the Marquis interjected. "Where she is, whether she lives or dies, what does it matter to you?"

Summoning courage, Fiona spoke up, "She was someone I lived with after all, Father. I admit that I disliked Agatha, even hated her, but her sins were not so grave. She, like me, could feel afraid, couldn''t she?"

"You''re mistaken, dear Fiona," the Marquis responded, his voice sounding both gentle and indifferent. "That nun is different from us. You see, she carries different blood in her veins. Never concern yourself with the thoughts and emotions of the inferior, my daughter. Sometimes, you may treat them quite nicely, but if you foolishly consider them as friends, as equals to us, you will only invite trouble upon yourself."

"But what about me, dear Father?" Fiona timidly questioned. "Didn''t your noble friend say that I also possess lowly blood?"

"You are my daughter now, Fiona. So you belong to us," the Marquis firmly gazed into her eyes.

The girl shook her head, puzzled. "I don''t understand. Then am I still the same Fiona? If every laundress'' daughter can suddenly become a lady, then where does the line between nobility and lowliness lie?"

"Your beauty bestows upon you the qualification, cherie. It is an innate gift within you. You are merely a princess born into the wrong family, and now I have brought you back to your rightful place," he assured, his soft, powerful hand caressing her head.

"And the others, they are different. You must learn to perceive people differently. That is the order of the world, my little