Fortune, he thought, cannot be escaped, art cannot be thrown aside; fame may be trampled under foot, yet still pursue us.
Power has this advantage over all three, it can be flung off like a worn-out doublet.

Let it fly! Had he owed it the happiness of the last few weeks?
No, no! He would have been happy with his mother in a poor, plain house, without the office of Eletto, without flowers, horses or servants.

It was to her, not to power, that he was indebted for every blissful hour, and now that she had gone, how desolate was the void in his heart! Suddenly the recollection of his father and Ruth illumined his misery like a sunbeam.

The game of Eletto was now over, he would go to Antwerp the next day.
Why had fate snatched his mother from him just now, why did it deny him the happiness of seeing his parents united?
His father--she had sorely wronged him, but for what will not death atone?
He must take him some remembrance of her, and went to her room to look through her chest.
But it no longer stood in the old place--the owner of the house, a rich matron, who had been compelled to occupy an attic-room, while strangers were quartered in her residence, had taken charge of the pale orphan and the boxes after Florette's death.
The good Netherland dame provided for the adopted child and the property of her enemy, the man whose soldiers had pillaged her brothers and cousins.

The death of the woman below had moved her deeply, for the wonderful charm of Florette's manner had won her also.
Towards midnight Ulrich took the lamp and went upstairs.