"
"Fleur-de-Marie your child!" cried Clemence, in a tone impossible to be
described.
"Yes; and just now, when you asked to see me immediately, to inform me of
something that would overwhelm me with joy--have pity on my weakness--but a
father, mad with grief at the loss of his child, is capable of indulging in
many mad hopes. For a moment I thought--that--but no, no; I see I deceived
myself. Pardon me; I am but a miserable, foolish man."
Rudolph, exhausted by the violence of his feelings, fell back in his chair,
covering his face with his hands. Madame d'Harville remained stupefied,
immovable, dumb, breathing with difficulty--in turns a prey to joy, to
fear, for the effect which the revelation she was about to make might have
upon the prince--in fine, exalted by a holy gratitude toward Providence,
who intrusted her--_her_--to announce to Rudolph that his daughter
lived, and she had brought her back to him. Clemence, agitated by these
emotions, so violent, so diverse, could not utter a word. Murphy, after
having for a moment partaken of the mad hopes of the prince, seemed quite
as much overcome as he was. Suddenly the marchioness, yielding to an
unexpected and involuntary emotion, forgetting the presence of Murphy and
Rudolph, sunk on her knees, clasped her hands, and cried, with an
expression of fervent piety and ineffable gratitude:
"Thanks, my God! be praised! I acknowledge Thy sovereign will.
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