"I _had_ a
son, to my shame and contrition be it now confessed, but he has long
been dead, I never knew that he left a child!"
"This is his daughter, Signore," replied Carlo Giuntotardi; "her mother
was my sister. You thought us then too humble to be received into so
illustrious a connection, and we have never wished to bring ourselves
before your eyes until we thought our presence might be welcome."
"And thou comest now, good man, to claim affinity with a condemned
criminal!"
"Not so, grandfather," answered a meek voice at his feet, "it is your
son's daughter that craves a blessing from her dying parent. The boon
shall be well requited in prayers for your soul!"
"Holy father! I deserve not this! Here has this tender plant lived,
neglected in the shade, until it raises its timid head to offer its
fragrance in the hour of death! I deserve not this!"
"Son, if heaven offered no mercies until they are merited, hopeless,
truly, would be the lot of man. But we must not admit illusions at such
a moment. Thou art not a husband, Don Francesco; hadst thou ever a son?"
"That, among other sins, have I long since confessed; and as it has been
deeply repented of, I trust it is forgiven. I had a son--a youth who
bore my name, even; though he never dwelt in my palace, until a hasty
and indiscreet marriage banished him from my presence. I ever intended
to pardon him, and to make provision for his wants; but death came too
soon to both husband and wife to grant the time.
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