sured that you
are, in chivalrously protecting weakness, innocence and virtue. You
are nobly in the right. That my daughter's honour has been preserved
unstained, I owe to you--and it compensates me for the loss of my
son--at least my reason tells me that it should do so; but the father's
heart rebels, and unjust ideas of revenge might arise, which I should
find it difficult to conquer and set at rest. Therefore you had better
go your way now, and whatever the result may be I will not pursue or
molest you. I will try to forget that a terrible necessity turned your
sword against my son's life."

"My lord," said de Sigognac, with profound respect, "I feel so keenly
for your grief as a father, that I would have accepted any reproaches,
no matter how bitter and unjust, from you, without one word of protest
or feeling of resentment; even though I cannot reproach myself for my
share in this disastrous conflict. I do not wish to say anything to
justify myself in your eyes, at the expense of the unhappy Duke of
Vallombreuse, but I beg you to believe that this quarrel was not of
my seeking. He persistently threw himself in my way, and I have done
everything I could to spare him, in more than one encounter. Even
here it was his own blind fury that led to his being wounded. I leave
Isabelle, who is dearer to me than my own soul, in your hands, and shall
grieve my whole life long for this sad victory; which is a veritable and
terrible defeat for me, since it destroys my happiness. Ah! if only I
could have been slain myself, instead of your unhappy son; it would have
been better and happier for me."

He bowed with grave dignity to the prince, who courteously returned
his salute, exchanged a long look, eloquent of passionate love and
heart-breaking regret, with Isabelle, and went sadly down the grand
staircase, followed by his companions--not however without glancing back
more than once at the sweet girl he was leaving--who to save herself
from falling, leaned heavily against the railing of the landing,
sobbing as if her heart would break, and pressing a handkerchief to her
streaming eyes. And, so strange a thing is the human heart, the Baron
de Sigognac departed much comforted by the bitter grief and tears of her
whom he so devotedly loved and worshipped. He and his friends went on
foot to the little wood where they had left their horses tied to the
trees, found them undisturbed, mounted and returned to Paris.

"What do you think