His Grace of Osmonde
The Duchess slipped her fair arm about his neck--he was so near to her 'twas easy done--and her smile trembled into sweet tears which were half laughter.
"Ah, we love him so," she cried, "how could we think him like any other? We love him so and are so happy and so proud."
And for a moment they remained silent, their cheeks pressed together, the scent of the spring flowers wafting up to them from the terrace, the church bells pealing out through the radiant air.
"He was born of love," his mother whispered at last. "He will live amid love and see only honour and noblen