I have fulfilled my duty in
sacrificing my mother. Yet I have never been able to arrive at that
complete detachment from natural affection, which is commanded to us
by those awful words: 'He who hates not his father and his mother, even
with the soul, cannot be my disciple.'"(9)

"Doubtless, Frederick," said the princess, "these renunciations are
painful. But, in return, what influence, what power!"

"It is true," said the marquis, after a moment's silence. "What ought
not to be sacrificed in order to r