de is a vile, unworthy woman, whose feelings are completely buried
beneath the cold selfishness and ambition of her nature. Sometimes I
even ask myself whether it is not better that my child has been removed
by death than for her to have been contaminated by the example of such a
mother."

Clemence could not restrain a feeling of satisfaction at hearing Rodolph
thus express himself. "In that case," said she, "I can imagine how
doubly you must bewail the loss of your only object of affection!"

"Oh, how I should have doted on my child! For it seems to me that, among
princes, there is always mixed up with the affection we bear a son, a
sort of interested regard for the being destined to perpetuate our
race,--a kind of political calculation. But a daughter!--oh, she is
loved for herself alone! And when, alas! one is weary of witnessing the
many fearful pictures of fallen humanity an intercourse with the world
compels us to behold, what joy to turn from the dark pictures of guilt
and crime to refresh ourselves by the contemplation of a young and
innocent mind, and to delight in watching the unfolding of all those
pure and tender feelings so guilelessly true to nature! The proudest,
the happiest mother feels not half the exquisite joy of a father in
observing the gradual development of a daughter's character. A mother
will dwell with far greater rapture on the bold and manly qualities of a
son. For have you never remarked that the cause which still further
cements the doting affection of a mother for her son, or a father for
his daughter, is the feeling of either requiring or bestowing aid and
protection? Thus, the mother looks upon her son in the light of a future
support and protection; while the father beholds in his young and
helpless daughter a weak and fragile creature, clinging to him for
safety, counsel, and protection from all the storms of life."

"True, my lord,--most true!"

"But what avails it thus to dwell on sources of delight for ever lost to
me?" cried Rodolph, in a voice of the deepest dejection. His mournful
tones sunk into the very heart of Clemence, who could not restrain a
tear, which trickled slowly down her cheek. After a short pause, during
which the prince, making a powerful effort to restrain himself, and
feeling almost ashamed of allowing his feelings thus to get the better
of him in the presence of Madame d'Harville, said, with a smile of
infinite sadness, "Your pardon, madame, for thus allowi