d that it was my wish that the child should not
be found. Have they not, madame?"

"Such things have been said," the princess replied, gravely.

Again Gonzague spoke: "There were even those who hinted that my hand
might strike at a child's life. Is not that so?"

Again the princess repeated her former phrase: "Such things have been
said."

Now Gonzague questioned her directly: "And you believed the accusation?"

The princess inclined her head: "I believed it."

At this reply a murmur not to be repressed ran through the assembly.
Those that sympathized with Gonzague before now sympathized more deeply
on hearing such an answer come so coldly from his wife's lips. Gonzague
allowed himself the luxury of a little, patient sigh, the privileged
protest of the good and just under an intolerable suspicion.

"I am not surprised. The princess does not know me. For seventeen years
the princess and I have been strangers. Now, for the first time, I can
show myself to my wife as I am." He addressed himself directly to the
princess: "Through all these seventeen years I, too, have been seeking
what you sought; but, more fortunate than you, I have succeeded where you
have failed."

He turned to Peyrolles, who was standing close to his master's side, and
commanded: "Bring in Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Nevers."

In a moment Peyrolles had vanished from the room, leaving every man in
the assembly impressed and startled by Gonzague's statement. The king
looked from Gonzague, whose face he had been studying while he spoke with
admiration and approval, and fixed his keen gaze upon the princess. She
alone, of all those in the room, seemed unmoved by the momentous tidings
that her husband had communicated. The younger men whispered among
themselves, the elders kept silence, but it was plain that their
curiosity was very great.

In a few moments Peyrolles returned to the room escorting Flora, now very
beautifully attired in a dress of simple richness.

Chavernay could not restrain his surprise as she entered. "The little
dancing-girl," he whispered to his right-hand neighbor, Choisy, but he
said no more. Even his airy nature was impressed by the stillness of the
company and the gravity of the situation.

Gonzague took the hand of Flora and conducted her across the room to the
princess. "Madame," he said, "I restore your child."

The princess looked fixedly at the girl, her thin hands clasping the arms
of her chair convulsively, and i