"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.
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