“I pray Maria and her holy Son in thy behalf!” said the venerable Prince with dignity.  “Thou enterest on new and serious duties, child, but the spirit and purity of an angel, a meekness that does not depress, and a character whose force rather relieves than injures the softness of thy sex, can temper the ills of this fickle world, and thou may’st justly hope to see a fair portion of that felicity which thy young imagination pictures in such golden colors.  And thou,” he added, turning to meet the embrace of Sigismund, “whoever thou art by the first disposition of Providence, thou art now rightfully dear to me.  The husband of Melchior de Willading’s daughter would ever have a claim upon his most ancient and dearest friend, but we are united by a tie that has the interest of a singular and solemn mystery.  My reason tells me that I am punished for much early and wanton pride and wilfulness, in being the parent of a child that few men in any condition of life could wish to claim, while my heart would fain flatter me with being the father of a son of whom an emperor alight be proud!  Thou art, and thou art not, of my blood.  Without these proofs of Maso’s, and the testimony of the dying monk, I should proclaim thee to be the latter without hesitation; but be thou what thou may’st by birth, thou art entirely and without alloy of my love.  Be tender of this fragile flower that Providence hath put under thy protection, Sigismund; cherish it as thou valuest thine own soul; the generous and confiding love of a virtuous woman is always a support, frequently a triumphant stay, to the tottering principles of man.  Oh! had it pleased God earlier to have given me Angiolina, how different might have been our lives!  This dark uncertainty would not now hang over the most precious of human affections, and my closing hour would be blessed.  Heaven and its saints preserve ye both, my children, and preserve ye long in your present innocence and affection!”

The venerable Doge ceased.  The effort which had enabled him to speak gave way, and he turned aside that he might weep in the decent reserve that became his station and years.

Until now Marguerite had been silent, watching the countenances, and drinking in with avidity the words, of the different speakers.  It was now her turn.  Sigismund knelt at her feet, pressing her hands to his lips in a manner to show that her high, though stern character, had left deep traces in his recollection.  Releasing herself from his convulsed grasp, for just then the young man felt intensely the violence of severing those early ties which, in his case, had perhaps something of wild romance from their secret nature, she parted the curls 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—­”