advance to her as she seated
herself close to the curtained alcove, saying as he did so: "Madame, you
are indeed welcome." And there was a sincerity in his tone not always
characteristic of his utterances.

The king bowed in his courtliest manner to the unhappy lady, and
addressed her: "Princess, you know why we are assembled here?"

Slowly the princess inclined her head. "I do," she said, and said no
more, but sat looking fixedly before her, the image of a patience that
shielded a strong purpose and a resignation that was now kindled by a new
hope.

The king turned to his friend and host: "Prince de Gonzague, we await
your pleasure."

Louis de Gonzague rose to his feet and surveyed his assembled guests with
a grave countenance that seemed to suggest boldness without effrontery
and a grief nobly borne. All present admired his beauty, his dignity, the
proud humility of his carriage towards the great lady who was in name his
wife. Many sympathized with him in what they knew to be his strange
position, and felt that the princess was indeed to blame in refusing
friendship and sympathy to such a man.

Gonzague bowed respectfully to the king, and his eyes travelled over the
whole range of his audience as he spoke. "Sire," he said, "I have to
speak to-day of the sorrow that has haunted me, as it has haunted your
majesty, for seventeen years. Louis de Lorraine, Duke de Nevers, was my
cousin by blood, my brother by affection. His memory lives here, eternal
as is the grief of his widow, who has not disdained to wear my name after
wearing his."

He paused for a moment, and in that pause the princess spoke in a voice
that was shaken with emotion, in spite of her determination to be firm:
"Do not speak of that. I have passed those seventeen years in solitude
and in tears."

Gonzague paid to her and her sorrow the homage of a bow; then he resumed:
"When madame the princess did me the honor to accept my name, she made
public her secret but legitimate marriage with the late Duke de Nevers
and the birth of a daughter of that union. This child disappeared on the
night of Nevers's death. The registration of its birth is torn out of the
chapel register and lost. For seventeen years the princess has patiently
sought for her lost child, and has sought in vain."

The princess sighed: "Alas!" Gonzague paused for a moment as if to allow
the princess to say more, and then, seeing she kept silent, he continued:
"Calumniators have hinte