, my lord, of all these wonderful events?" said the
tyrant, after a long silence, to de Sigognac, beside whom he was
riding. "It all ends up like a regular tragi-comedy. Who would ever
have dreamed, in the midst of the melee, of the sudden entrance upon the
scene of the grand old princely father, preceded by torches, and coming
to put a little wholesome restraint on the too atrociously outrageous
pranks of his dissolute young son? And then the recognition of Isabelle
as his daughter, by means of the ring with a peculiar device of his own
engraved upon it; haven't you seen exactly the same sort of thing on the
stage? But, after all, it is not so surprising perhaps as it seems
at the first glance--since the theatre is only a copy of real life.
Therefore, real life should resemble it, just as the original does the
portrait, eh? I have always heard that our sweet little actress was of
noble birth. Blazius and old Mme. Leonarde remember seeing the prince
when he was devoted to Cornelia. The duenna has often tried to persuade
Isabelle to seek out her father, but she is of too modest and gentle a
nature to take a step of that kind; not wishing to intrude upon a family
that might reject her, and willing to content herself in her own lowly,
position."

"Yes, I knew all about that," rejoined de Sigognac, "for Isabelle
told me some time ago her mother's history, and spoke of the ring; but
without attaching any importance to the fact of her illustrious origin.
It is very evident, however, from the nobility and delicacy of her
nature, without any other proof, that princely blood flows in her veins;
and also the refined, pure, elevated type of her beauty testifies to
her descent. But what a terrible fatality that this cursed Vallombreuse
should turn out to be her brother! There is a dead body between us
now--a stream of blood separates us--and yet, I could not save her
honour in any other way. Unhappy mortal that I am! I have myself created
the obstacle upon which my love is wrecked, and killed my hopes of
future bliss with the very sword that defended the purity of the woman I
adore. In guarding her I love, I have put her away from me forever. How
could I go now and present myself to Isabelle with blood-stained hands?
Alas! that the blood which I was forced to shed in her defence should
have been her brother's. Even if she, in her heavenly goodness, could
forgive me, and look upon me without a feeling of horror, the prince,
her fath