doubtless know that this great
Prince was a very gallant gentleman, who was said to have broken as many
hearts as lances. My padrona, who in those days was very beautiful,
belonged to the ladies of his court, and King Francis especially
distinguished her. But the young lady knew how to guard her honor, for
she had early found in the gallant Marquis d'Avennes a knight to whom she
was loyally devoted, and for whom she had wept bitterly many a night.
Like master, like servant, and though the marquis had worn the young
lady's color for years and rendered her every service of an obedient
knight, his eyes and heart often wandered to the right and left. Yet he
always returned to his liege-lady, and when the sixth year came, the
Chevreaux's urged the marquis to put an end to his trifling and think of
marriage. My mistress began to make her preparations, and Susanna was a
witness of her consultation with the marquis about whether she would keep
or sell the Holland estates and castles. But the wedding did not take
place, for the marquis was obliged to go to Italy with the army and her
excellenza lived in perpetual anxiety about him; at that time the French
fared ill in my country, and he often left her whole months without news.
At last he returned and found in the Chevreaux's house his betrothed
wife's little cousin, who had grown up into a charming young lady.

"You can imagine the rest. The rose-bud Hortense now pleased the marquis
far better than the Holland flower of five and twenty. The Chevreaux's
were aristocratic but deeply in debt, and the suitor, while fighting in
Italy, had inherited the whole of his uncle's great estate, so they did
not suffer him to sue in vain. My mistress returned to Holland. Her
father challenged the marquis, but no blood was spilled in the duel, and
Monsieur d'Avennes led a happy wedded life with Hortense de Chevreaux.
Her son was the signorina's hapless lover. Do you understand, Herr
Wilhelm? She had nursed and fostered the old grudge for half a life time;
for its sake she had sacrificed her own kinswoman to Don Luis, but in
return she repaid by the death of the only son of a hated mother, the
sorrow she had suffered for years on her account."

The musician had clenched the handkerchief, with which he had wiped the
perspiration from his brow, closely in his hand, and asked:

"What more have you heard of Anna?"

"Very little," replied Belotti. "Her father has torn her from his heart,
and cal