their loyalty and honor, were faithful to their kings, and
died for them,--if they did honor to their family, and fought well, they
were forgiven for other faults. Philosophy and the progress of the age
have rectified all this: whether they have improved the state of things
the future must decide. I am too old to retrace my steps, and have the
faults, and perhaps the virtues, of my century. There is one thing true,
certain ideas I never will abandon, among which are my opinions about
marriage. All this you think behind the spirit of the age, and perhaps
ridiculous; but I intend to express myself fully, that you may not
expect me ever to alter my opinion about your conduct. For four
centuries, monsieur, there has not been a single _mesalliance_ in my
family. The Dukes of Salluce, the Princes of Maulear, from whom we are
sprung, were never married but with the noblest families of the
world--those of France--that is the only safety for me, that was the
only marriage for you. I was willing to receive as a daughter-in-law
only a French woman, of noble blood--noble as our own. This you say is a
prejudice--so it may be, monsieur, but it is a prejudice I will not lay
aside. I was never a rigorous father to you, and I contemplated using
only one of my paternal rights, that of bringing about a marriage for
you to suit myself. You acted for yourself, monsieur, and must continue
to do so. Adieu! Henceforth the Marquis de Maulear has no father, and
the Prince no son."

The old man arose with cold and haughty dignity, preparing to leave.

"Father, do not leave me thus--for the sake of my mother, whom you
loved, pause."

The Prince walked away.

"For the sake of your father, whom you adored!"

The Prince did not pause.

"Well," said the Marquis, in despair, and just then he saw Aminta at the
end of the alley, "I prefer to abandon the nobility of the Maulears,
which produces such obduracy, for the virtues and talent of a Rovero."

The old man had scarcely heard the last word, than he turned around and
said to his son:

"Rovero! did you say Rovero? the minister of Murat?"

"There is his daughter," said Henri, pointing to Aminta.

The countenance of the Prince lost its icy coldness, and assumed an
expression of deep tenderness. Drawing near to Aminta, with tears in his
eyes, he said, "The daughter of Rovero?" and with increasing agitation,
"Are you the daughter of Rovero?"

Looking at her for a few moments in silence, his c