Yes, she said--she had been sorely tried--tried, she thought, beyond the common endurance of humanity; but while her child was left to her, everything was left.

"Oh! my lord," she exclaimed, "you must see that infant--the last bud of a wondrous tree: you must let a mother hope that you will lay your holy hands on her innocent head and consecrate her for female virtues.

May I hope it ?" said she, looking into the bishop's eye and touching the bishop's arm with her hand.
The bishop was but a man and said she might.

After all, what was it but a request that he would confirm her daughter ?--a request, indeed, very unnecessary to make, as he should do so as a matter of course if the young lady came forward in the usual way.
"The blood of Tiberius," said the signora in all but a whisper; "the blood of Tiberius flows in her veins.

She is the last of the Neros!" The bishop had heard of the last of the Visigoths, and had floating in his brain some indistinct idea of the last of the Mohicans, but to have the last of the Neros thus brought before him for a blessing was very staggering.