"SISTER AMELIA."
This letter, which I could not read without shedding tears, reassured me,
however, but little; I, too, must pass a sad evening. Night having come, I
went to shut myself up in the pavilion which I have had built not far from
the monument erected to my father's memory, in expiation of that fatal
night.
Toward one o'clock in the morning, I heard Murphy's voice; I shuddered with
alarm; he had come in haste from the convent. How shall I tell you, my
friend? As I had foreseen, the unfortunate child, notwithstanding her
courage and strong will, had not strength to accomplish entirely the
barbarous custom, which it had been Impossible for the Princess Juliana to
dispense with, as the rules on this subject were precise. At eight o'clock
in the evening, Fleur-de-Marie kneeled down on the stone pavement in the
church. Until midnight she continued praying. But at this hour, overcome by
her weakness, the horrible cold, and her emotion, for she wept long and
silently, she fainted. Two nuns, who by the Princess Juliana's order had
watched with her, took her up, and carried her to her cell.
David was immediately called. Murphy came in a carriage to seek me; I flew
to the convent; I was received by Princess Juliana. She told me that David
feared the sight of me would make too great an impression upon my daughter;
that her fainting, from which she had recovered, presented nothing very
alarming, having been only caused by great weakness.
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