urls on his ample brow, and stood gazing
long at his face, studying each lineament to its minutest shade.

"No," she said mournfully shaking her head, "truly thou art not of us, and
God hath dealt mercifully in taking away the innocent little creature
whose place thou hast so long innocently usurped. Thou wert dear to me,
Sigismund--very dear--for I thought thee under the curse of my race; do
not hate me, if I say my heart is now in the grave of--"

"Mother!" exclaimed the young man reproachfully.

"Well I am still thy mother," answered Marguerite, smiling, though
painfully; "thou art a noble boy, and no change of fortune can ever alter
thy soul. 'Tis a cruel parting, Balthazar and I know not, after all, that
thou didst well to deceive me; for I have had as much grief as joy in the
youth--grief, bitter grief, that one like him should be condemned to live
under the curse of our race--but it is ended now--he is not of us--no, he
is no longer of us!"

This was uttered so plaintively that Sigismund bent his face to his hands
and sobbed aloud.

"Now that the happy and proud weep, 'tis time that the wretched dried
their tears," added the wife of Balthazar, looking about her with a sad
mixture of agony and pride struggling in her countenance: for, in spite of
her professions, it was plain that she yielded her claim on the noble
youth with deep yearnings and an intense agony of spirit. "We have one
consolation, at least, Christine--all that are not of our blood will not
despise us now! Am I right, Sigismund--thou too wilt not torn upon us with
the world, and hate those whom thou once loved?"

"Mother, mother, for the sake of the Holy Virgin, do not harrow my soul!"

"I will not distrust thee, dear; thou didst not drink at my breast, but
thou hast taken in too many lessons of the truth from my lips to despise
us--and yet thou art not of us; thou mayest possibly prove a Prince's
son, and the world so hardens the heart--and they who have been sorely
pressed upon become suspicious--"

"For the love of God, cease, mother, or thou wilt break my heart!"

"Come hither, Christine. Sigismund, this maiden goes with thy wife: we
have the greatest confidence in the truth and principles of her thou hast
wedded, for she has been tried and not found wanting. Be tender to the
child; she was once thy sister, and then thou used to love her."

"Mother--thou wilt make me curse the hour I was born!"

Marguerite, while she could not overco