“You are eating nothing, my dear comtesse,” said the prince, who had been furtively watching her; “I pray you try to do better with this bit of partridge I am sending you.”

At this title of comtesse, spoken as a matter of course, and in such a kind, tender tone, Isabelle looked up at the prince with astonishment written in her beautiful, deep blue eyes, which seemed to plead timidly for an explanation.

“Yes, Comtesse de Lineuil; it is the title which goes with an estate I have settled on you, my dear child, and which has long been destined for you.  The name of Isabelle alone, charming though it be, is not suitable for my daughter.”

Isabelle, yielding to the impulse of the moment—­as the servants had retired and she was alone with her father—­rose, and going to his side, knelt down and kissed his hand, in token of gratitude for his delicacy and generosity.

“Rise, my child,” said he, very tenderly, and much moved, “and return to your place.  What I have done is only just.  It calls for no thanks.  I should have done it long ago if it had been in my power.  In the terrible circumstances that have reunited us, my dear daughter, I can see the finger of Providence, and through them I have learned your worth.  To your virtue alone it is due that a horrible crime was not committed, and I love and honour you for it; even though it may cost me the loss of my only son.  But God will be merciful and preserve his life, so that he may repent of having so persecuted and outraged the purest innocence.  Maitre Laurent, in whom I have every confidence, gives me some hope this morning; and when I looked at Vallombreuse—­from the threshold of his room only—­I could see that the seal of death was no longer upon his face.”

They were interrupted by the servants, bringing in water to wash their fingers, in a magnificent golden bowl, and this ceremony having been duly gone through with, the prince threw down his napkin and led the way into the adjoining salon, signing to Isabelle to follow him.  He seated himself in a large arm-chair in front of the blazing wood fire, and bidding Isabelle place herself close beside him, took her hand tenderly between both of his, and looked long and searchingly at this lovely young daughter, so strangely restored to him.  There was much of sadness mingled with the joy that shone in his eyes, for he was still very anxious about his son, whose life was in such jeopardy; but as he gazed upon Isabelle’s sweet face the joy predominated, and he smiled very lovingly upon the new comtesse, as he began to talk to her of long past days.