Yet, surrounded as she was by everything
to make her happy and content, Isabelle was far from feeling so--she was
astonished at herself for being sad and listless, instead of joyous and
exultant--but the thought of de Sigognac, so infinitely dear to her,
so far more precious than any other earthly blessing, weighed upon her
heart, and the separation from him was a sorrow for which nothing could
console her. Yet, now that their relative positions were so changed,
might not a great happiness be in store for her? Did not this very
change bring her nearer in reality to that true, brave, faithful,
and devoted lover, though for the moment they were parted? As a poor
nameless actress she had refused to accept his offered hand, lest such
an alliance should be disadvantageous to him and stand in the way of his
advancement, but now--how joyfully would she give herself to him. The
daughter of a great and powerful prince would be a fitting wife for the
Baron de Sigognac. But if he were the murderer of her father's only son;
ah! then indeed they could never join hands over a grave. And even if
the young duke should recover, he might cherish a lasting resentment for
the man who had not only dared to oppose his wishes and designs, but
had also defeated and wounded him.
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