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THE MEMOIRS OF THE Counteſs of BERCI.

Taken from the French By the Author of the Female Quixote. In TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON: Printed for A. MILLAR, in the Strand, M DCC LVI.

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THE HISTORY OF THE Chevalier DES ESSARS AND THE Counteſs OF BERCI. PART IV.

THE old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, being at Paris a few Days after his Son's Departure for Gaſcony, happened to meet ſome Gentlemen of that Province who were juſt arrived there: he immediately enquired after the Chevalier des Eſſars; and was told that he lived with the old Marquis des Eſſars his Uncle, both intirely engroſſed by a very important Affair, which made his Stay in Gaſcony abſolutely neceſſary. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur greatly ſurpriſed, aſked them what Affair he could be engaged in, of ſo much Conſequence [2] as to make him neglect the Care of his Honour and his Life?

'I perceive, Monſieur,' ſaid one of the Gaſcons, ‘that you are wholly unacquainted with an Incident which will account for the Chevalier's Attachment to Gaſcony. He is paſſionately in Love with a young Lady of that Province: ſhe is called the fair Amazon, ſome very extraordinary Qualities give her a juſt Claim to this Title. She does not yield in Courage and Spirit to the braveſt among us: and if we may judge of her Force by the manly Exerciſes in which ſhe delights, and really excels in, ſhe equals any of the ſamed Amazons of old who were ſo much celebrated for their Valour. With all this, her Perſon is as lovely as the lovelieſt of her Sex; her Birth very illuſtrious, and her Fortune immenſe. This is the Chain that binds the Chevalier des Eſſars to Gaſcony, and will probably fix him there for the reſt of his Life.’

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur now no longer doubted, that this new Paſſion was the Cauſe of the Chevalier's Indifference and Neglect not only of them, but his own Honour and Fame. He repented that he had ſent his Son into Gaſcony; and returning to Champigni full of Reſentment, imparted all he had heard to his Wife, to the young Marchioneſs, [3] and even to the Counteſs of Berci his Daughter.

The two former were greatly ſurpriſed and afflicted at ſuch unexpected News: but what Ravage did not the ſad Recital make in the Heart of the unfortunate Counteſs of Berci! She became a Prey to every violent and torturing Paſſion that injured Love inſpires; Rage, Grief, Jealouſy and Shame tore her ſoft Heart by Turns. Unable, tho' deſirous to conceal her ſtrong Emotions, ſhe haſtened to her own Apartment, and locking the Door, threw herſelf upon her Bed in Agonies impoſſible to be deſcribed, or even conceived but by a Woman, injured and forſaken, yet paſſionately in Love.

Madam de Berci had always been remarkable for her Senſe and Prudence: her Fortitude, her Reſignation under unmerited Infamy, and threatened Death, had acquired her univerſal Admiration and Eſteem; but ſlighted Love was a Torment ſhe had never felt, and found by ſad Experience ſhe was unequal to. Her Grief, at firſt too big for Utterance, almoſt rent her tender Frame in Pieces, diſtractedly ſhe tore her Hair, and beat her lovely Boſom. How altered now from that ſweet patient Sufferer, who in a gloomy Priſon could be ſtill ſerene, who could arm her Mind againſt the Terrors of approaching Death, and ſelf-acquitted deſpiſe the Slanders of a malicious World, to [4] which her Fame was ſacrificed and her Life condemned. Had ſhe been capable of Reflexion in thoſe ſad Moments, ſhe would have loathed herſelf for a Weakneſs, unworthy of her Character: but Reaſon and Religion had now loſt their Force, or ſhe rejected their offered Aid, and ſuffered no Thought to riſe in her Mind, but what aggravated her Injuries, and increaſed her Deſpair.

'Perfidious Wretch,' cried ſhe as ſoon as the ſtubborn Sorrow found vent in Tears, ‘and ungrateful as perfidious, is it thus you abandon me after ſo many Vows of eternal Fidelity? You might have deferred this cruel Outrage till I had recovered that Honour your fatal Paſſion has been the Means of my loſing. Alas!’ purſued ſhe wringing her Hands, ‘my loſt Reputation, my cruel Impriſonment, my ignominious Sentence, all are light Evils compared with what I feel at being thus betrayed, deſpiſed, abandoned — but I will not live to endure this Miſery — Yes, Wretch, my Death —’ Here ſhe ſtopped upon ſome Perſon's knocking at her Chamber-Door, which ſhe reluctantly opened, aſhamed of being found in ſuch Diſorder; but ſeeing only the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur her Siſter-in-law, that tender faithful Friend, from whom ſhe hid no Secret of her Soul, ſhe eagerly ſtrained her in her Arms, and leaning her Head upon [5] her Boſom, gave Way to a violent Burſt of Tears.

The Marchioneſs, greatly affected at this Sight, locked the Door carefully again, and then led the fair afflicted Counteſs to a Soffa, where ſeating herſelf beſide her, and tenderly ſupporting her with one Arm round her Waiſt, while with the other ſhe wiped away the Tears that ſtreamed from her charming Eyes, ſhe endeavoured to comfort her by ſuggeſting every Argument her Imagination could furniſh her with in Favour of the Chevalier.

She repreſented to her, that it was not at all poſſible, the Chevalier, who had given her a thouſand ſtriking Proofs of the moſt noble, the moſt ardent Paſſion that ever animated a Lover, ſhould be able to quit her for any other Woman whatever Beauty and Merit ſhe was poſſeſt of; nor was it more likely that a Man, ſo remarkably generous, noble and ſincere, ſhould be capable of ſo black a Perfidy.

‘But if we could ſuppoſe, my deareſt Siſter (ſaid the Marchioneſs) that the Chevalier was really inconſtant to you whom he has ſo fervently loved, would he with a Soul ſo great and daring, ſuch an eager Thirſt for Fame, ſo nicely tenacious of his Honour, would he neglect the glorious Opportunity that is now offered him, to [6] prove his Innocence in the Eyes of all France? Ah! be aſſured ſome other Cauſe than a new Paſſion detains him. Your Father himſelf is now of this Opinion, in which he is confirmed by his having heard nothing of the Meſſenger whom he ſo long ago ſent to the Chevalier. Some Misfortune has doubtleſs happened to this Man, and the Chevalier is ſtill ignorant of the Arret, and of your Father's Meſſage.’

The Marchioneſs had indeed hit upon the Truth, but her Arguments, ſtrong as they were, made no Impreſſion upon the Counteſs of Berci, whoſe Jealouſy, Rage and Deſpair had ſo weakened all her reaſoning Powers, that ſhe was incapable of making any Reflexion but what was ſuggeſted by thoſe furious Paſſions. She thought herſelf the moſt miſerable undone Woman in the World; and in Conſequence of this Notion, ſhe conceived the moſt extravagant Deſign that ever entered into the Mind of a Woman of her Virtue, Education, and natural Timidity.

Affecting to ſeem a little conſoled by her Siſter-in-law's Reaſons, ſhe begged to be left alone in order to recollect and compoſe herſelf, that ſhe might be able to appear before her Parents the next Day. The Marchioneſs left her, after giving her a tender Embrace; and Madam de Berci, whoſe Head was full of her new Scheme, continued ruminating [7] upon it till her Woman came to take her Commands at Night: ſhe ſuffered herſelf to be undreſt and put to Bed, pretending that ſhe was extremely ſleepy, in order to prevent any Meſſages from her Parents, and her Siſter-in-law; and as ſoon as ſhe imagined all the Family was aſleep, ſhe got out of Bed, and, throwing a looſe Gown about her, went ſoftly into her Brother's Wardrobe, where ſhe choſe from among ſeveral Suits of Cloaths one which he had worn but once or twice, and was leſs remarkable than any of the others. Theſe Cloaths ſhe put on, and tied up her beautiful fair Hair under a Hat adorned with a green Feather.

Thus metamorphoſed, ſhe went ſoftly down Stairs with an Intention to go into the Stable and get a Horſe, but recollecting that ſhe wanted a Sword, ſhe returned haſtily to the Wardrobe, and finding one to her Wiſh, plain and unadorned, ſhe made the beſt of her Way to the Stable, choſe one of the beſt Horſes in it, and mounted with great Precipitation, for the Morning now dawned, and ſhe was apprehenſive ſome of the Servants would ſoon be ſtirring. She ſallied out and took the firſt Road that preſented itſelf, her Heart throbbing with a thouſand new Anxieties, and her Head full of a wild Project which ſhe had too little conſidered to ſee all the fatal Conſequences of.

[8]Her Deſign was to travel to Gaſcony, in Search of her faithleſs Lover, to upbraid him with his Perfidy and to revenge his Loſs upon her happy Rival, and then to bury herſelf in ſome Solitude where ſhe ſhould never be heard of more.

Oh, Love, how much is thy tyrant Power to be feared, when a cauſeleſs Jealouſy, an unreaſonable Suſpicion can produce ſuch dreadful Effects, and thus turn a Woman, wiſe, gentle, modeſt, into an extravagant and fooliſh Adventurer! The Counteſs of Berci, although ſhe had diſcovered ſo much Strength of Mind and chriſtian Fortitude while ſhe languiſhed amidſt the Horrors of a gloomy Priſon, had all that amiable Softneſs and female Delicacy, which diſtinguiſh Women of her Birth, Education and Virtue. Yet behold her now in the Habit of a Man, wandering defenceleſs and alone. She who prefered her Reputation to her Life, and choſe rather to ſubmit to a cruel and unjuſt Impriſonment, than avoid it at the Expence of bringing any Imputation upon her Honour, now expoſed that Honour to the infamous Cenſures of a malicious World, by wearing a Diſguiſe ſo little ſuitable to her natural Modeſty, and by a Flight ſo unworthy of her Prudence and Character. She who had the higheſt Notions of filial Duty, left her indulgent Parents to all the Bitterneſs of Grief that her imagined Death could cauſe, and all the Diſgrace ſo ſcandalous an Elopement [9] could reflect upon them. Inſenſible of their Sorrow, of what ſhe owed to the Memory of her murdered Lord, her own Reputation, Life and Virtue, ſhe purſued her deſperate Courſe. Deceived by her own Heart, Revenge ſhe thought was all her Motive for a Conduct in Appearance ſo extravagant; and a Motive ſo noble, that, when known, it would be a ſufficient Juſtification.

As ſoon as ſhe had got out of Champigny, her Horſe, which had been accuſtomed to carry the young Marquis frequently from that Village to Paris, ſtruck directly into the Road which led to that great City, and brought her to the Gates juſt as they were opened. Madam de Berci could not help ſighing when ſhe reflected upon the ſtrange Equipage in which ſhe was now entering a Place where ſhe had formerly enjoyed ſo much Happineſs, and lived in ſuch Splendor. But ſhe was too much engroſſed by her preſent wild Project to dwell long upon thoſe Remembrances, ſhe began now to conſider what was moſt proper for her to do. To prevent being diſcovered, ſhe did not doubt but as ſoon as ſhe was miſſed at Champigny, it would be concluded ſhe had taken the direct Road to Gaſcony, and that ſeveral Perſons would be immediately diſpatched in Purſuit of her; ſhe reſolved, therefore, to ſtay ſome Days concealed in Paris, and defer her Journey to Gaſcony till thoſe who [10] ſhould be ſent after her, returned from their fruitleſs Purſuit, when ſhe might proſecute her Deſign with Security.

Accordingly ſhe hired an Apartment in the leaſt frequented Quarter of Paris; and having deſired her Landlord to procure her a Footman whoſe Fidelity and Diſcretion ſhe might depend upon, and who was capable to take Care of her Horſe, ſhe retired to her Chamber, to indulge a few Hours Repoſe, if thoſe vain Efforts ſhe made to procure it, may be called Repoſe. But we will now leave her to the inward Agitations of her own Mind, and return to her Relations at Champigny, who were all in the utmoſt Confuſion and Diſtreſs.

The young Marchioneſs, tenderly ſolicitous for her Welfare, went to her Apartment as ſoon as ſhe was up; ſhe found her Woman in waiting in the Antichamber who expreſſed ſome Surpriſe at her Lady's not ringing for her at her uſual Hour. The Marchioneſs, a little alarmed, rapped at her Chamber-Door; no Anſwer being returned, ſhe rapped again, and trembling with her Fears opened the Door immediately after; ſhe advanced haſtily to the Bed, and was ſtill more terrified to find ſhe was not there. Recollecting however that the Counteſs was fond of indulging her Melancholy in a ſhady Receſs of the Garden to which ſhe often reſorted, Madam de Saint-Sauveur haſtily ran [11] thither in full Expectation of finding her; but again diſappointed, ſhe gazed around her in Aſtoniſhment and Diſmay, hardly knowing what ſhe feared, yet full of Apprehenſion and Grief: having traverſed the whole Garden without Succeſs, ſhe returned to the Houſe, flattering herſelf that ſhe might poſſibly meet her in her Mother's Apartment; upon her entering the old Marchioneſs's Chamber, that Lady eagerly advanced towards her, and with a Voice that expreſſed the higheſt Terror and Grief, cried: ‘Ah! my Dear, have you not then found my Daughter?’

The young Lady's melancholy Looks ſuggeſting the Worſt to the apprehenſive Mother, 'Alas!' exclaimed ſhe without giving her Time to anſwer, ‘my Daughter is dead.’ ‘No, no, dear Madam, be compoſed, ſaid ſhe: I hope no Misfortune has happened to the Counteſs. I have not ſeen her indeed, but I hope and believe that ſhe is well, and ſomewhere in the Houſe.’

The old Marquis, who as well as his Lady, had been alarmed by the Report of the Counteſs's Woman, that ſhe was not in her Chamber, and who had been ſearching for her in every Room of the Houſe, came in that Moment with his Daughter's Robe de Chambre in his Hand, which he had found in his Son's Wardrobe. But before he could [12] ſpeak to tell in what Manner he had found it, the unhappy Mother ſinking under her Fears at that Sight, fell in a Swoon in the Arms of her Daughter-in-law, who ſeeing her Colour change, tenderly ran to ſupport her. Proper Remedies being applied, her Senſes returned; ſhe opened her Eyes, and faintly groaning: ‘'Tis ſo, my Daughter's dead,’ ſaid ſhe. 'Alas!' ſaid the old Marquis pierced to his inmoſt Soul with Grief, ‘it would be better, perhaps, if ſhe was dead; for ſhe has covered herſelf and her Family with Infamy.’ He then ſhewed the Robe to his Lady, told where he had found it, and gave it as his certain Opinion, that ſhe had fled diſguiſed in a Suit of her Brother's Cloaths, which he had remembred to have ſeen him wear, and was not now in the Wardrobe.

This News at any other Time would have plunged the old Marchioneſs into Deſpair, but it now releaſed her from an agoniſing Fear that her beloved Daughter was dead, and was welcomed with ſome Kind of Joy. But this laſted no longer, than till her Mind, becoming more compoſed, was at Liberty to reflect upon the ſhameful Step the Counteſs had taken; ſhe then ſaw Things in a different Light, and knew not whether her ſcandalous Flight was not more to be lamented than her Death. Meſſengers were immediately diſpatched in Purſuit of her, but all returned without Succeſs: the [13] unhappy Parents, however, found ſome Alleviation of their Grief in the Thought that their Son, to whom they had wrote on Account of the Flight of the Counteſs, and her ſtrange Diſguiſe, would take Meaſures to diſcover her in Gaſcony; for it was not doubted that ſhe was gone thither.

Mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars, the innocent Cauſe of all this Confuſion, paſſed his Time very uneaſily in Gaſcony; his Uncle was continually preſſing him in Favour of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, he urged to him the great Advantages that would accrue from an Alliance with a Woman of her illuſtrious Birth, and immenſe Fortune; he praiſed her Beauty, her fine Underſtanding, her Virtue, Spirit, and noble Reſolution, ſo meritoriouſly exerted in Defence of her Honour and Freedom.

The Chevalier confeſſed ſhe had great Merit; he admired her Beauty, he praiſed the noble Qualities ſhe poſſeſſed; and he was pleaſed with her Converſation: but all this produced nothing but a few Viſits from him to the charming Amazon, to whom he behaved with the higheſt Reſpect and Deference; but the Counteſs of Berci was too much in his Head and Heart to allow of any Expreſſions of Gallantry which a Beauty ſo alluring muſt have forced from any Man whoſe Affections were diſengaged.

[14]The Marquis des Eſſars perceived that this Affair advanced very ſlowly, he was very uneaſy at it, and reſolved to ſpeak plainer to his Nephew than he had ever yet done. He took an Opportunity one Evening, when the Chevalier was returned from viſiting Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, to enter into a Converſation with him, which he had obſerved with Concern his Nephew had ſeemed ſolicitous to avoid. He told him that his own great Age, and his many Infirmities, would no longer permit him to attend to his Affairs, or take Part in any of thoſe Diverſions which formerly had contributed as much to his Health as to his Pleaſure.

‘I am now, ſaid he, only capable of enjoying the ſtill Comforts of domeſtic Life. I earneſtly deſire to fix you with me. You have hitherto led a diſſipated and wandering Life, it is Time that you ſhould ſettle, take Care of your Eſtates, and perpetuate your Name. It is not my Intention to hinder you from going to Court, when a proper Opportunity offers, to clear your Innocence with reſpect to the Deaths of the Counts of Berci and Polan: but till this Opportunity offers, I would have you make ſuch a Diſpoſition of your Affairs, that I may promiſe myſelf you will fix your Reſidence in this Province, where at my Death you will have ſuch large Poſſeſſions; and that I may be aſſured my Wiſhes will be gratified, you muſt think [15] of marrying ſome Lady of Gaſcony. I ſee none ſo worthy of you as Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt: her Birth, her Beauty, her Virtue and immenſe Fortune may make her juſtly conſidered as one of the beſt Matches in the Province. I know you cannot be inſenſible to her Charms; and if you have not yet declared yourſelf to her, it muſt neceſſarily be, that you are doubtful of ſucceeding. But as I have your Marriage with this Lady greatly at Heart, you may depend upon it, I will plead your Cauſe with the utmoſt Zeal. I think too well of your Judgment to be apprehenſive, that this Affair will meet with any Difficulties from you, on account of your unwarantable Paſſion for the Counteſs of Berci, to which your Honour as well as Quiet has been ſacrificed: therefore, I do not think it neceſſary to aſſure you that the Loſs of my Favour and my whole Eſtate will be the Conſequence of your refuſing the Propoſal I have made you.’

The Chevalier was a good deal diſconcerted by this Speech, to which he liſtened in a profound Silence, not once offering to interrupt his Uncle, who, he found, was determined to marry him to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and he well knew the obſtinate old Man never receded from a Reſolution he had once taken. His Threat of depriving him of his Eſtate would have had no Effect on the generous Mind of the Chevalier, [16] had not the Delicacy and Diſintereſtedneſs of his Paſſion for Madam de Berci made him reſolve not to take Advantage of her Tenderneſs, to give her a Huſband whoſe Fortunes were ſo vaſtly below her Quality and Merit. He had been always conſidered as the ſole Heir to the vaſt Poſſeſſions of his Uncle, as well as to his Title: in that Quality he had offered himſelf to the Acceptance of the Counteſs of Berci, his Honour would not permit him, when fallen from his Expectations, to urge her to the Performance of an Engagement made before, nor could his Love bear the Thought of reſigning her.

Amidſt theſe perplexing Extremes, the only Medium was to gain Time, which indeed was gaining every Thing. With this View, therefore, he told his Uncle, that he was extremely ſenſible of his tender Solicitude for his Happineſs by propoſing a Lady every way ſo accompliſhed as Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, for his Wife: but that it was impoſſible he could think of offering himſelf to her, or to any other Lady of Quality and Merit, while his Reputation ſuffered under infamous Calumnies, that made him unworthy of the Honour of her Alliance.

‘You muſt permit me, Monſieur, ſaid he, to return to Court: and when I have cleared my Fame, and regained my former unſullied Character, I may then without [17] Preſumption pretend to the Honour of calling ſuch an amiable young Lady, as Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt mine.’

The old Marquis felt the Force of theſe Reaſons; he ſaw the Propriety of ſuch a Conduct as his Nephew ſeemed reſolved to follow, and although he had ſome Suſpicion that he had not yet forgot the Counteſs of Berci, yet he would not give any Hint of Diſtruſt, leſt it ſhould oblige him to come to Extremeties with the Chevalier whom he loved with a truly paternal Tenderneſs. All he required therefore of him, was, that he ſhould viſit Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt as often as Decorum would permit, while he continued in Gaſcony. The Chevalier's ready Compliance with his Requeſt ſo charmed the old Man, that he was the firſt to haſten his Departure for the Court, in order that every Obſtacle to his Marriage might be removed.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt placing the Chevalier's frequent Viſits to the Score of her own irreſiſtable Charms, made no Efforts to conquer the Paſſion ſhe felt for him, and which every new Sight of him increaſed. She might indeed have juſtly wondered that he had not taken Advantage of any of thoſe Opportunities he had been favoured with, to declare his Paſſion; but Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt eaſily accounted to herſelf for his Silence upon that Head. Haughty as ſhe [18] was, and well acquainted with the Power of her own Beauty, ſhe concluded that the Diſdain ſhe had hitherto ſhewn to all thoſe who had preſumed to addreſs her, was the true Cauſe of the Chevalier's Reſerve; and that reſpectful Awe and Fear of offending to which ſhe imputed his not declaring his Sentiments, ſtrengthened the Chevalier's Intereſt in her Heart, more perhaps, than the moſt tender Proteſtations could have done.

Thus willingly deceived, ſhe heard the News of the Chevalier's intended Journey to Court without much Regret, as ſhe looked upon it as a neceſſary Preparative to her Nuptials: and when he came to take Leave of her, did not fail to attribute to his Eyes a dying Languiſhment, faltering Accents to his Tongue, and tender Sorrow to his whole Countenance and Behaviour.

The Chevalier, indeed, parted with his Uncle with great Concern, conſcious of the Hopes with which the good old Man flattered himſelf at his promiſed Return: he looked upon himſelf as acting an ungenerous Part, but he ſoon repreſt the uneaſy Senſations this Thought gave Riſe to, by the Conſideration that he had made no Promiſe to his Uncle, or been guilty of any Thing that could in Reality be called an Evaſion, but only by avoiding an expreſs Denial, held him in Suſpenſe with Regard to his Conſent. And now as he purſued his Journey to Burgundy, [19] where he expected to find his beloved Counteſs, the Raptures he indulged in the Hope of ſoon ſeeing her, baniſhed every uneaſy Reflexion from his Mind.

On his Arrival at Bourdeaux he heard that a celebrated Tournament was to be held in England: he could not reſiſt this Opportunity of increaſing his Fame, and fancied that by adding new Lawrels to thoſe he had already gained, he ſhould appear with greater Advantages in the Eyes of his charming Miſtreſs, and with higher Dignity in thoſe of all France, when he came to defend his Honour and aſſert his Innocence. He reſolved, therefore, to defer his Journey to Burgundy for ſome Days, and having wrote a tender Letter to the Counteſs of Berci, he diſpatched the Turnkey, whom he had made his Valet de Chambre, with it to the Caſtle of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, where he thought his Miſtreſs ſtill was, and with his other Domeſticks embarked for England, where he arrived ſafe ſoon after.

The Chevalier des Eſſars had left Gaſcony but two Days when the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur arrived there. He alighted at the Caſtle of the old Marquis des Eſſars, and was received by that Nobleman at firſt with ſome Coolneſs, his Nephew's Troubles on that Family's Account being all in his Head. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, after the firſt Compliments, inquired for the Chevalier, [20] and being told that he had left the Province two Days before, he proceeded to acquaint the old Marquis with the Steps which his Friends had taken in his Favour at Court. He told him, that his Father had obtained the Chevalier's Pardon of the King for the Death of the Count of Polan, upon Condition that within a Month he preſented himſelf at Paris to clear himſelf of the Count of Berci's Murder: that his Father had immediately diſpatched a Gentleman to Gaſcony with a Letter informing the Chevalier of the King's Decree, but had received no Anſwer, and the Meſſenger never returned: that the King had had the Goodneſs to grant him three Weeks longer, after which no farther Delay could be hoped for; and that, if he did not appear within that Time, he would be declared duly convicted of the Murder of which he was accuſed.

‘All France, added the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, which has been filled with the Fame of your Nephew's great Actions, aſtoniſhed at his not appearing to defend his Innocence, begin already to conclude him guilty. His Friends can no longer form Excuſes for him; and all that remains for them to do, is to preſent themſelves on the laſt Day preſcribed for the Combat to fight his Accuſers in his Stead. But what Diſgrace will this reflect upon the Chevalier, that in the Preſence of the greateſt King in the World, who has conſented [21] to this extraordinary Method of trying his Cauſe, his Friends ſhould expoſe their Lives for his Defence, while he remains in a ſhameful Security in the Heart of Gaſcony.

The Marquis des Eſſars was charmed with the friendly Freedom of theſe Remonſtrances: he was convinced that his Nephew had great Obligations to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and recollected with Grief and Confuſion the cool Reception he had given a gallant young Nobleman, who had taken ſo long a Journey for his Nephew's Intereſts: he now embraced him with great Affection, expreſſed the higheſt Senſe of the Favours the Chevalier had received from his Father, and of his own friendly Zeal in coming ſo far in Search of him. He aſſured him, that his Nephew had ſet out for Court two Days before, and did not doubt but he would appear there in Time to redeem his own Honour, and ſpare his Friends the Neceſſity of defending his Cauſe.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur was overjoyed to hear that the Chevalier was gone to Paris. He complied with Monſieur des Eſſars' earneſt Invitation to ſtay one Night at his Caſtle; but could not be prevailed upon for any more. He was reſolved, however, not to leave Gaſcony without ſeeing the celebrated Amazon, whoſe Charms had obliterated the Memory of his Siſter in the [22] Chevalier's Heart. He deſired the Marquis des Eſſars to introduce him to her; which he readily did the next Day. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur laviſhed ſo many Encomiums on Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, that the old Nobleman thought himſelf well rewarded for the little Journey he had taken to procure him the Sight of her. Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur and he, parted with mutual Proteſtations of Affection and Eſteem. The Marquis des Eſſars returned to his Caſtle, and de Saint-Sauveur purſued his Road to Paris.

Nothing now was talked of but the famous Tournament that was to be held in England. The young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur catched the Contagion of the Times, and reſolved to embrace this Opportunity of ſhewing his Valour and Dexterity. He wrote Letters to his Father and to his Wife, excuſing his Abſence a few Weeks longer: and being quite eaſy with regard to the Chevalier, who, he was aſſured, was upon his Way to Paris, he embarked at Bourdeaux, as his Friend had done a ſhort Time before him, and arrived in England eight Days before the holding of the Tournament.

Mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars had taken private Lodgings in London, and aſſumed another Name: he gave Orders for a Suit of Armour to be made of the Colour of Aſhes, ſprinkled with ſilver Lilies, ſignifying [23] that he ſtill had Reaſons for concealing the Flames of his Love. His Deviſe was a Cupid in the Midſt of a Pile, kindled by a Lady, with this Motto: ‘He burns continually without being conſumed.’ He had a Plume of white Feathers on his Caſque. His Coat of Arms and the Furniture of his Horſe were of the ſame Colour, embroidered with Silver. Had the too credulous and unhappy Counteſs of Berci ſeen her Lover in this Equipage, her jealous Torments would have been changed into the ſofteſt Tranſports of Love and Gratitude, to ſee every Symbol of his myſterious Arms expreſſive of the Misfortunes he ſuffered upon her Account, and a Conſtancy which thoſe Misfortunes could not ſhake.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, on his Arrival, cauſed Armour to be made for him covered with bright Flames. On his Shield was repreſented the God of Marriage, holding a Lady of inchanting Beauty, tied with Bands of interweaved Lilies and Roſes, with this Motto: ‘Contented with the ſoft Bondage.’ His Plume of Feathers was Flame-Colour, and his Coat of Arms and Horſe's Furniture Flame-Colour likewiſe, richly embroidered with Gold.

[24]This magnificent Tournament, which was to laſt three Days, began before our Frenchmen's Armour was finiſhed, and this Delay mortified them extremely. By the Laws of the Tournament the Knights were to juſt with each other, with Lances tipped with Iron. He who fell in the Tilting, was not permitted to demand the Combat with the Sword: but if both the Combattants fell to the Ground, or if it happened that, after having broke two or three Lances againſt each other, they remained firm on their Horſes, in that Caſe they had a Right to demand the Combat with the Sword. If it happened alſo, that the Challengers ſhould be worſted by their Antagoniſts, the Victors were to take the Place of thoſe whom they had vanquiſhed, and were to challenge all Comers; and this Method was to be obſerved till the End of the Tournament. Such were the Laws which a Herald at Arms, by the King's Orders, publiſhed with Sound of Trumpet, the Evening before the Tournament. The Prize, which was to be beſtowed by this Prince, was a Sword of great Value and Antiquity, being that which had been wore by the renowned King Arthur, and likewiſe a Chain of rich Jewels. The Knight, who ſhould remain victorious, was to receive the Sword from the Hands of the Prince of Wales, and the Chain from thoſe of the young Princeſs of England. It was this Princeſs who afterwards was married to a Count Palatin of the Rhine.

[25]The King and the whole Court being ſeated on Scaffolds prepared for them, the Trumpets ſounded, and immediately four Engliſh Lords of great Eminence entered the Liſts as Challengers. Nothing could be more magnificent than their Arms and Equipages. They were followed by four other Engliſhmen habited like Turks, with Turbans on their Heads, Lances in their Hands, and Scymitars at their Sides. After theſe laſt had rode round the Liſts, they placed themſelves oppoſite to the Challengers, and at the Signal given by the Trumpets, the eight Knights ran againſt each other with ſuch Impetuoſity that their Lances were ſhivered in Pieces: the four Turks were thrown to the Ground this firſt Courſe, to the great Joy of the Spectators, who filled the Air with their Acclamations. More than thirty Aſſailants, who ſucceſſively preſented themſelves, found the ſame Fate, while the Challengers at moſt only loſt a Stirrup, or had ſome ſlight Accident; ſo that during the reſt of that Day no one was bold enough to encounter with ſuch redoutable Adverſaries: they left the Field victorious and triumphant, amidſt the Sound of warlike Inſtruments and Acclamations of all the admiring Spectators.

The next Day, as ſoon as the four Challengers had taken their Places, two Strangers, whoſe noble Mien ſeemed to promiſe great Bravery, appeared at the other End of the [26] Liſts. One of them was in blue Armour, and the other in green. Two of the four Challengers immediately advanced to receive them. They lowered their Lances one againſt another, and met with ſo fierce a Shock, that thoſe of the two Challengers being ſhivered to Pieces, they were thrown off their Horſes, and the two Strangers finiſhed their Carieer without being moved, to the great Aſtoniſhment of the whole Aſſembly. The two others who remained, ſeeing their Companions thus put out of the Combat, advanced full of a noble Rage to revenge the Shame of their Defeat. They turned their Arms immediately upon the Aſſailants, and all four performed one of the fineſt Courſes imaginable. However, they could not avoid being thrown out of their Saddles as the others had been; and the two Strangers, who had vanquiſhed the four Engliſhmen, of Aſſailants, became Challengers, and took their Places accordingly. All the Knights, who preſented themſelves during the reſt of the Day, were vanquiſhed with ſtill leſs Difficulty than the former. Night put an End to the Juſting, and the Victors went out of the Field with the ſame Pomp and the ſame. Acclamations, as had honoured the Triumph of the Conquerors the preceding Day.

The King of England, being deſirous to know who theſe two brave Men were, ſent ſome of his Courtiers to aſk them their [27] Names and Country. But they intreated his Majeſty's Pardon for not complying with his Requeſt till the Tournament was ended, when they would not fail to pay their Reſpects to him and take his Orders.

All this paſſed before the Chevalier des Eſſars could get his Armour. He was in terrible Uneaſineſs, leſt he ſhould be prevented from ſignaliſing himſelf in this Tournament, and a thouſand times curſt the Workman's Delay: at length on the third Day, and before the Liſts were opened, his Armour was brought: he put it on immediately, and appeared among the firſt in the Field; but with ſuch a noble Fierceneſs in his Air and Mien, that he ſoon drew the Eyes of the whole Aſſembly upon him.

The two Challengers of the Day before, ſeeing him advance towards them, judged by his Appearance that he would give them Exerciſe enough; and each chooſing a very ſtrong Lance, they prepared to reſiſt his Efforts. The Knight in green Armour firſt advanced towards him, and in the Middle of the Courſe met the Chevalier, who came pouring upon him like a Whirlwind: their Lances were ſhivered to pieces on each other's Caſque, and they finiſhed their Career without any Advantage being gained on either Side, which had never happened ſince the beginning of the Tournament. New Lances being brought them, they ran againſt each [28] other a ſecond time, but with more Force and Fury than the former. The Echoes on the Shores of Thames reverberated the Sound of their redoubled Blows, and the Acclamations of the admiring Spectators. The Chevalier des Eſſars loſt a Stirrup, and by the Vigour of his Adverſary was obliged to ſtoop even to his Saddle-bow: but the other at the ſame Inſtant was thrown with ſuch Force to the Earth, that it was with great Difficulty he was able to riſe again; immediately the Air was filled with joyful Acclamations which celebrated the firſt Triumph of our Hero.

The Knight in blue Armour, impatient to repair the Diſgrace of him with whom he had acquired ſo much Glory the preceding Day, advanced immediately to meet the Chevalier. The whole Aſſembly, in an uninterrupted Silence, kept their Eyes fixed upon the two Warriors. They met with equal Impetuoſity, and ran three times againſt each other, without being ſhaken in their Saddles, to the great Aſtoniſhment of the Spectators, who were charmed with the Novelty of ſuch a Combat. Each having broke three Lances, they had Recourſe to their Swords. And if in juſting they had diſcovered uncommon Skill and Strength, in this fierce Conflict they gave Proofs of the moſt exalted Valour. The Chevalier, mad with Rage to ſee a Man againſt whom he had broke three Lances, ſtill firm in his Saddle, [29] aimed ſo ſure a Stroke at him and with ſuch Force, that he made ſome Pieces of his Armour fly off: his Adverſary, reſuming new Courage from the Diſdain he felt that ſuch an Advantage had been gained over him, redoubled his Efforts, and took ample Vengeance on the Chevalier. The Spectators were ſeized with Horror at a Combat ſo obſtinate and fierce; it had already laſted more than an Hour, while neither of them had ſtopped to take Breath. Their Horſes were covered with Sweat and Duſt, and the Blood ran down from ſeveral Places.

The Chevalier, now perceiving that the Strength of his Antagoniſt began to fail, retreated a few Steps back, and ſpoke to him in this Manner: ‘Noble Unknown, your Valour is greater than mine, although I have been more ſucceſsful than you: therefore, ſince Fortune has openly declared in my Favour, content yourſelf with having given ſuch noble Proofs of Courage, and ſuffer our Conteſt to end. I eſteem and admire you for your heroic Valour; and it would fill me with Grief, if ſo brave a Man ſhould by my Sword loſe a Life which I would preſerve with the Hazard of my own.’

‘Whoever you are, replied the Unknown, I return you Thanks for your Civility: but do not imagine that I will yield the Honour of this Day but with my Life; and [30] I will ſell it dearly.’ The Combat was now renewed with more Fury than before: but it was eaſily perceived, that the Knight in blue Armour was greatly weakened, and that, although he diſcovered amazing Courage and Reſolution, yet it was with Difficulty he kept his Ground: but the Chevalier des Eſſars, always equal to himſelf, ſhewed by his unabated Strength and Vigour, that Victory, after having ſo long balanced between him and the brave Unknown, was going to declare for him, and that, together with the Prize, the Glory of this celebrated Tournament would be his.

The Engliſh Monarch, charmed with the Valour of theſe Rivals, commanded the Judges of the Field to ſeparate them, that the Triumph of the Victor might not be ſullied with the Death of the worthy Rival of his Glory, nor ſo noble a Solemnity be ſtained with an Event ſo tragical. He afterwards decreed a Prize to be given to the four firſt Challengers who had been Victors the firſt Day, and another for the two Strangers who had triumphed the ſecond Day: the firſt Prize of all he reſerved for our Hero, in caſe he ſhould not be vanquiſhed by ſome other Knight before the End of the Day.

The whole Aſſembly, aſtoniſhed at the great Actions performed by the Chevalier, could not believe that any Perſon would be [31] daring enough to preſent themſelves to fight with ſo redoutable an Antagoniſt, but they were deceived: the brave Marquis de Saint-Sauveur waited with an extreme Impatience for the End of the Combat that he might offer himſelf.

The Chevalier des Eſſars, having quitted the Judges who ſeparated him and his Adverſary, remained now ſole Challenger: the Marquis going up to him, ſaluted him with great Reſpect; and obſerving that his Armour was all hacked, and his Horſe and himſelf all covered with Sweat and Duſt, ‘Brave Stranger, ſaid he, it is with Reluctance that impelled by the Deſire of Fame I demand the Combat with you: You who have but juſt finiſhed one in which you have acquired ſo much Glory, while I bring to the Field a Body not weakened by Fatigue, and Armour unpierced. But if you will be ſo generous as to join your Intreaties with mine, we will endeavour to prevail upon the Engliſh Monarch to give us ſome diſtant Day, in order that you may recruit your Strength, and meet me with leſs Diſadvantage.’

‘Sir, replied the Chevalier, I am obliged to you for your good Intention; but, thank Heaven! I do not find myſelf ſo much fatigued, but that I can accept the Honour you deſign me now.’ At theſe Words they engaged, and a noble Combat enſued. [32] Victory ſtood ſuſpended for more than half an Hour, and the Chevalier was ſo hard preſſed by this brave Rival, that the Aſſembly was full of Fear, leſt he ſhould loſe at laſt the Honour of the Day. But at length a lucky Stroke, which fell with unreſiſted Force on the Neck of the Marquis, threw him off his Horſe, and at the ſame Time his Caſque fell off likewiſe, the Strings having been cut by the ſame Stroke. The two Strangers, who had been vanquiſhed by the Chevalier, and had ſtaid in the Field to view the Combat, inſtantly knew the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and ran to hinder his Antagoniſt from making Uſe of the Advantage he had over him. But he was riſen before they came to his Aſſiſtance; and the Chevalier, who now knew him alſo, was ſeized with Grief for the Victory he had gained over the Brother of his Miſtreſs. He choſe rather to loſe the Prize of the Tournament which he had ſo nobly won, than diſcover himſelf to the Marquis, and reſolved to withdraw that Moment, ſuppoſing that it would be adjudged to him who ſtaid laſt in the Field. But before he went away, he returned him his Sword, which the Marquis had let fall, and he had taken up.

‘Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur, ſaid he, I ought to have known you by the Marks you gave of your Valour, before I diſcovered your Face, and to have voluntarily abandoned to you an Honour which I now [33] ſee myſelf conſtrained to yield to your Victory, for you are ſtill unſubdued. Enjoy then your Glory and the Prize due to your Virtue, which I honour and love; and be perſuaded that I have no leſs Regret at having diſputed it with you, than Ardour for your Service.’

Saying this, without waiting for any Anſwer from the Marquis, who was in the utmoſt Aſtoniſhment at a Generoſity ſo unexampled, he mounted his Horſe, and war going out of the Field, but the Marquis ſtopping him eagerly, ‘No, Sir, ſaid he, I will not ſuffer you to triumph over me this Way. I have no Pretenſions to gather thoſe Laurels you have watered with your Blood, nor to enjoy the Prize you have merited by ſuch heroic Valour. I conjure you do not ſeek to cover me with Shame and Confuſion, by reſigning to me an Honour due only to yourſelf.’

The Judges approaching them, and great Crowds of Spectators preiling round them, the Chevalier found it impoſſible to eſcape, 'I proteſt (ſaid he to the Marquis, alighting from his Horſe) ‘againſt the Violence you do me; and I will continue here only to accompany you in your Triumph.’ With theſe Words he took off his Caſque, and threw himſelf into the Arms of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who, tranſported with Joy and Wonder, claſped him cloſe to his Breaſt, [34] ‘Ah! my dear Friend, cried he, and would you thus have ſtolen yourſelf away from a Man who loves you with ſo much Tenderneſs, and fly from one that has ſo anxiouſly ſought you.’ The two Strangers now advanced, and taking off their Caſques diſcovered themſelves to be the Chevalier de Morigny and the young Count of Berci: they all four embraced expreſſing, the higheſt Joy at this unexpected Meeting.

But now the Judges of the Field interrupted their mutual Embraces to lead them to the King's Scaffold. They all threw themſelves at the Feet of this Monarch, who gave them the Praiſes due to their Valour, although it was apparent that he ſaw with Regret the Glory of that Day carried off from his own Subjects by a rival Nation.

The Prince and Princeſs were juſt going to preſent the Prize to the Chevalier, who kneeled to receive it, when another Knight appeared in the Liſts, and riding haſtily up to the King's Scaffold, alighted from his Horſe and threw himſelf at his Majeſty's Feet, ‘Permit one of your own Subjects, my gracious Lord, ſaid he, to demand the Combat with this brave Warrior before you beſtow the Prize. There is ſtill Day enough left to redeem the Honour of our Nation; if not, Night can not come too to cover our Diſgrace.’

[35]The whole Aſſembly, who had with Shame and Grief beheld the Victory in the Hands of the French, ſent forth loud Acclamations of Joy at this generous Requeſt. The King's Eyes ſparkled with Pleaſure, but apprehenſive that the French Noblemen might think themſelves injured, if, after having the Victory adjudged to them, he ſhould permit it to be again diſputed, he remained ſilent and penſive, unwilling to refuſe and unreſolved to grant. The Chevalier des Eſſars, perceiving his Embarraſsment, haſtened to relieve him from it, 'Great Prince,' ſaid he, advancing towards him, ‘the Laws of the Tournament will not be violated by granting the Requeſt of this Knight. The Hours which remain of this Day are more than ſufficient to transfer the Glory of it to him, if Fortune ſo pleaſes, or to ſecure it to me by his Defeat.’

Saying this, and without waiting for the King's Anſwer, he mounted his Horſe and was preparing to enter the Liſts, when the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and his three other illuſtrious Friends all at once ſeizing the Bridle, ſtopped him and declared, that they would firſt try the Force of this Engliſh Knight; and if they were overcome, they ſhould have this Conſolation in their Diſgrace that he was ſtill reſerved to redeem their Fame. The Chevalier with Reluctance yielded to the Arguments of his Friends, and [36] then a generous Conteſt enſued between them who ſhould firſt engage the Engliſh Champion: but the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur's Claim was generally admitted, as he had entered the Liſts laſt.

The Engliſh Knight, who had waited with Impatience for the End of their Conteſt, now approached and told the Chevalier, That, although he ſhould be fortunate enough to vanquiſh his Countrymen, yet he did not doubt but their Valour would leave him in ſuch a Condition, that he might with leſs Shame engage with him, who had ſuſtained their firſt Efforts.

The Knights now took their Stands, the Judges of the Field reſumed their Places, the King and the whole Court ſat attentive to the approaching Combat, and the whole Aſſembly with beating Hearts and anxious Impatience expected the Event. At length the Trumpets ſounded, the Engliſh Knight and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur ſpurred forward with equal Fury, but with different Succeſs. The Marquis was thrown out of his Saddle, and the Engliſh Knight finiſhed his Career without being moved in his Seat.

This firſt Omen of Victory was received with loud Shouts of Joy. The young Count of Berci immediately prepared to run againſt the Vanquiſher, and taking a Lance out of [37] the Chevalier's Hands, ‘May this be propitious to me!’ ſaid he; and ſpurring forwards, ſtruck it with ſuch Force on the Caſque of the Engliſh Knight that it ſhivered in Pieces, but received at the ſame Time ſuch a weighty Blow from his Hand, that, after reeling a Moment in his Saddle, he fell to the Ground, ſo ſtunned both with the Blow and the Fall, that he was not able to riſe without Help.

A ſecond time the Shouts of the raviſhed Engliſh celebrated the Victory, and gave new Spirits to their brave Champion. Shame and Indignation filled the Minds of the Chevalier des Eſſars and Morigny; ſcarce could the former reſtrain his Impetuoſity and hinder himſelf from ruſhing to meet this redoutable Foe: but he would not invade the Right of his Friend, who having now received a Lance from the Judges of the Field, ſettled himſelf firm in his Saddle, and all collected in his Strength, advanced to the Encounter. The Lances a Moment after were ſeen to ſhiver in Pieces with the Violence of their Strokes, but both kept their Seats and finiſhed their Career with equal Succeſs.

This Equality gave the Engliſh ſome little Uneaſineſs. A Pauſe in the good Fortune of their Hero was not what they expected. The Heart, elated by Succeſs, extravagant in its Wiſhes, and vain in its Hopes, is the [38] more expoſed to Diſappointments, and aggravates the ſlighteſt Loſs.

The Judges of the Field having put two other Lances in the Hands of the Combatants, again they met, again the faithleſs Weapons eluded their Rage, and ſpending their harmleſs Force upon each other's Armour, ſhivered again to Pieces with the Strokes: they tried a third, and ſtill with the ſame Succeſs. And now the furious Warriors had Recourſe to the Sword: in one Inſtant they both alighted. The Engliſh Knight received a Wound in his left Arm, and the Blood was ſeen to ſtream down his Armour: but the Chevalier de Morigny, eager to ſecond his Blow, ruſhed forwards with ſuch Impetuoſity upon his Antagoniſt, that he received the Point of his Sword full in his right Side, and ſtaggering with the Pain, his Weapon forſook his Hand, and he fell ſenſeleſs at the Feet of his Conqueror.

At this Sight the Aſſembly rent the Air with their joyful Acclamations. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and the Count of Berci, full of Grief and Conſternation, ran to raiſe their fallen Friend: mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars advanced with a generous Indignation to meet the Victor, who was now remounted and ready to receive him. The loud Applauſes of the Spectators were now converted into a ſilent Attention. This laſt Combat was to decide the Conqueſt, [39] and give the Glory of the Tournament to their own Countryman, or transfer all the Laurels he had gained to the victorious Frenchman. Both brought an equal Ardour to the Combat; both were ſtimulated by a Motive equally great and generous, the Honour of their ſeveral Nations.

The Engliſh ſent forth a loud Shout, when they ſaw their Champion bound from his Poſt and ruſh like a Whirlwind upon his Foe: but the Chevalier received him firmly in his Saddle, and without being the leaſt moved by his furious Onſet, preſented his Shield to the flying Lance on which it broke to Pieces, at the ſame darting his own at his Antagoniſt which hit him with ſuch Force that he reeled in his Saddle, loſt a Stirrup, and with Difficulty kept himſelf from falling. The Engliſh turned pale with Fear at this Advantage, while the Friends of the Chevalier des Eſſars, who knew the Greatneſs of his Strength and Courage, beheld it with a Confidence that ſhewed they were ſecure of Victory. In the ſecond Career the Engliſh Knight loſt a Stirrup again: but the Chevalier was ſo rudely ſhaken that he was ſeen to ſtoop even to his Saddle bow. However, the third finiſhed the Conteſt, to the utmoſt Glory of the Engliſh Champion, who run ſo furiouſly againſt the Chevalier, that with the Violence of the Shock he was thrown to the Ground. The Air reſounded with the rapturous [40] Acclamations of the whole Aſſembly, when the Victor alighting from his Horſe, approached his brave Rival, who had lightly leaped from the Ground almoſt as ſoon as he fell.

‘Noble Sir, ſaid he with, a graceful Modeſty, as I entered the Liſts only to redeem the Honour of my Countrymen, I pretend not to the Prize of the Tournament which your Valour has well deſerved, and I diſclaim all other Praiſe, but that of being found equal to you, who have ſo bravely maintained the Honour of your Nation.’

The Chevalier des Eſſars, charmed with his Generoſity and Politeneſs, took his Hand and preſſing it between his, ‘There is no Diſgrace in being vanquiſhed by ſo brave an Enemy, ſaid he; the Prize as well as the Glory of this Day, are due only to you.’

The Judges of the Field approaching, they led the Victor to the King's Scaffold. That Monarch, tranſported with Joy that the Glory of this Tournament had been preſerved to his own Subjects, and full of Admiration for the Valour of this Britiſh Hero, deſcended two or three Steps that he might raiſe him with his own Hand. The noble Victor taking off his Caſque, the ſame Inſtant, made himſelf known to be the [41] brave Earl of Selkirk. The King felt an Increaſe of Pleaſure, when he found that his own Country had produced this blooming Champion, and after having honoured him with an affectionate Embrace, he commanded the young Princeſs his Daughter to bind the Chain of Jewels on his Neck with her own Hands, and the Prince of Wales himſelf girded on the Sword, making him at the ſame Time a graceful Complement on his Courage and Skill. All this While the Air reſounded with the joyful Acclamations of the whole Aſſembly, and the Name of Selkirk was ſhouted by ten thouſand different Tongues at once.

The Victor, diſcovering a little Confuſion at ſuch loud Applauſe, took Occaſion to mention the gallant Frenchmen, extolling in the higheſt Terms the Generoſity and Politeneſs of the laſt Challenger. The King immediately diſpatched the Judges of the Field to the four brave Frenchmen, who were engaged in a tender and intereſting Converſation, with his Requeſt that they would come to his Scaffold. Accordingly they followed the Judges, and kneeling kiſſed the Hand of the Britiſh Monarch, who, after giving great Praiſes to their Valour, preſented each of them with a fine Horſe with rich Furniture, and a Chain of Gold with a large Medal of the ſame Metal, on which was engraved his own Portrait: and underſtanding that the Chevalier des Eſſars was in [42] Diſgrace in his own Court, he offered him a very large Penſion, if he would enter into his Service, which the Chevalier politely refuſed, as he had done the Archduke when he made the ſame Offer to him: but expreſſed at the ſame Time the higheſt Acknowledgement for the Honour his Majeſty did him.

But it is now Time to account to the Reader for the accidental. Meeting of the young Count of Berci, and the Chevalier de Morigny, at the celebrated Engliſh Tournament. The Count of Berci, after having travelled through all Germany, Switzerland and Flanders, in Search of Verague, came at length to Holland, where he was not more ſucceſsful: tired out with his fruitleſs Search, he determined to go to England, and if he did not meet with this Aſſaſſin there to return directly to France. The Chevalier de Morigny was cruiſing near the Iriſh Seas in a Malteſe Galley, in order to give Chace to ſome Corſairs, according to the Engagements of his Profeſſion, when a violent Storm caſt him upon the Coaſt of England. While his Veſſel was refitting, he came to London, where he propoſed to ſtay a few Days to refreſh himſelf after the Dangers and Fatigues he had ſuffered at Sea.

As he was walking one Day, examining the Buildings and other Things worthy of Curioſity in that great City, he ſaw a young [43] Gentleman at a Diſtance, who he thought had greatly the Air and Look of Monſieur de Berci, Brother to his Friend the Count, and as he approached nearer, he found it was really he. The Chevalier de Morigny haſtily advanced to meet him, and embracing him, expreſſed the higheſt Satisfaction at ſo unexpected an Encounter. The Count, equally ſurpriſed and pleaſed at the Sight of the Chevalier, returned his Embrace with an affectionate Warmth. The Chevalier carried the Count home to his own Lodgings, and as he was not yet ſettled, obliged him to accept of an Apartment with him; after which they gave each other a mutual Account of all that had happened to them ſince they laſt parted.

The unfortunate Death of the Count of Berci, which the Chevalier now firſt heard of, drew Tears in great Abundance from his Eyes; he lamented the Sufferings of his injured Widow, and expreſſed a generous Rage at the unworthy Suſpicions which had been caſt on the brave Chevalier des Eſſars. The young Count of Berci, whoſe Eyes had overflowed at the melancholy Recital of his Brother's Fate, proceeded to acquaint the Chevalier de Morigny with the Marriage of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, which was ſo far from giving him any jealous Emotions, that he felt a ſincere Joy for their Happineſs, which in ſome Meaſure alleviated [44] his Concern for the Misfortunes of the reſt of that Family.

The Preparations, which were then making all over London for the Tournament, inſpired the young Count of Berci with an eager Deſire to make one of the Combatants, and he earneſtly intreated the Chevalier de Morigny not to leave London without taking Advantage of this Opportunity to give ſome Proofs of that Valour which had already gained him ſo great Reputation. The Chevalier, tho' fired at the Thoughts of diſtinguiſhing himſelf at this Tournament, yet objected the new Engagements of his Profeſſion, which did not permit him to ſeek oſtentatious Occaſions of exerciſing his Valour: but to employ it in the Service of Religion, and in revenging upon the Infidels the Depredations and Cruelties they were daily committing upon thoſe Chriſtians who were ſo unhappy as to fall into their Hands. The Count of Berci eaſily found Arguments to anſwer all he could urge againſt his Requeſt, and the Chevalier ſuffered himſelf to be perſuaded to what indeed he was ſufficiently inclined of himſelf.

But we will now return to our four gallant Frenchmen, who as ſoon as they retired to their Lodgings after the noble Exploits of the Day, renewed their Embraces and tender Expreſſions of Joy for a Meeting ſo happy and ſo unexpected, The Chevalier [45] des Eſſars, being now informed by the Marquis of the urgent Reaſons which recalled him to the Court of France, reſolved to wait on the King of England, to take Leave of him, and ſet out inſtantly for Paris. But, it not being poſſible for them to be introduced till after his Majeſty had dined, they were obliged to moderate their Impatience. That Prince received them very graciouſly, praiſed their Valour in very high Terms, and obligingly expreſſed his Concern that he could not detain ſuch brave Men longer in his Court. A Servant of the Chevalier's having been diſpatched to Dover, to hire a Packet-boat for their Paſſage, they returned to their Lodgings, in order to have every Thing prepared for their Departure the next Day.

They were juſt going to ſit down to Supper, when they were told that a French Gentleman, who ſeemed to be in great Emotions, deſired to be inſtantly introduced to them. They gave Orders for his Admittance, and he entered the Room immediately afterwards, but inſtead of declaring his Name and Buſineſs, as they all expected, he threw himſelf at the Feet of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and burſt into Tears.

The Chevalier, extremely ſurpriſed at this Action, endeavoured with great Gentleneſs to raiſe him, but to no purpoſe; he continued ſtill kneeling, and ſeemed unable to [46] ſpeak through the Violence of his Emotions: at length he ventured to raiſe his Head; but his Eyes, which were drowned in Tears, had no ſooner encountered thoſe of the Chevalier, than he haſtily withdrew them again, and his Head ſinking upon his Boſom, he gave Way to another Burſt of Tears.

Mean time the Gentlemen, loſt in Aſtoniſhment, ſtared upon each other expecting ſome one would ſpeak and unfold the Meaning of ſo ſtrange a Scene. The Chevalier again made an Attempt to raiſe the unhappy Man from his Feet, when he with a ſupplicating Look beſpeaking his Attention, and a Voice low and trembling thus ſpoke:

‘You ſee, Gentlemen, before you, a Wretch unworthy the Light of Heaven. Oh how can I tell you, who I am? How can I make the ſhocking Recital of my Crimes? My Blood congeals with Horror at the Remembrance of what I have done, impelled by a blind Paſſion, and acting under the Influence of falſe Honour. I have deſtroyed my Soul: Terror and Remorſe have ſeized me, in the Torments of my Conſcience, ever ſince the Perpetration of my Crime, I have too ſure an Earneſt of Damnation. Behold in me the Aſſaſſin of the Count of Berci, I come to offer myſelf a voluntary Victim to your Vengeance, ſtrike, ſtrike, my Lord,’ purſued [47] he to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur; tearing open his Coat and extending his Arms, ‘ſtrike the Murderer of your Siſter's Huſband; or do you, moſt noble, moſt injured Gentleman, ſaid he,’ turning to the Chevalier, ‘you whoſe ſpotleſs Fame has been blackened with my Deed, do you plunge your Sword into my Breaſt, and give me a Death too honourable for my Deſert. Alas! I acknowledge I ought to die in Torments for the Murder I have committed. I reſign myſelf into your Hands; let me ſuffer all the Rigour of the Law, I ſhall then have this Satisfaction in my juſtly merited Puniſhment, that I cleared your Innocence before I died.’

The pale, wan Countenance of the ſelf-condemned, unhappy Wretch, his emaciated Body, the deep Deſpair that ſat on every Feature, and glared wild Horror in his Eyes, his mournful Action, altogether ſo moved the Hearts of our generous Frenchmen, that they felt hardly any other Emotions than thoſe of Pity for a Man who had been ſo long the Subject of their Execrations, and whom they had reſolved to ſacrifice to their juſt Revenge. But the Chevalier, hardening his Heart by the Remembrance of his dear Counteſs's Sufferings, with a Sternneſs in his Voice and Eyes, that ſtruck Terror to the Soul of the poor Criminal, though he ſought Death, cried: ‘Oh! [48] Wretch, thy Hand deprived a brave and worthy Nobleman of Life, and brought Sorrow, Shame, Impriſonment and almoſt Death upon his Widow; a Woman whoſe Virtues are a Glory to her Sex. What puniſhment can equal thy Crime?’

'Alas! Monſieur,' interrupted the wretched Verague, 'I carry my Puniſhment 'about me. Here (purſued he, vehemently ſtriking his Breaſt) do I feel my Hell begun. ‘But, alas! I did not kill the Count of Berci in Malice, nor did I mean to kill him. Anxious to preſerve the Honour of a Woman I loved, and who had indeed intruſted it to my keeping, I ſtruggled to free myſelf from the Count, who holding me faſt, called aloud for Lights, in order to diſcover who I was; to prevent this, I aimed a Stroke at the Arm with which he held me, all I intended being to diſable him; but he, alas! received it in his Side. I fled confounded with Fear and Guilt, but Anguiſh and Remorſe purſued me: that Life I had taken ſuch guilty Pains to ſave, became inſupportable to me. All I wiſhed was to clear your Fame; and I reſolved to do it by delivering myſelf up to Juſtice. Full of theſe Thoughts, an Inclination which I had no Power to reſiſt, drew me to the Tournament. Alas! I had no Eyes for Shew, no Taſte for Diverſion: but driven along [49] by a ſecret Impulſe, I mixed with the Croud which ſurrounded the Liſts. I knew you all, Gentlemen, immediately upon your taking off your Caſques. Providence, I thought, concurred with my Wiſhes in affording me an Opportunity to ſatisfy your Vengeance: I followed you hither, prepared to die by your Hands, or meet a more ſevere Fate from thoſe Laws which I have ſo greatly offended.’

The Chevalier, ſenſibly affected with ſo ſtriking a Proof of Penitence and awakened Honour, would that Moment have raiſed the unhappy Youth and bid him hope for Mercy, had he not thought it juſt to leave him wholly in the Power of the Count of Berci and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, whoſe near Relation to the noble Deceaſed, gave them a better Right to diſpoſe of the Deſtiny of his Murderer. They perceived his Thoughts by the ſupplicating Look he gave them, in Behalf of the wretched Offender; and both being greatly moved at the unfeigned Remorſe he diſcovered, aſſentingly bowed to the Chevalier, who then raiſed the unhappy Criminal, and giving him a compaſſionate Look, which penetrated to his Heart, ‘You have, ſaid he, by thus voluntarily delivering yourſelf into our Hands, given ſo convincing a Proof of your Penitence, that we cannot doubt of the Truth of thoſe Circumſtances which you alledge in Extenuation of your Guilt. [50] I am, therefore, at Liberty to aſſure you, that we remit all Thoughts of Vengeance againſt you: but it is neceſſary that you ſhould make a public Confeſſion of your Crime, that the Innocence of the Counteſs of Berci may be fully cleared. That done, I will endeavour to ſoften the Rigour of your Sentence, and ſince you have voluntarily ſurrendered yourſelf up to Juſtice, Mercy, I hope, will find you.’

Verague could no otherways reply to ſuch a generous Speech than by a low Bow, and Eyes running over with Tears of Gratitude and Joy. The Chevalier conſigned him to the Care of their Domeſtics, and they now ſat down to Supper with great Satisfaction, nor forgot to bleſs and praiſe that Providence, which by ſuch unexpected Means, had brought into their Power, the only Perſon who could clear the Innocence of the two illuſtrious Accuſed.

Early the next Morning, they took Leave of the Chevalier de Morigny, who was ſoon to return to Malta, and ſet out for Dover, taking Verague along with them. They embarked immediately on board a ſmall Veſſel, although the Sailors aſſured them that they were threatened with a Storm, and notwithſtanding all the frightful Preſages of Danger and of Death ſuch was their Impatience to get to France, that they inſiſted [51] abſolutely upon weighing Anchor: but we will now leave them to croſs that Arm of the Sea which ſeparates England from France, and return to Paris, where we left the lovely and unfortunate Counteſs of Berci a Prey to the moſt cruel Deſpair.

After a Stay of ten Days in Paris, ſhe concluded the Search for her would be pretty well over, and that ſhe might now proſecute her Journey to Gaſcony with ſafety. Accordingly ſhe mounted her Horſe early in the Morning, and attended by her new Servant, went out of Paris. She had not rode above half a League from that City, when ſhe ſaw at ſome Diſtance a Man on Horſeback riding very faſt towards it; as he approched nearer ſhe fancied ſhe had ſeen him before, and at length plainly knew him to be the Turnkey who had delivered her from the Little Chatelet. Her earneſt Gazing upon this Man having attracted his Attention, he ſoon diſcovered beneath that ſtrange Diſguiſe the Features of his lovely Priſoner. Overjoyed that he had found her, and that he ſhould be able to acquit himſelf of the Commiſſion his Maſter had given him, he rode up to her and ſaid ſoftly, for fear her ſervant ſhould hear, ‘I have a Meſſage from the Chevalier des Eſſars.

At the Sound of that Name the Blood forſook the fair Cheeks of Madam de Berci, [52] an univerſal Trembling ſeized her, ſhe dropt the Reins from her Hand, and would doubtleſs have fallen off her Horſe, had not this faithful Servant of the Chevalier, perceiving her Emotion, haſtily diſmounted and aſſiſted her to do ſo likewiſe. The Counteſs a little recovered from her firſt Surpriſe, ordered her Lacquey to take Care of the Horſes, and then retiring with the Turnkey to the Shade of ſome Trees at a little Diſtance from the great Road, ſhe aſked him with a faltering Voice, ‘What he had to ſay to her?’

Du Pons, for that was his Name, then informed her of his fortunate Meeting with the Chevalier, who had delivered him out of the Hands of the Archers; that ever ſince he had lived with him in the Quality of his Valet de Chambre, and that upon his Departure for England a few Days ago, he had ordered him to go to Burgundy, and deliver her a Letter; that not finding her in that Province, and hearing ſhe was in Paris, he had determined to ſeek her in that City, and deliver his Maſter's Letter to her, tho' at the Hazard of his Life. Saying this, he took a Letter out of his Pocket and preſented it to her, adding that his Maſter intended only to be preſent at the famous Tournament which was held in England, and would return again immediately to France.

[53]The Counteſs opened the Letter with a trembling Impatience, ſhe found it filled with the tendereſt Aſſurances of Love and Conſtancy, and a Promiſe of ſoon throwing himſelf at her Feet, notwithſtanding all the Obſtacles which oppoſed it. ‘Ah! Traitor, cried ſhe when ſhe had read it through,’ ‘muſt thou add Perjury to Ingratitude, and Deceit to Inconſtancy?’ The Tears which ran in great Abundance from her charming Eyes, as ſhe pronounced theſe Words, gave the Man ſome Suſpicions of the true State of her Heart. ‘I am very ſorry, Madam, ſaid he to her, to have been the Meſſenger of News which ſeem to give you ſo much Pain.’ ‘Friend, replied the Counteſs, you may tell your Maſter that he might have ſpared this Inſtance of Deceit, nor attempted to impoſe upon one who too well knew his Inconſtancy: tell him I never more deſire to hear him named. His diſſembled Love has been the Ruin of my Reputation, and the Cauſe of all the Misfortunes of my Life, which his Infidelity will ſoon put a Period to.’

‘Ah! Madam, interrupted the faithful Du-Pons, do not, I conjure you load my Maſter with this unjuſt Reproach, nor deprive yourſelf of the Glory of being ſerved by the moſt faithful Lover that ever any Lady could boaſt.’

[54] ‘You ſurpriſe me greatly, Friend, anſwered the Counteſs, by this Language; but I conjure you, if you have not entirely loſt that Zeal you formerly expreſſed for my Service, or rather if your new Maſter has not corrupted your Mind, and rendered it as perfidious as his own, tell me the Truth, diſguiſe nothing from me. What could induce him to write to me in ſuch paſſionate Terms, when his Heart is enflamed by a new Object; an arcadian Huntreſs, added ſhe, ſmiling ſcornfully, a Puppet dreſt up with a Bow and Arrows, a mock Diana with a borrowed Form. Deſpicable Wretch! to fall from loving me to her.’

‘Good Heaven, Madam, interrupted the faithful Domeſtic of the Chevalier, how have, you ſuffered yourſelf to be deceived? What a cruel, what an unjuſt Opinion have you entertained of the beſt and braveſt of Men? Pardon, I beſeech you, Madam, the Freedom of my Expreſſions, and impute it to my Zeal for your Intereſt, and my Regard for Truth, my Maſter never loved the Lady you mention. His Uncle introduced him unawares into her Company, he beheld her with Indifference, and when in Obedience to the Commands of the old Marquis, who paſſionately wiſhed for an Alliance between them, he made her ſome Viſits, he behaved with a Coldneſs and [55] Reſerve which muſt have convinced her, his Heart was otherways engaged. He went to England with no other View but to avoid the Neceſſity of ſeeing her, or breaking entirely with his Uncle; and you may depend upon it, Madam, the Chevalier will never return into Gaſcony till he hears that young Lady is married, for her Beauty, in which ſhe yields to none of her Sex but to you, her immenſe Fortune, and the earneſt Deſires of his Uncle for this Match, were never able to ſhake his unalterable Affection for you.’

The Counteſs felt her Heart eaſed inſenſibly of part of its Grief by this honeſt and artleſs Defence of her Lover. But curious to know every Particular concerning this dreaded Rival, ſhe aſked Du Pons a hundred Queſtions about her. His Replies gave her infinite Satisfaction, for ſhe found ſhe was not inferiour to her in any of the Graces and Virtues of her Sex. The martial Spirit of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and her Taſte for maſculine Exerciſes, were Qualities indeed ſhe did not poſſeſs, and would have envied them in no other Woman but her Rival: but ſhe now fancied they gave peculiar Charms. She figured to herſelf a young and beautiful Girl dreſt in the pleaſing Extravagance of an Amazon, vaulting upon her Steed like a winged Mercury, as the Poet expreſſes it, and brandiſhing a Spear in one lovely Hand, and by its [56] graceful Motion ſhewing the beautiful Symmetry of her whole Form, her Eyes ſparkling with redoubled Rays, and her whole Countenance animated with that daring Spirit which diſtinguiſhed her from other Women, and exalts her Beauty to ſomething more than mortal.

Thus did her jealous Fancy paint Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt: ſhe admired the beautiful Picture; ſhe wiſhed to copy its Graces, emulous of that Part of her Rival's Character in which ſhe only could excel her, ſhe aſpired to the Fame of a warlike Beauty, ſhe would like her, ſtudy to be fiercely charming, in ſhort ſhe would be an Amazon, and was reſolved to give her Lover ſuch a Proof of her heroic Courage and Generoſity, as ſhould render her ſuperiour to her Rival in thoſe Qualities for which ſhe ſuppoſed he admired her.

This fantaſtic Deſign, thus ſuddenly formed, ſhe told Du Pons, that the account he had given of his Maſter having in part removed her Suſpicion, ſhe would deſiſt from the Enterpriſe ſhe had in hand when ſhe met him, and would return to Paris, but deſired that he would wait her Commands in Eſtampes, where he might remain concealed, and that he ſhould hear from her in a few Days. Du Pons, who had watched her Countenance, and ſaw in it a much greater Appearance of Tranquility and [57] Compoſure than before, was charmed that he had rendered ſuch an acceptable Piece of Service to his Maſter, as reſtoring him to the good Opinion of the Woman he ſo paſſionately loved, promiſed not to ſtir from Eſtampes till he received her Orders. Madam de Berci then took Leave of him, and mounting her Horſe, returned back to Paris, and went to her former Lodgings, from whence ſhe diſpatched her Servant to an Armourer to beſpeak a compleat Suit of Armour, and to finiſh it with all Expedition.

The Counteſs of Berci had formed no leſs a Deſign than to challenge the Count of Polan, in behalf of her Lover: if ſhe ſhould happen by ſome extraordinary Chance to overcome, the Glory was apparent, and if ſhe fell, as it was but too probable, ſhe ſhould at leaſt have the Satisfaction to die in Defence of the Man who had ungratefully abandoned her for a leſs worthy Woman. So extraordinary a Flight of Generoſity, would, as ſhe conceived, crown her with immortal Fame, and give her ſuch an Advantage over her Rival, as would leave her nothing to hope for whether ſhe lived or died, as it muſt fix her unalterably in the Chevalier's Affections.

The Reader will eaſily conceive, that the Reaſon of this unhappy Lady muſt be greatly diſturbed, otherways ſhe could not [58] have formed ſo ridiculous a Project. But there was female Pride, Envy, and Jealouſy at the Bottom, Paſſions very capable of inſpiring thoſe extravagant Deſigns which this poor Lady proſecuted with ſo much Ardour.

The Armour for our new Amazon was finiſhed, and brought home about ten Days before the Time preſcribed by the King for the Combat between the Count of Polan and the Chevalier des Eſſars. She put it on immediately, and being now armed from Head to Foot, ſhe fancied a Spirit unfelt before invigorated every Limb. Her Stature ſeemed taller than uſual, her Step was firmer, her Boſom glowed with martial Heat, and breathing Defiance and Deſtruction to all her Enemies, ſhe ſallied out of Paris with her faithful Attendant, and lodged that Night at Surene, from whence ſhe ſent her Servant the next Day with the following Letter to the Count of Polan.

To the Count of POLAN.

Count,

You have in the King's Preſence offered to fight an abſent Man whoſe very Looks you durſt not ſuſtain; and you have undertaken to maintain by Force of Arms the Truth of an Accuſation which you are not able to prove in a Court of Juſtice. Since the Abſence of the Chevalier [59] des Eſſars has given you this Boldneſs, the Juſtice of his Cauſe obliges me to ſhew you, that Envy and not Truth, is the Motive of your Proſecution. For this Purpoſe I expect you on the Plain of Surene, and am confident that I ſhall be able to repreſs your Inſolence and make you repent of the Injuſtice of your Procedure. Be not ſolicitous to know my Name, I will declare it after our Combat is over, if Fortune is ſo favourable to leave you your Life. At preſent be ſatiſfied with knowing that I am a friend of the Chevalier des Eſſars, whom you hate, and by Conſequence, am your mortal Enemy.

The Counteſs having informed her Servant where to find the Count of Polan, mounted immediately on Horſe-back compleatly armed, and went to attend the Count's coming, on the fine Plain which lies between Surene and the Abbey of Lonchamp, commanding her Servant to meet her there as ſoon as he had executed his Commiſſion.

This Domeſtic ſet out inſtantly on his little Journey, and being no leſs prompt in his Obedience, than faithful to his Truſt, although he knew not who his new Maſter was, he made ſuch Haſte that he found the Count of Polan ſtill in Bed, when one of his Pages, urged by his Importunity, [60] introduced him into his Lord's Apartment.

The Count was awake, ruminating on the Charms of the Counteſs of Berci, when her Challenge was put into his Hand. Little did he imagine that it was from ſo fair an Enemy, he received ſuch a fierce Defiance: after reading the Billet attentively, he began to conſider what he ought to do, in a Circumſtance ſo perplexing: he felt an extreme Curioſity to know who this Friend of the Chevalier was, who concealed his Name ſo carefully, yet was not afraid to expoſe his Life to defend his Honour and clear his Innocence. He aſked the Counteſs's Servant ſeveral Queſtions, but could draw nothing from him. He knew not what Expedient to uſe to ſatisfy this unknown Enemy: for brave and valiant as he was, he was ſenſibly grieved to be obliged to refuſe his Challenge. But he was not willing to make a private Duel forbidden by the Laws, of a Combat authoriſed by the King. He therefore reſolved to refuſe the Challenge, and anſwered the Letter he received, in the following Terms.

The Count of POLAN to his unknown Enemy.

‘It is true that to revenge the Death of my Brother I have offered, in the Abſence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, to fight, any [61] of his Friends, who ſhould undertake his Defence: but it is not true that I derive any Courage from his Abſence, or that I fear to meet him. You ſay, if I had been able to prove his Crime in a Court of Juſtice, I ſhould not have had Recourſe to Arms; this may be true: but you ought not to infer from thence, that my Procedure is the Effect of Envy and Malice. If you have as earneſt a Deſire to defend his Innocence, as I have to prove his Guilt, it is not neceſſary to chuſe the Plain of Surens for our Combat, ſince the King has himſelf appointed a Place for the Deciſion of this Affair by Arms. This is the only lawful Way of convincing his Majeſty, and the whole Kingdom, of the Juſtice of your Cauſe by the Succeſs of your Sword. You have only a few Days to wait, during which it will be prudent to moderate thoſe Sallies of your Rage, which rather merit my Contempt, than make you conſiderable. I ſhall not ſeek to know your Name, ſince you dare not diſcover it: but ſhall ſatisfy myſelf with knowing that you are my Enemy, and hope to prove by your Defeat, that you are but a weak Defender of the Chevalier des Eſſars,

'The Count of Polan.'

The Count, after delivering this Billet into the Hands of Madam de Berci's Servant, diſmiſſed him, and remained in great Perplexity [62] concerning the Name of this unknown Enemy, who with ſuch Boldneſs defied him to a Combat, their Sovereign had expreſsly forbid. At firſt he ſuſpected it was the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, with whom he had already fought, and who he ſuppoſed was not ſincerely reconciled to him. A Moment afterwards he imagined it was the Chevalier des Eſſars himſelf, who was deſirous of changing into a private Duel a Combat which the King had decreed to be public. Many different Suſpicions roſe in his Mind: but not being able to come to any Certainty, he reſolved to wait patiently for farther Information, and to ſubmit to the King's Orders, by referring all to a public Deciſion.

Mean Time our fair Challenger received the Count's Anſwer with great Concern. She found, ſhe ſhould be obliged to defer the Project her Head and Heart was full of, till the Time preſcribed by the King for the Combat: and not knowing what to do with herſelf the eight Days that ſtill remained, ſhe reſolved to retire to Eſtampes, where ſhe had a Kinſwoman, Abbeſs of a Convent, to whom ſhe could fly for Refuge, if ſhe happened to be diſcovered, and who would afford her a ſafe as well as honourable Aſylum.

While the Counteſs of Berci thus acted Extravagancies unworthy of her Sex, her [63] Modeſty and Prudence, the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, her Father, finding the Day of Combat approach without hearing any News either of the Chevalier, or his Son, became extremely enraged againſt them both. However he would not abandon the Intereſts of that Hero to whom he owed ſo many Obligations, but determined, notwithſtanding his Age and Weakneſs, to ſupport them againſt the Count of Polan. Likewiſe the old Marquis des Eſſars, having been informed by the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur of the State of his Nephew's Affairs at the Court of France, ſet out from Gaſcony a few Days after that young Nobleman left him, in order to undertake his Nephew's Defence, for his Heart miſgave him, that not knowing his Majeſty's Reſotion, he had taken another Rout.

Accordingly on the Day of Battle, three Champions for the Chevalier des Eſſars entered the Liſts. Theſe were the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, the Marquis des Eſſars, and the Counteſs of Berci; two feeble old Men and a Woman: yet in the two former the Want of Strength and Vigour was ſupplied by Courage and Reſolution, and in the latter by all thoſe Paſſions which Rage produces in the Breaſt of a Woman who loves, and believes herſelf ſlighted.

At the other End of the Liſts entered the young Count of Polan, completely armed; [64] and a few Moments afterwards came the King, the Queen, the Princes of the Blood, the Peers of France, and all the great Officers of the Crown: four of whom were eſtabliſhed Judges of the Combat according to the ancient Laws and Cuſtoms of the Kingdom.

When their Majeſties were ſeated upon their Scaffold, the three unknown Knights advanced and ſaluted them without diſcovering themſelves, but only declared that they were come to defend the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, not only againſt the Count of Polan, but againſt all thoſe who ſhould dare to accuſe him of having killed the late Count of Polan otherways than as a Man of Honour ſhould in a fair Duel. They then intreated his Majeſty, that they three might be permitted to fight with the Count of Polan, and any two of his Friends whom he ſhould chuſe: but the Count would have no Second, and offered to fight them one after another as long as he had any Strength left.

The King would grant neither of their Requeſts. He commanded the three Unknown to draw Lots who ſhould fight with the Count of Polan, and declared, that if he, upon whom the Lot ſhould fall, ſhould be vanquiſhed, neither of the others ſhould be permitted to ſupport the Intereſts of the Chevalier des Eſſars, but that the Combat [65] ſhould end with the Defeat of the firſt. Although this Decree was abſolutely juſt, yet the three Unknown were ſenſibly grieved at it: each dreaded he ſhould be excluded from the Combat, but our fair Champion was in deſpair, ſhe ſuſpected her bad Fortune would deny her the Glory of defending her Lover's Fame, and by that Means of enjoying his Affections undivided; but there was no Remedy, ſhe was obliged to ſubmit, and advanced with the two others who were required to tell their Names. Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur anſwered the firſt, that he was called the Knight of the Eagle; the Marquis des Eſſars, that he was the Knight of the Lion, and Madam de Berci called herſelf the Knight without Hope, to expreſs her unhappy Situation.

Theſe Names being writ, each upon a ſmall Bit of Paper, they were put into an Urn, and a little Boy, who was there for that purpoſe, was juſt preparing to draw them when a fourth Combatant appeared in the Liſts, who ſoon drew the Eyes of the whole Aſſembly upon him. He was mounted on a Spaniſh Genet, white as the driven Snow, his Arms of the ſame Colour, and richly adorned with Silver. The Deviſe upon his Shield was a Cupid who ſlung himſelf among a great Quantity of Darts and Javelins, with this Motto: Notwithſtanding I am defenceleſs, yet I fear not their Points.

[66]After ſaluting the King and Queen, without diſcovering himſelf any more than the others had done, he told his Majeſty, that, having more Intereſt in this Combat than any of thoſe who had preſented themſelves, he deſired his Juſtice would interpoſe, and give him the Preference, or at leaſt that he might be permitted to draw Lots with them.

The King granted the latter Part of his Requeſt, and the New Comer ſtyling himſelf the Knight of Monſieur des Eſſars, that Title was wrote upon a Bit of Paper which was put into the Caſque with the others; they ſhook them a long Time together, while each with mingled Hope, Fear and Impatience, waited to ſee in whoſe Favour Fortune would declare herſelf. At length the Boy drew the laſt Comer's Billet out of the Caſque: the three others were greatly grieved at their Diſappointment, and equally complained of his Arrival, and their own ill Luck.

The Judges now commanded the Field to be cleared. The Combatants withdrew to their ſeveral Places, the Trumpets gave the Signal, and after having taken their Career they ſpurred their Horſes towards each other, and met with ſuch Violence that their Lances, ſtriking againſt the Viſors of their Helmets, broke in a thouſand Pieces: they now drew their Swords and began a [67] new Combat with equal Fury and with equal Succeſs. The Count of Polan was with Juſtice thought one of the moſt valiant Men in France, nor was his Enemy inferiour to him either in Strength, Skill or Agility. The Combat had now laſted above an Hour without any viſible Advantage on either Side; the Judges obliged them to take Breath for ſome Moments, and while with a gloomy ſilence they darted fiery Glances at each other, the Aſſembly, loſt in Admiration of their Courage and Valour, ſent forth loud Shouts of Applauſe, and expected the Event of ſuch an extraordinary Combat with extreme Impatience.

Some made Vows for one, ſome for the other, as their different Paſſions were engaged: but the two old Marquis's and the Counteſs of Berci, although grieved that they were deprived of the Glory of ſuch a Day, implored with Ardour the Aſſiſtance of Heaven in Favour of him, who with ſo much Honour, ſupported the Cauſe of the Chevalier des Eſſars.

The two Combatants were preparing to renew the Fight, when a Gentleman ſuddenly entered the Field; crying out that he had ſomewhat of great Importance to declare to the King. The Croud made Way for him to the King's Scaffold, where as ſoon as he arrived, he made a moſt profound Obeiſance and deſired his Majeſty's [68] Permiſſion to declare what he knew concerning the Death of the Count of Polan; to which the King conſenting he ſpoke in this Manner.

‘It was but a few Hours ago, Sire, that I heard your Majeſty had permitted a Combat between the young Count of Polan and the Chevalier des Eſſars, or any Friend of his who in his Abſence ſhould undertake his Defence. I was Maſter of the Horſe to the deceaſed Count, and was preſent at his Death. No one but myſelf can inform your Majeſty of the Manner of it, ſince I was unhappy enough to ſee my dear Maſter fall, and to cloſe his Eyes. The Chevalier and he fought with equal Succeſs for ſome Time; at length my Maſter received a mortal Wound: the Chevalier retired inſtantly with his Maſter of the Horſe, who beſides myſelf was the only Witneſs of the Combat. I flew inſtantly to my dear Maſter, I ſupported him in my Arms; theſe were the laſt Words he ſpoke to me:’

‘It is but juſt that I ſhould fall by the Hand of the Chevalier des Eſſars, I have injured him: the Vengeance he has taken is brave and lawful, Heaven has given the Victory to him that deſerved it; I forgive him my Death, which I have juſtly merited; and from the Goodneſs of God and through my ſincere Repentance [69] for the Crime I have committed, I hope for Pardon and Salvation.’

‘He ſaid no more, and, ſtifled with his Blood, he loſt at one Inſtant both Speech and Life. I was not able to continue in Paris after the Loſs of ſo good a Maſter. I travelled through Italy and Flanders, amuſing my Melancholy with a Variety of different Objects. When Time had a little ſoftened my Grief, I returned to my own Country, on my Arrival at Paris the firſt News I heard was of the Combat your Majeſty had permitted, whereupon I came immediately hither, to declare to your Majeſty my Maſter's laſt Words, to the end that you may make ſuch Uſe of them as your Wiſdom and Equity ſhall ſuggeſt.’

When this Gentleman had done ſpeaking, a confuſed Murmur aroſe in the Aſſembly, which broke out at length into Shouts and Exclamations, ſuch was the almoſt univerſal Joy at this Confirmation of the Chevalier's Innocence: when the Noiſe was a little abated, the King commanded the two Combatants to draw near his Scaffold, and then addreſſing himſelf to the Unknown, he aſked him what Proof he had of the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, which he defended with ſuch Confidence and Bravery.

[70] ‘I have no other, Sire, replied the Unknown, than the Glory he has acquired by thoſe many brave Actions he has performed, and which makes it highly improbable he could be guilty of a baſe Aſſaſſination.’

‘And you, Count, ſaid the King, what Aſſurance have you, that the Chevalier des Eſſars aſſaſſinated your Brother?’

‘Sire, replied the Count, I know that the Chevalier des Eſſars killed my Brother: I know that he called him to the Field, and no Seconds being employed, it is highly probable, conſidering the remarkable Bravery and Skill of my Brother, that the Chevalier took him at ſome unfair Advantage: but be that as it will, my Brother died by his Hands, and I hold my ſelf obliged in Honour to revenge his Death.’

‘There is more Paſſion and Prejudice than Honour in your Procedure, replied the King, frowning, and know to your Confuſion and Remorſe, that I have ſufficient Proofs of your Brother's being the Aggreſſor in this Quarrel, and (in a low Voice he added) that he juſtly merited his End. This Man whom you ſee here, and probably know to have belonged to your Brother, was preſent at his Death, and will inform you of ſuch [71] Circumſtances, as will put his Fault out of Doubt. I therefore, purſued his Majeſty raiſing his voice, declare the Chevalier des Eſſars innocent of the Aſſaſſination of the late Count of Polan your Brother: it is my Will that you never more mention this Affair to his Diſhonour, and I command you to embrace not only this Enemy whoſe Force you have ſo lately proved, but alſo the three others who offered to fight with you in Defence of the Chevalier's Innocence.’

The Count was too politic a Courtier to diſobey this Command: without anſwering the King any otherways than by a low Bow, he remitted his Sword to the Scabbard, and taking off his Helmet, advanced with open Arms towards that Enemy whoſe Blood he had before ſo anxiouſly ſought.

The Unknown not willing to be outdone in Politeneſs, came forwards with equal Eagerneſs to receive him, and holding out one Hand to the Count's offered friendly Graſp, with the other pulled off his Helmet, and by the fair long Hair which fell in graceful Curls all over her Shoulders, diſcovered that that Courage and Valour, which had attracted ſo much Admiration, were exerted by a young and moſt beautiful Woman.

A thouſands Shouts and Acclamations ſucceeded to the general Surpriſe. The [72] Count, who at the firſt Sight of his fair Enemy, had ſtarted back in Aſtoniſhment, remained for ſome Moments immoveable, with his Eyes fixed on her Face. His firſt Emotions were all Shame and Regret, at his having found in a Woman, an Enemy ſo redoubtable: but when he had well examined that lovely Face, he found her Charms more dangerous even than her Sword, and loſing all Remembrance of the Counteſs of Berci, whom he deſpaired of ever obtaining, he left his Liberty at the Feet of the fair Warrior, and kiſſing her Hand, vowed to acknowledge her ever for his Conqueror.

The old Marquis des Eſſars acknowledging Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt in the Perſon of the fair Defender of his Nephew's Honour, came eagerly up to ſalute her, and taking her Hand led her to his Majeſty. Henry, ever gallant and polite to Ladies, expreſſed his Admiration of the extraordinary Beauty and wonderful Qualities of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, in Terms capable of ſatisfying the moſt vain and ambitious of the Sex: the charming Amazon by a modeſt Bluſh, and Eyes caſt down in ſweet Confuſion, made it evident ſhe had not in her maſculine Acquirements, loſt any of the female Graces. She kneeled graceful upon one Knee to the King, and made a Motion to kiſs his Hand: but that Prince inſtantly raiſing her, gallantly preſt her Lips with his, telling her that [73] ſuch Charms exacted a ſweet Homage from the whole World. He then preſented her himſelf to the Queen.

‘Behold, Madam, ſaid he to that Princeſs, a new Amazon, whoſe Beauty yields not to the Faireſt, nor whoſe Valour to the Braveſt in my Kingdom: you have often heard of Cavalier's fighting in Honour of Ladies, but you have now ſeen a fair Lady expoſing her Life to defend the Honour, and aſſert the Innocence of an illuſtrious Cavalier.’ The Queen expreſſed great Admiration of the charming Warrior, and would not ſuffer her to kiſs her Iland, but ſaluted her with much Civility.

While the thoughts of the whole Aſſembly were employed on ſo new and ſurpriſing a Spectacle, the unfortunate Counteſs of Berci under her martial Diſguiſe remained in a Situation truly pitiable. She ſaw that Glory, ſhe was ſo ambitious of gaining and upon which ſhe had founded all her Hopes of fixing the Chevalier hers, ſnatched from her by a Rival, and a Rival ſo worthy to be loved, that ſhe could not doubt of her Power over any Heart ſhe wiſhed to gain; ſhe reflected with the moſt poignant Grief upon the violent Affection Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt bore to the Chevalier, which had led her from the Extremities of the Kingdom to expoſe her Life in ſo dangerous a Combat, an Affection ſo [74] like her own, equal in its Force, and made more certain by its Conſequences. She was now concerned that the Chevalier would not be able to defend himſelf againſt the powerful Charms and ſtrong Affection of that wonderful Girl, and that he would love her with an Ardour equal to the Paſſion ſhe felt for him. With inconceivable Affliction ſhe obſerved the extraordinary Reſpect and Tenderneſs ſhewn her by the old Marquis des Eſſars, and thence drew a Proof of her Lover's Infidelity, and declared Intention to marry her. A thouſand times more wretched than before, ſhe withdrew unnoticed from the Aſſembly, and took the Road immediately to Eſtampes.

The King having given a very gracious Reception to the Marquiſes des Eſſars, and de Saint-Sauveur, who both made themſelves known to him, enquired for the third Champion who had preſented himſelf to fight with the Count of Polan. The two Marquiſes declared they knew him not, nor what was become of him. The King curious to know who he was, ordered an Exempt of his Guards to ſeek for him, and inform himſelf of his Name and Quality. His Majeſty then went into his Coach with the Queen, and returned to the Louvre followed by the whole Court.

It would be difficult to give the Reader an Idea of the Joy felt by the two good [75] old Champions at hearing the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, publicly declared by the Mouth of the beſt and greateſt King in the World: the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur had now nothing more to wiſh for, than that his Daughter's Fame might be as fully cleared, which the ſtrong Prejudice againſt the Chevalier, being ſo happily removed, made Way for. As for the old Marquis, charmed into Rapture by the noble Action of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt; he was full of Hopes that his Nephew's Gratitude being ſo much engaged, he would be no longer able to re [...]u [...] his Hand to a Woman, who on ſo many Accounts, merited his utmoſt Affection.

But it is now Time to return to the Chevalier, whom we left with his Companions croſſing that Arm of the Sea which ſeparates England from France.

Their Veſſel had yet made but little Way, when the Storm increaſing, they ſuffered during this ſhort Voyage a thouſand terrible Dangers. The Sky became obſcured with thick black Clouds, which covered them with a fearful Darkneſs, interrupted only by Intervals with the horrid Glare of Lightnings, ſucceeded by Thunder-claps ſo loud, and long, as if the World was burſting. The furious Winds blew with ſuch Violence and put the Waves into ſuch Agitation, that ſometimes their little Veſſel was lifted [76] aloft to the Clouds, and ſometimes the Billows breaking beneath it, they ſeemed ſwallowed in the vaſt Abyſs.

The Pilot diſmayed, endeavoured for ſome Moments to reſiſt the Storm, and vainly guided the uſeleſs Rudder; but was at length obliged to quit it. The Sailors in wild Conſternation, no longer obeyed his Directions; and the Terror and Confuſion in the Veſſel was ſo great, that nothing was heard but diſmal Cries, confounded with the roaring of the Winds, the daſhing of the Waves and loud Peals of Thunder, that filled every Breaſt with Horror unſpeakable.

The Pilot being perſuaded that the Veſſel would be wrecked, and willing to take care of himſelf, jumped into the Boat with an Intention to eſcape; but the Chevalier des Eſſars, who was attentive to all that paſſed, perceiving his Intention, leaped inſtantly after him, and holding his drawn Sword to his Breaſt, threatened to take away his Life immediately if he did not reſume the Government of the Helm. The terrified Pilot ſeeing Death on all Sides, choſe rather to hazard being ſhipwrecked, than meet the Rage of the furious Chevalier: but as he was preparing to climb up the Side of the Veſſel, a Wave daſhed againſt the Boat with ſuch Violence as broke the Rope with which it was faſtened to the Ship, and in a Moment it was driven from [77] it to ſuch a Diſtance, that all their Endeavours to join it again, were fruitleſs.

The Chevalier in an Exceſs of Rage to be parted thus from his Friends, would have ſacrificed the Wretch who was the Cauſe of this Accident, to his juſt Revenge, if he had not had Occaſion for his Skill to ſave the Boat from periſhing. Mean time his Friends loſing Sight of the Boat did not doubt but it was ſwallowed up by the Waves, and abandoned themſelves to Complaints and Deſpair for the Loſs of the Chevalier. Their Veſſel for twenty four Hours continued to be toſt by the Tempeſt; at length the Winds ceaſed, the Sky became ſerene, and they were landed ſafely at the Port of Calais. Their happy Deliverance inſpired them with ſome Hopes that the Chevalier alſo might have eſcaped; but the Uncertainty of his Fate filled them with the moſt poignant Grief. Although they would willingly have ſtaid at Calais, till they had received ſome certain Accounts of him, yet his Honour and Intereſt required that they ſhould haſten immediately to Paris, that they might be time enough for the Combat with the Count of Polan, for they both were determined to defend his Innocence to the laſt drop of their Blood: accordingly they lay but one Night at Calais and ſet out early the next Morning for Paris; nevertheleſs they could not get there with Verague, till the Day after [78] the Combat, which was a ſenſible Mortification to them both.

The melancholy News they brought concerning the Chevalier, filled the old Marquis des Eſſars with inconceivable affliction. The whole Family of Saint-Sauveur mourned his Loſs with as many Tears as if he had been one of their neareſt Relations. No one doubted that he had periſhed in the Boat: but altho' he had indeed been expoſed to ſtill greater Danger than his Friends, yet Providence delivered him likewiſe, the Boat was caſt on the Iſland of Jerſey, from whence, after a ſhort Stay to refreſh themſelves, the Chevalier and the Pilot embarked on board a Veſſel bound for Normandy, and arriving happily at Rouen, the Chevalier ſtopped there a few Days, in order to purchaſe Horſes, Arms and Cloaths, for he was deſtitute of all.

In the mean Time Du Pons, his faithful Valet meeting at Paris the Biſcayan who belonged to the Chevalier, and who had come thither with the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and the Count of Berci, he learned from him the ſad News of his Maſter's Shipwreck. The poor Fellow in the utmoſt Agony of Grief, reſolved to go in Search of the Chevalier; not being able to bear the cruel Uncertainty he was in; but apprehenſive of the Deſpair to which he knew the Counteſs of Berci was reduced, for he had carefully watched all her Motions, [79] he would not leave Paris till he had acquainted her Relations with the Place of her Retreat, and provided for her Safety: he therefore went immediately to the old Marquis de Saint Sauveur, and informed him that the Perſon who called himſelf the Knight without Hope, and who had preſented himſelf on the Day of Combat to fight the Count of Polan, was no other than his own Daughter, who upon the Sight of the fair Amazon had left the Aſſembly in Deſpair and retired to Eſtampes, where ſhe had remained concealed for eight Days before, waiting for that of the Combat; he added that he had indeed engaged his word to her not to diſcover her to any one, nevertheleſs the terrible Situation to which ſhe was reduced from her Jealouſy and Grief, had made him diſpenſe with his Promiſe, which he could not keep but to her Prejudice.

The Marquis, after rewarding this faithful Domeſtic for his care, communicated what he had heard immediately to his Wife and Son. The old Marchioneſs was overjoyed to hear News of her Daughter, and the Hope of folding her again in her Arms, baniſhed all Reflection upon the Extravagance of her Conduct. But it was not the ſame with the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, he was inexpreſſibly grieved at the Diſhonour he conceived his Siſter had brought upon herſelf and her Family, by [80] Expedition which nothing but Madneſs could excuſe.

The old Marquis ordered him to ſet out inſtantly for Eſtampes, but ſeeing Fury in his Eyes, he recommended it to him to treat his Siſter with the utmoſt Gentleneſs, ſince it was to be feared that if any Reſentment was ſhewn to her, it might produce ſtill worſe Conſequences. The young Marquis promiſed to obey his Father's Inſtructions and took Horſe immediately for Eſtampes: when he came to the Houſe where our fair Adventurer lodged, it was quite Night, the Counteſs was retired to her Chamber, the Door of which ſhe had ſo well faſtened within, that the young Marquis, who had in vain endeavoured to open it without Noiſe, was forced to knock loudly for Admittance.

Madam de Berci, before ſhe would open the Door, put on her Armour, in order to be better concealed. Her Brother upon his Entrance ſeeing her in ſuch a ridiculous Equipage, could not help laughing, though his Heart was torn with Grief and Shame. Rage now taking full Poſſeſſion of him, he loaded her with the moſt cruel Reproaches, as ſhe ſtood trembling before him; he enlarged upon the Affliction her Parents had ſuffered, upon her Account; and giving her romantick Expedition a [81] thouſand cruel Epithets, he told her, her Reputation was ruined for ever.

The poor frighted Counteſs now plainly knew that ſhe had been betrayed by the Chevalier's Valet de Chambre, and that her whole Secret was known; inſtead therefore of offering at any Excuſe, or reſenting her Brother's injurious Expreſſions, ſhe took off her Caſque, and without anſwering a ſingle Word, let fall a Shower of Tears.

The young Marquiſs was greatly affected with this ſoft, and humble Deportment of his Siſter, he curſt his own Violence of Temper, and catching her as ſhe was ready to ſink in his Arms, he embraced her tenderly, aſked her Pardon for the cruel Invectives he had uttered, and endeavoured to conſole her, by all the Arguments that Tenderneſs and Compaſſion could ſuggeſt. As he had been informed of what ſhe had ſuffered from that moſt violent and impetuous of all Paſſions, Jealouſy, he omitted nothing which he thought could undeceive her with regard to the Suſpicions ſhe had entertained of the Infidelity of her Lover. He gave her a long and particular Account of all that had happened to the Chevalier in Gaſcony and England, and endeavoured to convince her by a thouſand Circumſtances that he had always loved her with the utmoſt Ardour. He leſſened indeed the Danger in which he had left him, when [82] the Boat was unfortunately ſeparated from their Veſſel, but he could not diſguiſe from her the Apprehenſions he was under with regard to his Safety.

At this melancholy Recital, the Counteſs felt all her Tenderneſs for this unfortunate Lover renewed. Her Jealouſy vaniſhed in a Moment, or gave place to Emotions of a very different Nature: his Danger only employed her Thoughts, and filled her with a thouſand dreadful Apprehenſions. She was not capable of taſting any Joy for the fortunate Meeting with Verague, important as it was for the Juſtification of her Innocence: the Idea of her beloved Chevalier periſhing in the Waves, engroſſed her whole Soul and made her inſenſible to every Thing elſe. In this cruel Situation of Mind, ſhe told her Brother, that after the ſtrange Step ſhe had taken, which would cover her with everlaſting Confuſion, ſhe had not the Confidence to meet the Looks of her offended Parents, and that before he had diſcovered her, it was her Intention to have retired to Eſtampes in the Convent of which their Kinſwoman was Abbeſs, and ſhe now begged that he would permit her to proſecute her Deſign, ſince if it was certainly true that the Chevalier was ſhipwrecked, ſhe was determined to paſs the reſt of her Days there.

[83]The Marquiſs would not then contend with her, about her withdrawing entirely from the World, if the Chevalier ſhould be really loſt, but approved her Deſign for the preſent; judging it would be more honourable for her to be found in a Convent, than concealed in a private Lodging at Eſtampes. He then deſired her to leave her Horſe, her Armour and her Servant where they now were, and he conducted her ſecretly to the Convent; where the Counteſs was received by the Abbeſs who knew her Story, with all imaginable Tenderneſs.

The pious Lady who had been informed of her Flight from the Chatelet, was not ſurpriſed to ſee her in the Habit of a Man, and charmed to have it in her Power to oblige a Lady of her high Rank, and who was allied to her by Blood, ſhe omitted nothing which ſhe thought could conſole her, and render the Retreat ſhe had choſen agreeable to her.

The Marquis, pleaſed that his Siſter was ſo happily ſettled, took Leave of her and the Abbeſs, and returned in haſte to Paris, and reſtored Peace to the Hearts of his afflicted Parents, by the Account he gave them of their Daughter's preſent Situation.

Mean time the Exempt, who in Obedience to the King's Orders, had ſearched [84] all the Villages in the Neighbourhood of Paris for the unknown Knight, who had ſo ſuddenly diſappeared from the Aſſembly, learned at length that he had been ſeen to take the Road to Eſtampes. He went thither immediately, and made ſuch diligent Enquiry after him, that he diſcovered where he had lodged, and found there his Horſe and Arms which he carried back with him to Paris, but could give the King no other Satisfaction with regard to the Knight himſelf, than that he had been ſeen the Day before he came there, to go out with a Gentleman and had never returned ſince.

The King, as ſoon as he ſaw the Arms; knew them to be the ſame which the unknown Knight had worn, and being very deſirous to diſcover the Owner, he ordered them to be hung up in a publick Place till they were claimed. Theſe Orders were juſt given, when the fair Amazon arrived at the Louvre, to pay her Duty to his Majeſty: ſhe had reſumed the Habit of her Sex, in which ſhe appeared ſo beautiful, that ſhe ſoon captivated the Hearts of ſeveral of the young Lords of the Court, who thought it an Honour to wear her Chains, but ſhe beheld theſe Conqueſts with an abſolute Indifference. The Abſence of him, for whom ſhe had undertaken ſo long a Journey, and ſo dangerous an Enterpriſe, [85] damped the Joy ſhe would otherways have felt, at the Power of her Beauty.

The King having cauſed the Arms that had been juſt brought him, to be ſhewn to her, ſhe ſuppoſing that they belonged to the Chevalier des Eſſars himſelf, and that he was the Unknown who had diſappeared ſo ſuddenly from the Aſſembly, intreated the King that thoſe Arms might be hung up in the Place of Battle, and that ſhe might be permitted to defend them, againſt any Perſon, who ſhould offer to demand them, without making himſelf known. The King could not help ſmiling at this Requeſt of the fair Virago, but before he could anſwer her, ſhe conjured him in the moſt earneſt Manner imaginable, to permit her in the ſame Place, to ſupport the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and the Counteſs of Berci, againſt thoſe who ſhould accuſe them of having aſſaſſinated the late Count of Berci.

The Marquiſes des Eſſars, and de Saint-Sauveur, and the young Count of Berci, were preſent at this Diſcourſe of the charming Amazon, they knew the Arms of the Counteſs, and had juſt before been informed of the Place to which ſhe had retired. But although they had it now in their Power to prove the Innocence of the Chevalier and Counteſs, by the Witneſs and Confeſſion of the real Aſſaſſin; yet they had agreed among [] themſelves, not to produce Verague till they knew certainly the Deſtiny of the Chevalier, and therefore took no Notice of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Propoſal.

The King then turning to the young Count of Berci, as being the Perſon who had moſt Intereſt in revenging the Death of the late Count his Brother, aſked him if he had any Reply to make to the fair Amazon's Requeſt.

The Count anſwered, that having always had a great Eſteem, and Veneration for his Siſter-in-law, on account of her many Virtues, he never entertained the leaſt Suſpicion, of her being capable of ſo black a Crime, and that there was not any Room to believe the Chevalier was guilty of it either.

That great Monarch, then taking Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Hand, told her ſmiling, that he would permit her to defend the Arms of the Unknown, on the Conditions ſhe had required, but he refuſed her the Combat ſhe demanded, ſince he who was particularly intereſted in revenging the Count, acknowledged the Counteſs his Widow and the Chevalier to be innocent: his Majeſty then addreſſing himſelf to the Marquiſes des Eſſars and de Saint-Sauveur, told them, that the two Perſons who were accuſed, might come to Paris without any Fear [87] of a Proſecution, that he would reſerve the Examination of this Affair to himſelf, and that he would give them the Court, for their Priſon.

The two Marquiſes threw themſelves at the King's Feet, and expreſſed the higheſt Acknowledgment, for this new Mark of his Goodneſs. They alſo returned Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt Thanks, for her generouſly offered Defence of the two noble Accuſed.

The Arms were accordingly carried to the Field of Battle, and laid in a Tent erected there for that Purpoſe till ſome one ſhould preſent himſelf to demand them. Mean time the Marquiſs de Saint-Sauveur, with the Ladies, accompanied by the Marquiſs des Eſſars, and the Count of Berci, went to Eſtampes to viſit the Counteſs, and to bring her back to Paris, where ſhe might now appear, without any Apprehenſions on account of her Eſcape from the Chatelet. She had quitted her Diſguiſe, and aſſumed the Habit of her Sex.

When ſhe was informed of their Arrival, ſhe appeared before them in ſuch a ſweet Confuſion as gave new Luſtre to her Charms. The Marquis des Eſſars, as ſoon he beheld her, not only pardoned his Nephew, for his Diſobedience, but ſecretly acknowledged he [88] was in the Right, not to quit ſo lovely a Creature for any Conſideration.

'I am not ſurpriſed, Madam,' ſaid the good old Man, ſaluting her with great Reſpect, ‘that thoſe who have had the Honour to attach themſelves to your Service, ſhould prefer that ſweet Slavery to all other Advantages; even I, tho' bending under the Weight of Years, feel the Influence of your Beauty, and all my Reaſon is ſcarce ſufficient to preſerve me from your Charms.’

The Counteſs of Berci, could not hear Praiſes ſo flattering to her Self-love, from the Uncle of the Chevalier des Eſſars, without feeling a conſcious Pleaſure which ſparkled in her Eyes, tho' her natural Modeſty at ſuch extraordinary Encomiums, died her fair Checks with Bluſhes, and kept her for a Moment ſilent; but recovering herſelf, ſhe anſwered his Compliment with ſo much Wit, and ſuch a graceful Politeneſs, that the old Man was wholly charmed with her.

Her Father and Mother advancing to embrace her, ſhe turned from the Marquis and threw herſelf at their Feet, intreating them with Tears, which falling from the fineſt Eyes in the World, could not fail of gaining all ſhe aſked, to pardon her for the Uneaſineſs ſhe had given them.

[89]The tender Parents raiſing her eagerly, deſired her not to interrupt their Joy at this happy Meeting, by recalling to their Remembrance any paſt Misfortune. ‘And now, my Daughter, (ſaid the indulgent Father, who knew not that ſhe was informed of the Return of Verague) thank the Marquis des Eſſars, and the Count of Berci your Brother-in-law, together with a beautiful and valiant Lady, that without any Apprehenſions of the Chatelet, or any other Priſon but the Court, the Chevalier and you, may enjoy the Sweets of Liberty, and be obliged to appear at no other Tribunal but that of the King himſelf.’

The Counteſs, pleaſed as ſhe was, at this News, felt an Emotion at the Mention of the fair Warrior, which for a Moment changed the bright Vermillion of her Cheeks into a languid Paleneſs; a Sigh ſtole from her Breaſt, which was not perceived by all the Company: her Brother and the young Marchioneſs, her Siſter-in-law, who beſt knew the jealous Doubts which filled her Mind, were the only Perſons who obſerved it, and in order to relieve her from her Embarraſsment, they preſſed forward to embrace her; ſhe received their tender Careſſes with a grateful Senſibility: but embracing her beloved Siſter, dropt a tender Tear upon her Boſom, which her full Eyes could not reſtrain.

[90]After a few Hours-Stay in the Convent, during which the Abbeſs received the Thanks of the joyful Parents, for the Friendſhip ſhe had ſhewn to their Daughter, they ſet out for Paris, and got there Time enough to go to the Louvre. The King being then in the Queen's Apartment, they were introduced immediately to their Majeſties.

'Sire, (ſaid the Marquis des Eſſars, preſenting the Counteſs of Berci to the King) ‘behold the Lady whom the Deſire of juſtifying the Chevalier des Eſſars, for the Murder of the Count of Polan, induced to diſguiſe herſelf under the Arms which your Majeſty has committed to the Care of a fair and illuſtrious Warrior. We do not preſent ourſelves before your Majeſty, to intreat they may be reſtored to her, her Beauty is more powerful than all the Weapons in the World: but we are come to expreſs our Acknowledgement, with her, for your Majeſty's having been graciouſly pleaſed to take her Cauſe under your own Cognizance, from which ſhe has nothing but the exacteſt Juſtice to expect.’

The Counteſs then throwing herſelf at the King's Feet, that good Prince, who had never ſeen her before, for the retired Life ſhe had led for ſome Years paſt, had not admitted of her coming to Court, was ſo ſtruck with her Beauty, which appeared to great Advantage, by her ſuppliant Poſture, [91] and the graceful Awe, which ſat upon her lovely Features, that forgetting ſhe was kneeling, through the Pleaſure he took in looking at her, he ſuffered her to remain a few Moments at his Feet, when ſuddenly recollecting himſelf, he raiſed her with Precipitation, and politely ſaluting her, led her to the Queen.

‘Our Age, Madam, ſaid he, preſenting her to that Princeſs, is fruitful in Prodigies. What think you of this new Amazon? Ventre Saint Gris! (his uſual Oath) it would have been pity to ſuffer ſuch a Jewel to be locked up in the Chatelet.’

The Queen ſaluted her, and ſmiling, told his Majeſty, that thoſe who had taken her from the Place he mentioned, had given a Proof of their Judgment and Senſibility.

The Queen had juſt done ſpeaking, when Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who had been informed of the Arrival of the Counteſs, as alſo that it was her who owned the black Armour which ſhe had undertaken to defend, entered her Majeſty's Apartment, led by the Count of Polan.

‘Fair Amazon (ſaid the King as ſoon as he ſaw her) you muſt ſurrender the Arms you guard, unleſs you reſolve to combat [92] with this charming Lady, to whom they belong.’ ‘I am not only ready, Sire, to ſurrender thoſe Arms to her, (ſaid Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, curteſying low to the King, and advancing to ſalute the Counteſs) but alſo to pay her that Homage, which a Beauty ſo tranſcendant, has a Right to exact, from the whole World.’

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, eager to prevent any Suſpicions of her being envious of her Rival's Perfections, was not aware that by forcing herſelf to praiſe her, ſhe had deſcended to Flattery. The Counteſs of Berci, from the ſame Motive, fell into the ſame Fault, only that ſhe had a better Excuſe for it, being in ſome Degree obliged to anſwer, her Rival's Compliment, with another.

‘And what Homage is worthy of yours, Madam, (ſaid ſhe, returning her Embrace) which ſhines with ſo many Advantages over me! Suffer me to acknowledge with Pleaſure, a Superiority which all that Look on you, will readily allow, and add one Triumph more, to the Numbers you have already enjoyed.’

It muſt be confeſſed, that the Thoughts of theſe rival Beauties, were very different from their Expreſſions: for from that Moment they beheld each other with Eyes of [93] Jealouſy and Reſentment, and each ſecretly congratulated herſelf, for the Victory ſhe hoped to obtain over the other.

But the Heart of the Count of Polan, was in a Situation ſtill more extraordinary than theſe Ladies, and ſucceſſively felt the Influence of each of their Charms, as he gazed upon them in Turn. Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's noble Air; the Spirit that ſparkled in her Eyes, and pointed every Glance; the graceful Freedom of her Motion; the Vivacity that accompanied all her Words and Actions; and that charming Fierceneſs ſo ſuitable to the Peculiarity of her Character, filled him at once with Admiration, Awe and Love.

On the other Side, the languiſhing Sweetneſs of Madam de Berci; her Elegance of Perſon; the inchanting Senſibility which ſtreamed from her lovely Eyes; the Tone of her Voice, inexpreſſibly ſoft and moving, conveyed ſuch Tenderneſs to his Heart, that while he gazed upon her, and heard her ſpeak, he was tranſported out of himſelf, and loſt in an Extaſy of mingled Pain and Pleaſure. The different Emotions theſe fair Ones excited in his inconſtant Breaſt, were ſuitable to their different Graces. He loved Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt with Ardour, the Counteſs with Tenderneſs. When he looked upon the fair Amazon, his Heart glowed with impatient Wiſhes: when he [94] gazed upon the Counteſs, he was melted to Softneſs. For the Perſon of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt he languiſhed: but ſighed for the Heart of Madam de Berci. In a Word, he could have been pleaſed to live for the one; for the other he would have been content to die.

The Count of Berci, leſs wild, leſs aſſuming, and more conſtant, felt the true Force of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Charms, and from the firſt Moment he beheld her, conceived a Paſſion for her, that Time never weakened, nor no new Object, ever changed.

This illuſtrious Company, after taking Leave of their Majeſties, retired greatly ſatisfied with the new Proſpects that were opened to them. All but Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who obſerving the Aſſiduity of the old Marquis des Eſſars about the Counteſs of Berci, the Pleaſure with which he had gazed on her, during the Audience ſhe had of the King, and his Eagerneſs to give her his Hand when ſhe left their Majeſties Apartment, conceived ſo violent a Grief at Symptoms ſo unfavourable to her Hopes of being his Niece, that ſhe paſſed the whole Night in Tears and Complaints.

She now concluded, ſhe was deſpiſed by the Chevalier, and although he had never profeſſed a Paſſion for her, accuſed him of Perfidy and Falſehood. Her Mind being [95] violently agitated with theſe Thoughts, ſhe called her Woman early in the Morning, and having ſent for the Armour which had been worn by the Counteſs of Berci, ſhe put it on, and attented only by her Woman, who was diſguiſed in a Man's Habit, ſhe left Paris with an Intention to go to Rouen, in Hopes of hearing ſome News of the Chevalier.

The Chevalier's Valet de Chambre, who ſome Days before had left Paris with the ſame Deſign, was already arrived in that Capital of Normandy, flattering himſelf, that among the great Number of Strangers which came to that Port, he ſhould meet with ſome one from whom he might have a Certainty of his Maſter's Fate.

He had the good Fortune to meet the Chevalier the Day after he came to Rouen: but, if he was tranſported with Joy to ſee him, the News he brought concerning the Counteſs, were ſo many Daggers to the Heart of the Chevalier. In the Letter which this faithful Domeſtic delivered him from his Miſtreſs, he found nothing but Expreſſions of Indifference and Irony, ſo much the more cruel, as it was extremely delicate, and appeared to be dictated by a Heart, entirely at Eaſe, or at leaſt ſenſible of no other Emotions, but Scorn and Indignation.

[96]This Letter, and the Accounts he received from his Servant, of the Extravagancies acted by the Counteſs, in the firſt Tranſports of her Jealouſy, gave him ſo much Inquietude, that he reſolved to ſet out immediately for Paris, and during the Journey he was continually making his Valet de Chambre repeat all that his Miſtreſs had ſaid and done, which had come to his Knowledge, and from thoſe Particulars, ſometimes drew ſome Alleviation for his Uneaſineſs, and ſometimes new Fears, that he had for ever loſt her Affection.

He was now within two Days Journey of Paris, when he met a Cavalier in Armour, followed by a young Man, and both riding in a great Hurry; as ſoon as the Chevalier's Valet perceived them, he knew the Armour to be the ſame that had been worn by the Counteſs of Berci, and did not doubt but it was ſhe herſelf, who had once more ſtolen from her Relations, and was going to Rouen in Search of the Chevalier: he immediately communicated his Suſpicions to his Maſter, who fond of believing what he wiſhed, eagerly advanced to meet the diſguiſed Lady, and raiſing the Viſor of his Helmet, for he was in Armour, he bowed down, even to his Horſe's Mane, and in a ſubmiſſive Tone, intreated to be heard a few Moments in his Defence.

[97]Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, for it was ſhe, overjoyed at this Meeting, and at his taking her for the Counteſs of Berci, reſolved to profit by his Miſtake, and diſcover his real Sentiments with regard to her and her Rival. She therefore affected a diſdainful ſilence, left the Tone of her Voice ſhould make her known to him, and waving her Hand as if ſhe was reſolved not to liſten to his Excuſes, attempted to paſs without ſtaying for any farther Diſcourſe.

The Chevalier, in Deſpair at ſuch cruel Treatment, threw himſelf inſtantly off his Horſe, and faſtening upon the Bridle of hers whom he ſuppoſed to be his Miſtreſs, told her that for her Service he had attempted Things the moſt difficult, and from the Time he had firſt attached himſelf to her, had nothing to reproach himſelf with: he added that if any Reports had reached her Ear, relating to his Paſſion for Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, he could aſſure her they were abſolutely falſe; that through Complaiſance for his Uncle, he had viſited that young Lady ſeveral times, becauſe he found it pleaſed him: but how great ſoever her Merit might be, it could make no Impreſſion on a Heart long ſince devoted to her, and incapable of Change. ‘For, oh my adored Counteſs! (purſued he melting into Tenderneſs) there cannot be in my Opinion a Woman upon Earth that does not yield to you in Beauty; how improbable is it then, that I [98] ſhould forſake you for Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who is ſo infinitely your Inferiour as well in the Graces of Mind as Perſon.’

The Chevalier, ſtill thinking he talked to the Counteſs of Berci, was going on with a Diſcourſe ſo mortifying for Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, when ſhe, ſwelling with mingled Rage and Grief, no longer able to hear her Rival ſo openly preferred to her by a Man who ſhe thought had loved her with an Exceſs of Tenderneſs, turned aſide her Head, and ſhedding a Torrent of Tears, pronounced in a low Voice the Words, Traitor, perfidious, cruel!

The Chevalier ſenſibly affected with that mournful Action and thoſe complaining Accents which he could ſcarce diſtinguiſh, was going to throw himſelf on his Knees, and ſolemnly proteſt that he had never been guilty of the Infidelity ſhe accuſed him of, when the fair Amazon, reflecting upon the Contempt with which ſhe had heard herſelf treated, gave a Looſe to Indignation and Deſpair. The Deſire of revenging her Wrongs, or of dying by the Hand of her unworthy Lover, that ſo ſhe might fill him with eternal Remorſe and Anguiſh, now wholly poſſeſt her, and dictated ſuch a Reply as ſhe knew would bring him to the Point ſhe wiſhed for.

[99]'How art thou deceived!' ſaid ſhe, affecting a ſcornful Tone, and diſguiſing her Voice as much as poſſible: ‘She, to whom theſe fine Speeches are addreſt, is no more: her frantick Paſſion for thee brought her in a ridiculous Diſguiſe to try the Force of my Arm. The Death of ſo contemptible an Enemy would have given me Pain, had I not known that it would be an eternal Source of Miſery to thee, whom I am bound to hate. For know to thy Terror, I am the Count of Polan, the Brother of him whom thou haſt treacherouſly murdered, and who has ſought thee eagerly, that I may ſacrifice thee to my juſt Revenge.’

The Chevalier, who at the Beginning of this Speech was ſtruck with Horror, Amazement and Deſpair, remained immoveable for a Moment with his Eyes fixed on the ſuppoſed horrid Murderer of his beloved Counteſs. But the Fury that ſuddenly poſſeſt him ſuppreſt thoſe firſt Emotions, and the Deſire of ſacrificing the Monſter who had robbed the World of ſuch Excellence, made him give a Truce to Grief till Vengance was ſatisfied. With a Rapidity like Lightning he leaped upon his Horſe and drawing his Sword in the ſame Inſtant he ruſhed forwards with an Exclamation that expreſſed the Rage which animated him, and diſcharged ſo heavy a Blow on the Helmet of the fair Amazon as pierced [100] quite through it and made a large Wound in her Head.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt feeling her Blood iſſue from the Wound, was tranſported with a Fury equal to her Enemy, and as he lifted up his Arm to redouble his Stroke, ſhe run her Sword in his Side, and gave him a very large, tho' not a mortal Wound. This Combat, which was continued with more Rage and Animoſity than Art, was too violent to laſt long: their Attendants were Witneſſes of the dreadful Spectacle, and knew not what they ought to do. The Woman trembled for the Danger her Lady was in, and the faithful Valet de Chambre thought that Glory and Succeſs had now forſaken his Maſter. But the Chevalier, who after the Loſs of his Miſtreſs rated his Life at nothing, preſſed his Adverſary with redoubled Vigour, and at length wounding her deeply under the right Breaſt ſhe ſtaggered on her Saddle, her Eyes ſwam, her Strength forſook her, her Sword dropt from her Hand, and ſhe fell ſenſeleſs to the Earth.

Her Woman who eagerly ran to receive her in her Arms, and break her Fall, with loud Cries conjured the Chevalier to ſtop his Fury. But he who was reſolved not to let the Murderer of his Miſtreſs live, leaped off his Horſe, and running to his fallen Enemy tore off the Helmet with eager [101] Rage, which in one Inſtant was changed to Shame, Remorſe and Anguiſh when inſtead of the Count of Polan he ſaw the fair Face of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, pale as Aſhes, her Eyes cloſed, and the Blood ſtreaming from the Wounds he had inhumanly given her.

His Sword which he held aloft and ready to fall upon his proſtrate Foe, now dropped from his trembling Hand, he ſtepped back a few Paces, and claſping his Hands together in an Agony of Grief, contemplated a few Moments the bleeding fair One who lay ſenſeleſs and without Motion upon the Ground.

A thouſand bitter Reflections aroſe in his Mind, one Moment he raved at his Valet de Chambre for leading him into ſo fatal an Error, another he complained of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt for aſſuming the Name of his mortal Enemy and urging his Fury by declaring he was the Murderer of the Counteſs of Berci.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Woman, who kneeling wept over her bleeding Miſtreſs, found a gloomy Pleaſure in ſeeing the Tranſports to which he delivered himſelf. ‘You only (ſaid ſhe) are the Author of my unhappy Lady's Misfortunes. You firſt engaged her Heart by your enſnaring Aſſiduities. She expoſed her Life [102] in Defence of your Innocence, and fought with your moſt cruel Enemy to preſerve your Honour. She nobly aſſerted your Innocence in the Preſence of the whole Court, and undertook to defend your Fame againſt all who ſhould attempt to traduce it; ſo many Obligations ought to have induced you to have ſpoke leſs ſlightingly of her, even to your Miſtreſs: you ſhould not in any Circumſtance have forgot that ſhe for whom you ſo openly diſavowed any Regard, had hazarded Fame, Happineſs and Life, to ſecure thoſe Benefits to you.’

The Chevalier, tho' ſhocked to the Soul with theſe Reproaches, yet found too much Juſtice in them to be offended with the forward Zeal of her who uttered them: but obſerving that Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt loſt much Blood, he cauſed her to be carried to a neighbouring Village, where they happily found a Surgeon, who after examining her Wounds declared they were neither mortal, nor dangerous. The Chevalier ſtaid till her Wounds were dreſt, and till he heard ſhe was laid in Bed, and then recommending her to the Care of the Surgeon, he ſet out immediately for Paris. Not having Courage and Reſolution enough to aſk Pardon of her whom without knowing he had ſo cruelly treated; beſides, he was afraid that the Sight of him might give her Emotions which would produce ſome dangerous [103] Alteration in her Health; he therefore intreated her Woman to make his Excuſes to her with all imaginable Submiſſion, and to aſſure her, that he was in extreme Affliction at what his unhappy Miſtake had made him commit againſt her, and that there was no puniſhment ſo ſevere to which he ſhould not ſubmit, to atone for a Crime which however ſhe muſt know was involuntary.

The Evening being pretty far advanced when the Chevalier left this Village, he did not reach Mante till late at Night. His Mind ſtill more fatigued than his Body, Grief for the Condition to which he had reduced Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and his Anxiety about his beloved Counteſs, equally engroſſed him; yet the Certainty that ſhe was not dead, as he had ſo lately believed, gave him in the Midſt of his Inquietude a Joy which more than compenſated for the Torments he had ſuffered.

It happened that the Maſter of the Inn, at which he alighted, was juſt returned from Paris, with a Gentleman who had accompanied him. The Chevalier, who in the preſent uneaſy State of his Mind, found Solitude extremely diſagreeable, invited them both to Supper with him. The Diſcourſe turning upon the News of the Court, the Gentleman, among other Anecdotes, related all that had happened at the Combat [104] between the Count of Polan, and the fair Amazon ſo celebrated at Paris; he likewiſe mentioned the ſtrange Adventure of the Counteſs of Berci, how, after ſhe had appeared in Armour in the Liſts, ſhe ſuddenly ſtole away from the Aſſembly, and retired to Eſtampes, where her Horſe and Armour were found; that the King, at the Requeſt of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, had committed the Armour to the Guard of that fair Warrior, and reſerved to himſelf the Cognizance of the Cauſe of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and Madam de Berci.

He then went on to give an Account of that Lady's Return to Court, the Count of Polan's renewed Paſſion for her, and that it was the common Opinion ſhe would be married to that young Nobleman.

The Chevalier turned pale at this Diſcourſe, and diſcovered ſo much Uneaſineſs, that the Gentleman ſuppoſing the Alteration he perceived in him, proceeded from the Pain of his Wound, adviſed him to go to Bed immediately. But the Chevalier aſſuring him that he ſuffered no Inconvenience from his Wound, which was very ſlight, begged him to relate all he knew concerning the Count of Polan, and Madam de Berci.

‘Sir, (anſwered the Gentleman) all I know more of the Affair is, that it was [105] ſaid the Count of Polan had made very advantageous Offers to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, the Father of Madam de Berci; that the King is deſirous that this Marriage ſhould go forward; and the publick Cry is, that the Counteſs of Berci, who it is known had a Paſſion for the Chevalier des Eſſars, cannot with Decency marry a Man who has been accuſed of aſſaſſinating her Huſband.’

'But what if his Innocence be proved!' Replied the Chevalier des Eſſars haſtily.

‘That does not hinder ſuch a Marriage from being very improper (returned the Gentleman.) Calumny, tho' unjuſt, always leave a Kind of Stain behind, in the ſame manner as a Wound, tho' perfectly cured, is always followed by a ſcar.’

‘But is it poſſible, (reſumed the Chevalier) that a Man, who has ſaved the Lives of that Lady's Father and Brother, who made a Voyage to Africa to deliver her Huſband from Slavery, ſhould be forgot for the Count of Polan, who not only never rendered her any Service, but has alway been the declared Enemy of her Family?’

‘It is ſaid (interrupted the Gentleman) that the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, Brother to the Counteſs, talks loudly [106] againſt this Match. As for the Counteſs, ſhe has not as yet declared her Reſolution; but her Father and the reſt of her Friends being all in the Count of Polan's Intereſt, it is believed this Affair will be concluded agreeable to the King's Deſire.’

Theſe Words were like ſo many Daggers in the Heart of the Chevalier. No longer able to conceal the Violence of his Emotions, he retired to his Chamber and threw himſelf into Bed: but tortured as he was with ſo many cruel Reflections, he could take no Repoſe; he roſe early in the Morning, without having once cloſed his Eyes the whole Night, and rode to Paris with all the poſſible Expedition.

The Situation of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt was ſtill more to be pitied, than that of the Chevalier des Eſſars, for Hope had not yet abandoned him, and he with Reaſon expected, that his Preſence would produce ſome favourable Alteration in the Minds of his Miſtreſs and her Relations: but that unfortunate young Lady was too well aſſured, that ſhe had for ever loſt the Man whom ſhe loved to Diſtraction: when ſhe recovered out of her Swoon, Remembrance and Reflexion returned, ſhe caſt her languiſhing Looks round the Room, and not ſeeing that dear Enemy any longer near [107] her, ſhe abandoned herſelf to the moſt bitter Complaints.

Her Woman, approaching her Bed, delivered the Chevalier's Meſſage to her.

‘What then! (eagerly interrupted Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt) he is gone without deigning to ſay a ſingle Word to her whom he had reduced to ſo cruel a Condition. Barbarian! Humanity, if not Tenderneſs and Eſteem, obliged him to remain with me till the Wounds I had received from his cruel Hand, were cured. Ah! Wretch, ungrateful and unkind! for him I left my Country, expoſed my Life and Fame to a thouſand Dangers: For him I appeared in Arms, defended his Innocence, and preſerved his Honour; and is it thus he requites me?’

Here a violent Burſt of Tears ſtopped her Voice. Her Woman aſſured her that he himſelf ſeemed ſinking under ſuch a Load of Woe, that his Preſence would have given her more Pain than Relief.

‘He was afflicted thou ſayſt, (replied Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt) and how did he expreſs that Affliction? He left me ſenſeleſs, dead in appearance, ſtaid not till he knew, whether I ſhould ever again ſee the Light of Day. Ah! the ingrate, the perfidious Wretch! Why do I not [108] hate him? Why do I not caſt him from my Remembrance, or only think of him with Horror and Deteſtation? But, alas! (purſued ſhe after a little Pauſe,) I feel I love him ſtill, baſe as he is; his Life is dearer to me than my own: could I be aſſured that he is really afflicted for the Miſeries he has cauſed me, my Heart would be at Reſt. I muſt ſee him once more, my Maria, (ſaid ſhe ſighing and preſſing her Hand,) if thou loveſt me or deſireſt that I ſhould redouble my Affection for thee, thou muſt haſten after this Ingrate: he cannot yet be got far on his Journey. Intreat him not to fly from her to whom he owes ſo many Obligations. Alas! to what am I reduced? But Pride is now no more, I have been neglected, ſcorned, treated with Cruelty by the Man I love, and my Rival openly preferred before me. But tell him, that I no longer pretend to his Love; his Promiſes, for ſo I underſtood them, tell him, I acquit him of: aſſure him that I will not attempt to traverſe his Paſſion for the Counteſs of Berci; but, if need be, will ſolicit this happy Rival in his Favour, and will employ all the Credit and Intereſt I have at Court to ſecure his Marriage: only let him again return; let me not have the Mortification to think he could abandon me in the ſad Condition to which he himſelf has reduced me. Ah! why ſhould he diſcover [109] ſuch Cruelty towards me? I am not of the Number of thoſe who have accuſed him of baſely killing the Count of Polan; I never charged him with the Aſſaſſination of his Friend: I have publickly, and in a Manner unſuitable to my Sex, defended not only his Innocence, but that of his Miſtreſs. Do I not deſerve, that he ſhould eſteem, if he cannot love me? And his Eſteem is all I aſk. Tell him ſo, my dear Maria; and tell him that his Preſence will contribute to the Cure of thoſe Wounds he has given me; and if he will have the Patience to wait but two Days, I ſhall be able to accompany him to Paris, where it is poſſible I may be of ſome Service to him. Fly, I beſeech thee, loſe not a Moment, and do not anſwer me. Let thy Affection be ſhown by thy ready Obedience to my Orders. A Servant's Obedience is the beſt Proof of Affection.’

The faithful Girl, who loved her Miſtreſs tenderly, ſtaid no longer than to aſſure her, ſhe would bring back the Chevalier or loſe her Life in the Attempt. And then mounting her Horſe, although Darkneſs had now overſpread the Earth, ſhe galloped with the utmoſt ſpeed after the Chevalier, and overtook him juſt as he left Mante, and was proceeding towards Paris.

[110]The Chevalier was greatly ſurpriſed to ſee her, and fearing ſhe brought him an Account of her Lady's Death, he remained ſilent and immoveable for ſome Moments, not daring to aſk a Queſtion which he dreaded to be reſolved. But when ſhe had delivered her Meſſage, tho' his Heart was agreeably relieved from the torturing Suſpenſe it had laboured under, yet in the Perplexity to which it reduced him he found inexpreſſible Anguiſh.

On the one Side, he reflected upon the cruel Ingratitude of refuſing to go back a few Leagues at the Requeſt of a Lady who had travelled above two hundred for him, that Lady too illuſtrious by Birth, her Merit and her Beauty, to whom he owed Obligations of the higheſt Nature, and who was languiſhing with the Wounds he had (undeſignedly indeed) given her.

But on the other Side, the raging Jealouſy of the Counteſs of Berci, the extravagant Things which Paſſion had made her act, her Letter ſo cruelly conceived to torment and mortify him, his Terrors left the Marquis her Father ſhould take advantage of his Abſence to prevail upon her to marry the Count of Polan, all this ruſhed forcibly upon his Imagination; and fixing his wavering reſolution, he began to make an Apology to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's [111] Woman for not being able to attend her Lady. But that faithful Girl would not hear him out, ſhe threw herſelf on her Knees before the Chevalier, and painted her Lady's Grief and Deſpair, and his own Ingratitude, if he refuſed to comply with her Requeſts, in ſuch lively Colours, that the Chevalier, whoſe Heart was totally ſoftened by her affecting Arguments, turned his Horſe's Head, and rode with all poſſible Expedition towards the Village where he had left Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt.

That unfortunate fair One, who had paſſed the Time in a cruel Anxiety, divided between Hope and Fear, and longing yet dreading the Return of her Meſſenger, no ſooner ſaw her enter the Chamber followed by the Chevalier, than Joy producing the ſame Effects as Grief, ſo forcibly operated upon her now weakened Mind, that ſhe fell into a Swoon from which ſhe was with Difficulty recovered. The firſt Object ſhe beheld, when ſhe opened her Eyes, was the Chevalier kneeling by her Bed-ſide, and bathing one of her Hands which he held faſt claſped in his with his Tears.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt agitated by a little Emotion of Anger, which ſhe could not reſiſt, haſtly withdrew her Hand, and the Chevalier riſing reſpectfully, retired a few paces gazing on her with profound Attention, and all the Marks of an unfeigned [112] Sorrow deeply impreſſed upon his Countenance.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt found her Reſentment inſtantly ſubſide at ſuch a Proof of the Chevalier's Senſibility. He advanced a little to her Bedſide, and twice attempted to ſpeak, but his Confuſion was ſo great, that his Voice died upon his Lips. He was not able to utter a Word, and he could only by Sighs and melancholy Regards upon the wounded fair One expreſs the tender Emotions of his Soul.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who heedfully obſerved him, was better ſatisfied with this dumb Eloquence, and the Diſorder ſhe was capable of exciting in ſuch a noble Mind, than ſhe would have been with the moſt elaborate Diſcourſe. She now pardoned all he had done againſt her: her Eyes loſt all their Fierceneſs, and ſhe beheld him with a Look of mingled Sweetneſs and Compaſſion.

The Chevalier, in ſome Degree relieved from his Confuſion by her ſoftened Glances, again kneeling took her Hand, and preſſing it reſpectfully to his Lips,

‘I take Heaven to Witneſs, Mademoiſelle (ſaid he) that my Will had no Part in the Outrage you have received from [113] me; and that, to expiate it, I would freely ſacrifice my Life.’

‘Chevalier, (ſaid the beauteous Warrior) your greateſt Offence againſt me was committed long ago: then, then, you injured me, when your fatal Arts impoſed upon my Credulity, and enſnared my Heart; that is the Outrage I have moſt Reaſon to complain of. The Wounds your Sword has made, are ſlight compared with the Pangs my Heart has ſuffered. But 'tis paſt; I no longer pretend to any Thing but your Friendſhip. Your beloved Counteſs, jealous as ſhe is, will not refuſe me that; I can do Juſtice to her Merit, tho' I was once her Rival, and confeſs that my Pride is not wounded by the Preference you have given her to me. She deſerves your tendereſt Affection, may you be happy in each other, nor need it be interrupted by your generous Concern for me. I am not capable of feeling a Paſſion for a Man whoſe, Heart is another's. If I loved it was in conſequence of a Perſuaſion that I was beloved, and that by a Perſon who merited the Regard I had for him; my Paſſion was founded upon Gratitude and Eſteem: the firſt cauſe no longer ſubſiſts. I have no Motive for Gratitude, tho' I have for Eſteem. You have my Friendſhip becauſe your noble Qualities merit it, my Love can only be deſerved by one, who [114] beſides thoſe noble Qualities has a Heart to beſtow, and makes me Miſtreſs of it.’

The Chevalier, charmed with the Wit and Spirit of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, expreſſed his Admiration of her in Terms which greatly flattered her Self-love. He vowed ever to preſerve an inviolable Friendſhip for her, and accepted the Offer of hers with a Tranſport of Joy and Gratitude. He aſſured her that he would be ever ready to ſacrifice that Life ſhe had been pleaſed to take an Intereſt in, for her Service; and readily conſented, notwithſtanding his Impatience to ſee his dear Counteſs, to expect the Cure of her Wounds, which he never mentioned without Emotion, that he might have the Honour to conduct her to Paris.

This Inſtance of his Ardour to pleaſe her, contributed more than any Thing elſe to reſtore her to Tranquility, her Body ſoon felt the Effects of the Quiet of her Mind. In three Days ſhe was able to ſit her Horſe, and on the fourth ſhe complaiſantly offered to accompany him to Paris.

The Chevalier eagerly embraced her Propoſal, and after a ſhort Preparation, they ſet out together. Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt being ſo lately recovered, the Chevalier inſiſted upon making eaſy Journies, yet his Heart panted with impatience to be in Paris, and it coſt him a great [115] deal to ſhew this Complaiſance. However on the Evening of the third Day after their leaving the Village they arrived in that great Capital of France.

The Chevalier, who was no longer in fear of the Purſuits of the Officers of Juſtice, propoſed to alight at his own Hotel, and offered Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt the richeſt Apartment in it: but the fair Amazon prudently declined his Offer, and the Chevalier attended her to the Houſe ſhe had before reſided in, and went home with a Heart filled with eager Anxiety, and trembling between Hope and Fear.

He ſent immediately a Meſſage to the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, requeſting to ſee him. That faithful Friend, in a Rapture of Joy, flew to attend his Summons. The Chevalier and he held each other a long time embraced; the young Marquis wept with Tenderneſs and Delight at ſo happy a Meeting with a Friend whom he had given over for loſt; and the Chevalier, melted at the tender Reception he found from the Brother of her whom he paſſionately loved, ſuffered the big Tear to ſtream from his manlier Eye as he claſped him to his Breaſt, and aſſured him that his Life was endeared to him by the Value he ſet upon it.

[116]When their firſt Tranſports were ſubſided, they gave each other a mutual Account of what had happened to them ſince their ſeparation. The young Marquis was very particular in all that related to his Siſter, and the Chevalier was ſo happy as to find by his Diſcourſe that moſt Part of the afflicting News related to him by the Gentleman at Mante was falſe.

The Marquis owned that the Count of Polan had profeſt a Paſſion for his Siſter, that the Coldneſs and Reſerve, with which ſhe had treated him, had induced him to direct his Aſſiduities to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, ‘by whom, as it ſhould ſeem, ſaid he his Heart was ſurpriſed when ſhe valiantly fought with him in your Defence: but ſince her Departure, the wavering Count has again addreſt my Siſter, who, I aſſure you upon my Honour, looks upon him with perfect Indifference, nor does he meet with Encouragement from any of our Family; and it is the King alone who ſeems deſirous the Match ſhould go forward.’

This News reſtored Peace to the Heart of this once wretched Lover. He intreated the Marquis to bring Verague with him early in the Morning to his Hotel; and it was agreed, that the Chevalier, attended by all his Friends, ſhould preſent himſelf at the Louvre and fully juſtify his Innocence, [117] and that of the Counteſs of Berci, by the Evidence of Verague.

Accordingly the next Morning the Marquis des Eſſars, tranſported with Joy at the Return of his beloved Nephew, came to his Hotel with Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, Meſſieurs de Saint Sauveur, and the Count of Berci, who brought with him the unhappy Verague. They went altogether to the Louvre: and being introduced into his Majeſty's Preſence, the fair Amazon taking the Chevalier by the Hand, approached the King, and preſenting him to his Majeſty: ‘Sire, (ſaid ſhe) behold the Chevalier des Eſſars, who comes to throw himſelf at your Feet, not as a guilty Man who wants to implore your Pardon, but as a faithful Subject, who, having by cruel Calumnies been too long baniſhed from your royal Preſence, returns with Joy to conſecrate the Remainder of his Life to your Service: he brings with him an authentic Teſtimony of his Innocence, and therefore hopes, he may again be thought worthy to employ his Arms for you, which, when baniſhed and proſcribed, he never would do for your Enemies.’

All the Courtiers who were preſent, as well as the Friends of the Chevalier des Eſſars, ſecretly applauded this ſpirited Speech of the charming Amazon. The King was pleaſed with it, and ſmiled benignantly upon [118] her, but made no Anſwer: for the Chevalier ſhewing Verague, and throwing himſelf at his Feet, thus ſpoke:

‘This unhappy Man, Sire, will declare to your Majeſty, who was the real Aſſaſſin of a Friend whoſe Fate has coſt me ſo many Tears, and loaded me with ſo many Diſgraces. If, after his Teſtimony is heard, any doubt ſhould remain of my Innocence, and that of the Counteſs of Berci, I am ready to defend her Fame, and my own, with my Sword, as your Majeſty had before permitted I ſhould do: nor do I owe leſs Vengeance to thoſe who have ſo maliciouſly accuſed me without Foundation, ſince by it they have forced me to abandon my native Country, and paſs many Months of my Life in the Diſpleaſure of the greateſt and the beſt of Kings.’

Here the Chevalier ceaſed ſpeaking: the King graciouſly commanded him to riſe, and looking upon Verague, aſked him, what he had to declare concerning the Death of the late Count of Berci?

That unhappy Man, throwing himſelf at the King's Feet with Tears, confeſſed, that he was the ſole Author of the Count's Death: he related his criminal Intrigue with Marianne, the Counteſs of Berci's Woman, the Danger ſhe had been in of being diſcarded with [119] Infamy by her Lady on that Account, and of the young Count of Berci's Interpoſition in her Favour, which procured her a Pardon on Condition ſhe behaved well for the future.

He added, that taking an Opportunity to viſit his Miſtreſs when the Count and his Lady were at an Entertainment, given by the Marquis de Saint Sauveur on account of his Son's Marriage, the ſudden and unexpected Return of Monſieur and Madam de Berci put them in the utmoſt Conſternation; that endeavouring to make his Eſcape, he was ſeized by the Count in the Dark, and anxious for the Preſervation of his Miſtreſs's Honour, and finding no other Way to diſengage himſelf, he attempted to wound the Count in the Arm by which he held him, but that unfortunate Nobleman, by a ſudden Motion, received it in his Breaſt, and it proved mortal to his eternal Remorſe and Grief.

Here Tears for a few Moments drowned his Voice; but recovering himſelf a little, he added, that, not being able to bear the Stings of his own Conſcience, which perpetually reproached him not only with the Count's Murder, but the unjuſt Sufferings of Madam de Berci, and the Chevalier des Eſſars, on that Account, he came voluntarily, and delivered himſelf up to the Chevalier: and having now juſtified his Innocence, and that of the Counteſs of Berci, he [120] was ready to ſuffer the Puniſhment the Law ordains for Crimes like his.

The King, ſurpriſed at this Confeſſion, ordered Marianne to be immediately brought into his Preſence, and confronted with her Lover, to the End that nothing might be wanting for the full Juſtification of the Counteſs and Chevalier.

The unhappy Wretch, too ſecure in the Succeſs her vile Arts had hitherto met with, to dread any Diſcovery from, ſo unexpected a Queſtion, was ſeized by the Exempt of the Guards, diſpatched by the King for that Purporſe, without any Difficulty, and was brought to the Louvre, where, when ſhe beheld Verague, all her Confidence forſaking her, ſhe threw herſelf on her Knees before the King, and with Tears and Groans confeſſed all the Circumſtances Verague had before declared, but implored a Pardon with clamorous Prayers.

The King, perfectly ſatisfied with the Confeſſion of the two Criminals, annulled all the Proceedings againſt the Chevalier and the Counteſs, and moved with Compaſſion for the unfortunate Verague whoſe Crime, as it was involuntary, admitted of ſome extenuation and was likewiſe atoned for, by his ſincere Repentance and accuſing himſelf to clear the Chevalier and the Counteſs. His Majeſty in Conſideration of all this, [121] granted him his Life, but baniſhed him from France for ever. The infamous Marianne was condemned to be ſhut up between four Walls, for the reſt of her Life, and only Suſtenance enough allowed her, to keep her from ſtarving, that ſhe might have Leiſure to repent of the Enormity of her Crimes, and make her Peace with Heaven.

When his Majeſty had pronounced theſe different Sentences, the Marquiſes des Eſſars and de Saint-Sauveur, approached and, with all Humility thanked the King for the Juſtice he had done the Counteſs and the Chevalier.

The Friends of the latter now gave free utterance to the Expreſſions of their Joy for his happy Return, and this publick Proof of his Innocence. But the Chevalier eager to preſent himſelf to his dear Counteſs, on whom his Eyes were almoſt always fixed, diſengaged himſelf at length, and advanced towards her with a tender Awe: but ſhe who had with the ſevereſt Pangs of Jealouſy ſeen his Entrance with the fair Amazon, and heard her Addreſs to the King in his Favour, gave way to the Impetuoſity of her Rage, and when he bowed to her with the utmoſt Reverence as to a Deity, turned diſdainfully from him, and without deigning to give him a Look, fell into Diſcourſe with the Count of Polan who ſtood near her, while the Chevalier ſtruck dumb and immovable [122] by ſuch an Inſtance of Contempt, continued a few Moments gazing upon her as if he doubted whether the Woman who treated him in that Manner, was really the Counteſs of Berci, whom he had ſo faithfully adored, and by whom he had once imagined himſelf tenderly beloved. Pride and Reſentment now came to fortify his Heart againſt the Grief he felt at ſuch an Alteration: after caſting a Look full of Contempt upon his Rival, and Indifference on his Miſtreſs, he mixed among a croud of Ladies by whom he was received with ſuch an emulative Reſpect and Diſtinction, as ſent Daggers to the Heart of the capricious Counteſs, who now repented of the raſh Folly ſhe had been guilty of, and unable longer to ſtay in the Preſence, ſhe went away ſo ſuddenly, that the Chevalier, who angry, as he was, could not help often turning his Eye towards her, was ſurpriſed when he found ſhe was gone. It gave him ſome Satisfaction to find the Count of Polan ſtill there; for Madam de Berci, unwilling to aggravate the Fault ſhe had been guilty of, would not admit of his Attending her to her Coach, but requeſted that Service from her Brother. The Chevalier, who had found it difficult to ſuppreſs his Emotions, and ſupport that Gaiety and Unconcern he had aſſumed while he was in the Sight of his ungrateful Miſtreſs, took the firſt Opportunity to retire, and was conducted by his Uncle and the Marquis de [123] Saint-Sauveur to his Hotel, where he received from that tender Parent and faithful Friend a thouſand endearing Teſtimonies of unſeigned Affection.

Mean time the Count of Berci, who became every day more charmed with Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, was anxious for the Chevalier's Marriage with his Siſter-in-law, that he might no longer have ſuch a formidable Rival in the Affections of his Miſtreſs. He had a Conference with the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur on that Subject, and repreſenting to him that it was Time the Chevalier's faithful Paſſion, which to him had been productive of ſo many Misfortunes, and ſo many brave and generous Services to the Counteſs and her Family, ſhould be rewarded with the Prize he had ſo well deſerved, preſt him to ſpeak to the Marquis his Father in the Chevalier's Favour.

The young Marquis was charmed with this friendly Solicitude in the Count of Berci; he did not fail to give it Praiſes which called up a Bluſh in the Face of the ingenuous Youth, who was conſcious of another and ſtronger Motive for that Conduct. It was agreed between them, that, while the Marquis went to talk to his Father on this Subject, the Count ſhould go to the Marquis des Eſſars, and urge the fame Arguments, in order to induce him to haſten a [124] Marriage between two Perſons who had ſuffered ſo much for each other.

The two good old Men received the Propoſal with great Satisfaction: to the Eſteem the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur had for the Chevalier, nothing could be added; nor to the Admiration of the Marquis des Eſſars for the Counteſs of Berci. Little did they imagine that the Marriage they ſo readily agreed to, would meet with Obſtacles from the two Perſons, whom they believed wiſhed for it with moſt ardour.

The Marquis des Eſſars was no ſooner aſſured of the Aſſent of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, but he haſtened to communicate the good News to his Nephew, whom he expected to ſee in Tranſports at his Feet: but what was his Aſtoniſhment when he heard him coldly anſwer, that the Uneaſineſs he had felt, on account of the Calumnies his Character had ſo long laboured under, and the Dangers he had ſo lately ſuffered at Sea, had given his Thoughts another Turn, and he had made a Vow to remain ſingle for ſome Years.

The Counteſs of Berci alſo, when her Father mentioned his Deſign of beſtowing her upon the Chevalier, told him with a well perſonated Tranquility, that during her Reſidence in the Convent at Eſtampes ſhe had Leiſure to contemplate the calm Pleaſures [125] of a recluſe Life, and was perſuaded that it was greatly to be preferred to the moſt ſplended Condition the World could afford her; that therefore ſhe had reſolved to quit it and retire to that Monaſtery as ſoon as her Proceſs was ended.

The good old Men were aſtoniſhed and confuſed at Anſwers they ſo little expected, and their Perplexity was ſo much the greater as they durſt not acquaint one another with what had happened, leſt they ſhould make a Breach which would be impoſſible ever again to cloſe.

Not being able to comprehend the Meaning of ſo ſudden and ſurprizing an Alteration in their Sentiments, they could not ſuppreſs their Anger at what appeared to them to be the mere Effect of Diſobedience and Caprice.

‘What! (ſaid the Marquis des Eſſars to the Chevalier) when I would have married you to Madam de Gevincourt, an Alliance upon which I had ſet my Heart, becauſe it was ſo greatly to your Advantage, you excuſed yourſelf on account of the Journey you was indiſpenſibly obliged to make to Court, while your true Reaſon was that you was engaged to the Counteſs of Berci: and now when convinced of her great Merit, I propoſe to unite you with her, you talk to me of Vows, [126] and pious Reveries. Do as you pleaſe; but remember that if you perſiſt in ſuch an unreaſonable and abſurd Behaviour, you will force me to place that Affection I have had for you, on ſome other Perſon who will make a better Uſe of it.’

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, as he had moſt Cauſe, was ſtill more enraged with the Counteſs of Berci. ‘By what unaccountable Caprice are you governed? (ſaid he to her) you have ſuffered the Chevalier des Eſſars to conduct you into foreign Countries, and lived for ſeveral Months under his Protection, you left my Houſe ſecretly to go in Search of him, you have diſguiſed your Sex, forgot your Rank, and laid aſide your Character, appearing in Arms to defend his Cauſe at a Time when you thought your ſelf forſaken by him: And now when his Fidelity to you is fully proved by his Rejection of a lovely and generous Maid to whoſe Affection he is ſo greatly obliged, when your Father offers him to your Acceptance, you refuſe his Hand. But go to Eſtampes, ſhut yourſelf up in a Convent if real Piety leads you thither: go and be happy. But truſt my Experience this Reſolution is not the Effect of Piety, or calm Reflections on the Peace and Tranquility of a cloiſtered Life. That Caprice by which your Actions have been [127] lately governed, ſways you now. Go then and repent, for that will be the Conſequence of a Deſign not taken up upon mature Deliberation, but the Reſult of a heated Imagination, and a Judgment weakened by Paſſion and Prejudice. Whatever happens you may be ſure of my Pity, although your ridiculous and diſobedient Conduct gives you no Claim to my Affection.’

The Marquis had no ſooner quitted the Counteſs, which he did at the Concluſion of this Speech, than ſhe began to repent of the Uneaſineſs ſhe had given her Father, and ardently wiſhed, ſhe had not treated her Lover with ſuch Cruelty and Contempt. For ſhe now ſaw Things in another Light, and condemned herſelf for judging ſo raſhly of his Appearance with the fair Amazon, ſince it was certain that ſhe loved him, and that he might have married her, if his Heart had been capable of Change. Her Pride would not ſuffer her to make the firſt Advance towards a Reconciliation, which ſhe now eagerly wiſhed for: but ſtill ſhe expected the Chevalier ſhould purchaſe it by new Submiſſions on his Part. Little did ſhe imagine that that Heart, in which ſhe had once ſuch abſolute Dominion, was now wholly engroſt by two Paſſions, that were mortal Foes to Love. Rage at the cruel Affront ſhe had given him in the Preſence of the whole Court, turned all his Thoughts towards [128] Revenge, which he was reſolved to gratify, tho' at the Expence of his eternal Quiet.

In this Diſpoſition of Mind, he wrote a Letter to his ungrateful Miſtreſs, which he gave to his Valet de Chambre with Orders to deliver it into her own Hand. He then privately left Paris in the Evening, taking his Courſe along the Seine, full of uneaſy Thoughts, and uncertain how he ſhould diſpoſe of himſelf.

In the mean Time, the Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur, and her Daughter-in-law, that dear and tender Friend of the Counteſs of Berci, having been informed by the Marquiſs her Father, of her Refuſal to marry the Chevalier des Eſſars, and her new Reſolution of retiring to a Convent, were inexpreſſibly concerned: they went both together to her Apartment, where the Counteſs, vanquiſhed by their Importunity, and her own Inclinations, promiſed to give her Father that Proof of her Obedience which he required, and acknowledged her unchanged Love for the Chevalier.

Theſe two Ladies were highly pleaſed that they had ſucceeded ſo happily with the Counteſs, whom in their Hearts they could not but think extremely capricious, and were impatient to communicate the good News to the Chevalier: but while the young Marchioneſs was writing a Letter to that [129] Effect, the Chevalier's Valet de Chambre brought one to the Counteſs which was conceived in theſe Terms:

‘After the Proofs you have given me, Madam, of the Levity of your Temper, and the Inconſtancy of your Heart, I can with Difficulty believe, you are the ſame Perſon whom for many Years I have ſo religiouſly adored. Blind and infatuated as I was, I would once have preferred the ſweet Slavery, to which you had reduced me, to the moſt ſplendid Rank Fortune could have beſtowed upon me. But the Illuſion is vaniſhed, the undeſerved Contempt you have treated me with has opened my Eyes, and reſtored me to myſelf. I have loved you, Madam, with a Paſſion which no Time could weaken, no Accidents alter. It is one Part of my Happineſs now, that I can ſay, I have loved you: and another, tho' leſs conſiderable, that injured as I am by you, yet I have been ſo fortunate as to render you Services which no other Man ever can, and could only be paid by your Affection, to which I now no longer lay claim. Baniſh them from your Thoughts, Madam, as well as my Perſon; for this is the laſt Time I ſhall ever endeavour to bring either them, or myſelf, to your Remembrance. I leave you free to make new Conqueſts, and to triumph in new Acts [130] of Inconſtancy: and, contented with having recovered my Liberty, can with perfect Indifference bid you eternally Farewell.’

The Counteſs of Berci, pierced to the Heart with the Reproaches contained in this Letter, but more at the cruel Indifference of the Writer, apparent in every Line, had ſcarce Strength enough to read it through. The Words, 'I bid you an eternal Adieu,' ſeemed to have Power to ſeparate her Soul from her Body; and loſing Senſe and Motion, ſhe fell lifeleſs on the Sopha, where ſhe was ſitting when ſhe received the fatal Billet.

Madam de Saint-Sauveur, entering her Daughter's Apartment, and ſeeing her in that Condition, ſhrieked aloud, and was very near ſinking likewiſe into a Swoon. The young Marchioneſs was one of the firſt who ran to the Counteſs's Apartment: terrified at the melancholy Objects ſhe ſaw before her, with one Arm ſhe ſupported the fainting Mother while, with the other ſhe endeavoured to raiſe the Counteſs. Two or three Women entering, they applied proper Remedies to both. The Counteſs opened her Eyes with a Sigh, and as ſoon as ſhe was a little recovered, deſired ſhe might be left alone with her Mother and Siſter-in-law, to whom ſhe ſhewed the Chevalier's [131] cruel Letter; and while they were reading it, eaſed her loaded Heart by a Shower of Tears.

The two Marchioneſſes, not knowing the Cauſe which the Counteſs had given for ſuch a Letter, were equally ſurpriſed and angry at it. Madam de Berci was not ingenuous enough to tell them what had happened: but took a gloomy Pleaſure in hearing him condemned by thoſe two Ladies for a Conduct ſo inconſiſtent with the Paſſion he had confeſt for her, and with that Politeneſs and Diſcretion which made up ſo conſiderable a Part of his Character. But tortured with her own Reflexions, and deſpairing of ever being able to recover the Heart of a Man who had quitted her with ſuch a ſeeming calm and ſteady Reſentment, ſhe ſunk under the violent Perturbations of her Mind, and was ſeized with a Fever, which in a few Days brought her ſo low that her Life was deſpaired of. Her Youth, however, and a naturally good Conſtitution, ſaved her: but ſhe continued in a weak and languiſhing Condition for three whole Months, and plunged in ſo deep a Melancholy as filled the Hearts of her Parents, and all to whom ſhe was dear, with inexpreſſible Diſquiet.

But to return to the Chevalier des Eſſars. After he had ſent the Letter to the Counteſs of Berci, he left his Hotel preſently, [132] and paſſing the Seine, went to S. Glou, where he lay that Night: early in the Morning he renewed his Journey, and leaving the Village of S. Clou on his left Hand, he ſtruck into the road on the right Hand of Surene, near which was a Mountain long celebrated for having afforded a Retreat to ſeveral illuſtrious Perſons. The Chevalier reached the Summit of this Mountain juſt as the Sun was beginning to gild the Earth with his Rays. He ſtopped a few Moments to take Breath, and to contemplate the moſt beautiful rural Proſpect in the World, which was varied by a vaſt Number of fine Villages, and ſuperb Palaces: but the lovelieſt Object of all was that renowned River, which, after paſſing through the Middle of that Queen of Cities to which it continually carries Riches and Plenty, ſeems to leave her with Regret, and ſlowly gliding through this rich Country, forms a thouſand and a thouſand imperceptible windings in its meandring Courſe.

The Chevalier felt a ſecret Satisfaction ſteal to his Heart at the View of this inchanting Place; the new and pleaſing Objects around him, the ſoft Melody of the Birds, the gentle Breathings of the Wind that wafted Odours as it paſt, the pleaſing Stillneſs, all contributed to charm his Senſes, and lull him into a ſweet Oblivion of former Griefs. Tranſported at the ſudden Change he felt in his Mind, and fondly [133] hoping, that the Calm he now experienced would be ſecured by fixing his Reſidence in this delightful Spot, he took a Reſolution to return no more to Paris, but to hide himſelf from the World, and paſs the reſt of his Life in a peaceful Retirement, alike undiſturbed by the Pangs of Love, and the Fever of Ambition.

The Solitaries, who inhabited Mount Valerian, received their new Inmate with Joy; his Air and Mien ſpoke him a Perſon of Diſtinction; his Converſation and Behaviour a Man of Senſe and Politeneſs. The Cell he choſe had a little Gallery cloſe to the Chapel where he could hear Maſs without being ſeen: he had a ſmall Garden adjoining to his Cell, which he took delight to cultivate with his own Hands. Several Hours in the Day he paſt in the Converſation of thoſe Religious who to the greateſt Sanctity joined the moſt pleaſing Manners, and an uninterupted Chearfulneſs with the ſtricteſt Piety.

Among theſe reverend Perſons the Chevalier diſtinguiſhed one to whom a ſecret Sympathy particularly attached him. He was already paſt the Prime of Life, but ſeemed more impaired by Affliction than by Years; his Perſon had an Air of Dignity which at firſt ſight, commanded Reſpect. There was a certain Grace in every Thing he ſaid, and did, which inſenſibly captivated [134] the Heart: his Countenance expreſſed a fixed Melancholy, through which, notwithſtanding, ſhone a Benignity and Sweetneſs, that made every Beholder ſympathiſe in his Sadneſs, but with ſuch a ſweet Senſation as a good Heart feels when it contemplates a Misfortune it wiſhes and thinks itſelf able to relieve.

It was eaſy to perceive that he had been extremely handſome in his Youth. His uncouth Habit could not wholly conceal the Graces of his Figure, nor could Time and Grief produce any Alteration in the Harmony of his Features. The Chevalier eagerly ſought his Company and Converſation, and the Solitary found ſo many Charms in that of the Chevalier, that he ſpent all thoſe Hours which he had to ſpare from his religious Duties with him. To a mutual Friendſhip a mutual Confidence ſucceeded, the Chevalier diſcloſed his Name and his Misfortunes to the Solitary, who likewiſe related to him the Hiſtory of his Life in the following Manner.

[135]

The Hiſtory OF THE Count DE COMMINGE.

THE Houſe of Comminge, from which I am deſcended, is one of the moſt ancient and illuſtrious in the Kingdom. My Great Grand-Father, who had two Sons, was ſo extremely fond of the Youngeſt, that he ſettled ſome very conſiderable Eſtates upon him, in prejudice to the Right of his elder Brother, and gave him the Title of Marquis of Luſſan. The Partiality of my Anceſtor did not weaken the Friendſhip between his two Sons, which increaſed with their Years. They would have their Children brought up together, but by giving them thus their Education in common, inſtead of uniting them by ſtricter Ties than thoſe of Blood, which was their ſole View in it, they rendered them Enemies almoſt from their Birth.

My Father who was always excelled in his Exerciſes by the young Marquis of Luſſan, conceived a Jealouſy at it, which ſoon degenerated into a fixed Averſion. They often quarelled, and my Father being always the Aggreſſor, it was he who was always puniſhed.

[136]One Day when he complained of this Treatment to the Steward of our Family, ‘Know, (ſaid this Man to him) that you will have it in your Power to repreſs the Pride of the Marquiſs of Luſſan, all the Eſtates he poſſeſſes are entrailed upon you and your Grand-Father could not diſpoſe of them: when you are the Maſter (added he) it will not be difficult for you to recover your Right.’

This Intimation convincing my Father that he had it in his Power to be revenged of his Couſin, made him ſet no Bounds to his Reſentment. Their Quarrels became ſo frequent and ſo violent, that there was a Neceſſity for ſeparating them. They were many Years without ſeeing each other, during which they were both married. The Marquis of Luſſan had only a Daughter by his Wife, and my Father only a Son by his, which was my-ſelf.

As ſoon as my Father came to the Poſſeſſion of his hereditary Eſtate by the Death of his Grand-father, he determined to follow the Advice that had been given him, while he was yet a Youth, and which he had never loſt Sight of: he omitted nothing that could render his Claim unqueſtionable, and rejecting ſeveral Propoſals for an Accommodation, commenced a Law-ſuit with the Marquis of Luſſan, which could not [137] but terminate in the deſpoiling him of all his Eſtates.

An unhappy Rencounter which they had one Day in a hunting Match rendered them for ever irreconcilable. My Father, whoſe vowed Revenge was never out of his Thoughts, ſaid ſeveral cruel Things to the Marquis of Luſſan upon the deſpicable State to which he expected ſoon to reduce him. The Marquis, tho' naturally mild, could not help anſwering him with ſome Haughtineſs. They had Recourſe to their Swords: Fortune declared in favour of Monſieur de Luſſan: he diſarmed my Father, and bid him aſk his Life.

‘I ſhould hate it (anſwered my Father fiercely) if I owed it to thee.’ ‘Yet, Spite of thy ſelf thou ſhalt owe it to me, (ſaid the Marquis de Luſſan throwing him his Sword) after which he inſtantly left him.’

This generous Action did not move my Father in his Favour, on the contrary the double Victory his Enemy had gained over him, increaſed his Hatred; and he carried on the Suit againſt the Marquis de Luſſan more vigorouſly than before. However when his Hopes were higheſt, he received ſome Accounts from his Lawyers, which effectually daſhed them. This Diſappointment threw him into ſuch Tranſports of [138] Rage and Grief as brought on a dangerous Fever, under which he languiſhed a long Time; and in this State I found him at my Return from my Travels upon which I had been ſent immediately after my Studies were finiſhed.

A few Days after my Arrival, the Abbot de R . . . . a Kinſman of my Mother's, ſent Notice to my Father, that the Writings, which alone were able to prove his juſt Claim to the Eſtates poſſeſſed by the Marquis de Luſſan, were in the Archives of the Abbey of R . . . . to which Place many of the Papers belonging to our Family had been carried during the civil Wars.

My Father was deſired by the Abbot de R . . . . to keep this Information ſecret and to come himſelf for thoſe Writings, or ſend a Perſon for them, on whoſe Fidelity he could have an abſolute Dependance.

The bad State of his Health not permiting him to go himſelf, he charged me with this Commiſſion after many times repreſenting to me the great Importance of it.

‘You (ſaid he to me) are more concerned in the Recovery of theſe Papers than I am. The Eſtates will probably ſoon be yours: but if you had no intereſt in them, I think well enough of you to believe [139] that you ſhare my Reſentment, and are eager to revenge the Injuries I have received.’

After giving me ſome other neceſſary Inſtructions, it was reſolved that I ſhould take the Title of Marquis de Longaunois, that my Buſineſs in the Abbey might not be ſuſpected, Madam de Luſſan having ſeveral Relations there.

I ſet out accompanied only by an old Servant of my Father's, and my own Valet de Chambre: my Journey proved ſucceſsful: I found in the Archives of the Abbey of R . . . . the Writings which proved inconteſtably the Entail.

I wrote to my Father, and gave him an Account of all that I had done: and as I was only at a ſmall Diſtance from Bagnieres, I deſired he would permit me to ſtay there during the Seaſon for drinking the Waters. My Father was ſo pleaſed with the Succeſs of my Journey, that he readily complied with my Requeſt.

I ſtill appeared under the borrowed Title of the Marquis de Longaunois. I had too inconſiderable an Equipage to ſupport the Grandeur of that of Comminge. The Day after my Arrival I went to the Fountain: in theſe Places Ceremony is laid aſide, and an eaſy polite Freedom better ſupplies its Place. [140] From the firſt Day of my Appearance at the Baths, I was admitted into all Parties of Pleaſure, and introduced at the Houſe of the Marquis de la Vallete, who that Day gave a grand Entertainment to the Ladies.

I found ſome of them already come whom I had ſeen at the Fountain, and ſaid ſome tender Things to them as I then thought my ſelf obliged to do to all Women. I was engaged in a particular Converſation with one of them, when a Lady of good Preſence entered the Room, followed by a Girl of ſurpriſing Beauty: her Charms fixed my Attention immediately, her graceful Modeſty won my Eſteem, I loved her from that Moment, and that Moment decided the Deſtiny of my whole Life: inſenſibly my former Gaiety vaniſhed, I could do nothing but gaze on her, and follow her every where: ſhe perceived it, and bluſhed. A Walk was propoſed, and I had the good Fortune to lead her. We were at a ſufficient Diſtance from the reſt of the Company to give me an Opportunity of talking to her upon a Subject by which my whole Thoughts were engroſſed: but I who a few Moments before was not able to remove my Eyes from her Face, had now when we were alone not Courage enough to look upon her. Till then I had always talked of Love to Women for whom I felt nothing but Indifference: but as ſoon as my [141] Heart was really ſubdued, I found it impoſſible to ſpeak.

We rejoined the Company without having uttered a ſingle Word to each other. The Ladies were conducted to their Lodgings, and I returned home, where I ſhut my ſelf up in my Apartment. In the Diſpoſition my Mind was then in, Solitude was moſt agreeable. I felt a certain Kind of Joy mixed with Pain, which I believe always accompanies a beginning Paſſion: mine had rendered me ſo timid, that I durſt not endeavour to know the Name of her I loved. I was apprehenſive, my Curioſity would betray the Secret of my Heart but how did it ſink within me when I learned that it was the Daughter of the Marquis of Luſſan, who had charmed me. All the Obſtacles, that oppoſed my Happineſs, roſe inſtantly to my Mind. But the Fear, that Adelaida (ſo was that lovely Girl called) had been early taught to hate my Name, was what moſt alarmed me. I thought myſelf fortunate in having aſſumed another, and fondly hoped that ſhe would know my Paſſion for her, before ſhe could be prejudiced againſt me, and that when ſhe knew who I was, ſhe would at leaſt be induced to pity me.

I therefore determined to conceal my true Name as long as poſſible, and in the mean Time to uſe every Method to pleaſe her: [142] but I was too much in Love to employ any other than that of loving. I followed her wherever ſhe went, I ardently wiſhed for an Opportunity of ſpeaking to her in private; and when that ſo much deſired Opportunity offered itſelf, I had not Power to take Advantage of it. The Fear of forfeiting a thouſand little Freedoms, which I now enjoyed, reſtrained me: but my greateſt Fear was that of offending her.

This was my Situation when one Evening, as the Company was walking in little ſeparate Parties, Adelaida dropt a Bracelet off her Arm to which her Picture was faſtened. The Chevalier de Saint Oden, who led her, eagerly ſtooped to take it up, and after gazing on it a Moment put it into his Pocket. Adelaida at firſt aſked for it mildly; but he obſtinately refuſing to return it, ſhe expreſſed great reſentment at a behaviour which argued ſo little Reſpect for her. The Chevalier was handſome, ſome little Succeſſes with the Fair, had made him vain and preſuming. Without being diſconcerted at Adelaida's Anger.

‘Why, Mademoiſelle, (ſaid he) would you deprive me of a Good which I owe only to chance? I flatter myſelf (continued he lowering his Voice) that when you know the Sentiments you have inſpired me with, you will ſuffer me to keep what that has preſented me.’ Saying [143] this he bowed profoundly low, and, without waiting for her Anſwer, retired.

I happened not to be with her then. The Marchioneſs de la Valette and I were talking at a little diſtance: but although I quitted her as ſeldom as poſſible, yet my Attention was always fixed upon her. I never loſt a Look, a Word, or Action of her's, and however particularly engaged, I never failed in any of thoſe Aſſiduities, which others practiſe to pleaſe, but which the Exceſs of my paſſion made me find inconceivable Pleaſure in performing.

Hearing her ſpeak with unuſual Emotion, I approached her, ſhe was giving her Mother an Account of what had happened. Madam de Luſſan was as much offended at the Chevalier's Behaviour as her Daughter. I was ſilent, I even continued my Walk with the Ladies. When they retired I ſent a Meſſage to the Chevalier, he was at home, and in Conſequence of my deſiring him to meet me, he came inſtantly to the Place appointed.

‘I cannot perſuade myſelf (ſaid I approaching him) that what has happened during our Walk to Day, is more than a meer Pleaſantry: you are too gallant and well bred to keep a Lady's Picture contrary to her Inclination.’

[144] ‘I know not (anſwered he warmly) what Intereſt you take in my keeping or reſtoring it. But I know that I neither need, nor will accept of your Advice. Then (replied I claping my Hand on my Sword) I will force you to receive it in this Manner.’

The Chevalier was brave, he eagerly anſwered my Defiance, we fought for ſome time with equal Succeſs: but he was not animated like me with the Deſire of ſerving what I loved. He wounded me ſlightly in two Places: but I gave him two large Wounds, and obliged him both to aſk his Life, and to reſign the Picture. After I had aſſiſted him to riſe and had conducted him to the neareſt Houſe, I retired to my own Lodgings, where as ſoon as the Wounds I had received were dreſt, I ſet myſelf to contemplate that lovely Picture, and kiſſed it a thouſand, and a thouſand times.

I had a Genius for Painting which I had taken ſome Pains to cultivate: yet I was far from being a Maſter in the Art. But what will not Love accompliſh? I undertook to copy this Portrait. I ſpent two Days in this Employment. Delightful taſk! I ſucceeded ſo well, that even a very diſcerning Eye might have miſtaken mine for the Original. This inſpired me with the Thought of ſubſtituting one for the other, by which [145] contrivance I ſhould have the Advantage of keeping that which had belonged to Adelaida, and ſhe without knowing it, would always bear my Work about her.

Theſe trifles to one who truly loves, are matters of great Importance, and my Heart knew how to ſet the full Value on them.

After I had faſtened the Picture I had painted to the Ribbon in ſuch a Manner that my cheat could not be diſcovered, I preſented it to Adelaida. Madam de Luſſan expreſſed herſelf highly obliged to me. Adelaida ſaid little, ſhe ſeemed embarraſſed, but in the Midſt of that Embarraſment I thought I diſcovered that ſhe was pleaſed at having received this little Obligation from me, and that Thought gave me a real Tranſport.

I have in my Life experienced ſome of thoſe happy Moments, and had my Misfortunes been only common ones, I ſhould not have believed them too dearly purchaſed.

After this little Adventure I ſtood extremely well in the Eſteem of Madam de Luſſan. I was always at her Lodgings, I ſaw Adelaida every Hour in the Day, and although I did not ſpeak to her of my Paſſion, yet I was ſure ſhe knew it: and I had Reaſon to believe ſhe did not hate me. Hearts as ſenſible as ours were, quickly underſtand [146] each other: to them every Thing is Expreſſion.

I had lived two Months in this Manner, when I received a Letter from my Father, in which he commanded me to return immediately. This Command was to me like the ſtroke of a Thunder-bolt: my whole Soul had been engroſt with the Pleaſure of ſeeing, and loving Adelaida. The Idea of leaving her was wholly new to me. The Horror of parting from her, the conſequences of the Law-ſuit between our Families roſe to my Thoughts with every Aggravation to diſtract me. I paſſed the Night in the utmoſt Agitation, and after having formed a thouſand different Proſpects, all equally fruitleſs and impracticable, it came ſuddenly into my Mind to burn the Writings which were ſtill in my Poſſeſſion, thoſe now hated Writings that proved our Claim to the Eſtates of the Family of Luſſan. I was aſtoniſhed that I had not hit upon this Expedient ſooner, ſince it was the moſt effectual Method I could take to put an End to a Suit the Conſequences of which I had ſo much dreaded. It was not impoſſible but my Father, who had proceeded very far, might be induced to terminate the Affair amicably by my Marriage with Adelaida: but altho' there ſhould be no Foundation for ſo pleaſing a Hope, yet I could not conſent to furniſh Arms againſt what I loved. I reproached myſelf for having ſo long kept Papers in my [147] Poſſeſſion, which ought to have been ſooner ſacrificed to my Tenderneſs. The Reflection of the Injury I did my Father could not ſtop me a Moment from the Execution of this Deſign. His eſtates were entailed upon me, and I inherited one left me by my Mother's Brother which I could reſign to him to procure his Pardon, and which was much more conſiderable than that I was the Cauſe of his loſing.

There needed no more Arguments to convince a Man in Love, and already determined. I went inſtantly to my Cloſet for the little Box which contained thoſe Papers. Never had I in my whole Life experienced ſo happy a Moment, as that in which I committed them to the Flames. I was tranſported into Rapture at the Thoughts of ſo effectually ſerving the Object of my Paſſion.

‘If ſhe loves me (ſaid I) ſhe ſhall one Day know the Sacrifice I have made for her: but if I am not ſo happy as to touch her Heart, ſhe ſhall always remain in Ignorance of it. Why ſhould I make her ſenſible of an Obligation ſhe would be ſorry to own to me? I would have Adelaida love me, but I would not have her think herſelf indebted to me.’

I confeſs however, that after this Action, I found myſelf emboldened to declare my Sentiments [148] to her, and the Freedom, with which I viſited at her Mother's, gave me an Opportunity that very Day.

‘I am going to leave you, charming Adelaida, (ſaid I) will you have the Goodneſs to think ſometimes of a Man, whoſe Happineſs, or whoſe Miſery you only can make?’ I had not power to go on, ſhe ſeemed alarmed, confuſed, I thought alſo that I ſaw Grief in her Eyes.

‘You have heard me (reſumed I trembling) give me ſome Anſwer, I implore it of your Compaſſion, ſpeak one Word to me.’

‘What would you have me ſay to you? (replied ſhe with viſible Emotion) I ought not to have heard you, and I ought leſs to anſwer you.’

Scarce did ſhe give herſelf Time to pronounce theſe few Words, ſhe left me ſo ſuddenly. I ſtaid the reſt of the Day there, but I found it impoſſible again to ſpeak to her alone. She avoided me carefully. She had an Air of Perplexity and Confuſion: how lovely did ſhe appear to me with that perplexed Air, and that ſweet innocent Confuſion: my Reſpect for her was equal to my Love, I could not look on her without trembling. I dreaded leſt my Preſumption [149] had made her repent of her Goodneſs towards me.

I ſhould have longer obſerved a Conduct ſo conformable to my Reſpect for her, and to the Delicacy of my own Sentiments, if the Neceſſity I was under of leaving her, had not forced me to ſpeak: I was willing to tell Adelaida my true Name before I went away: but I dreaded this Declaration even more than my former.

‘I perceive you avoid me, Madam. (ſaid I to her) Alas! what will you do when you know all my Crimes, or rather my Misfortunes? I have impoſed upon you by a falſe Name: I am not the Perſon you think me: I am (purſued I trembling with the violence of my Apprehenſions) I am the Son of the Count de Comminge.

‘The Son of the Count de Comminge, (cried Adelaida with Aſtoniſhment and Grief in her Face) our Enemy, our Perſecutor. Do not you and your Father urge the Ruin of mine?’

‘Oh! do not wound me with ſo cruel a Thought, (interrupted I, Tears in ſpite of myſelf ſtreaming from my Eyes.) In me, charming Adelaida, you behold a Lover ready to ſacrifice all for you; my Father will never injure yours, my Love ſecures him in your Intereſt.’

[150] ‘But, why, (replied Adelaida, recovering from her Surpriſe) why have you deceived me? Why did you conceal your true Name? Had I known it (purſued ſhe, ſoftly ſighing) it would have warned me to fly from you.’

‘Oh! do not, Madam, (ſaid I taking her Hand which I forcibly kiſſed) do not repent of your Goodneſs towards me.’

‘Leave me, (ſaid ſhe withdrawing her Hand) the more I ſee you, the more inevitable I render thoſe Misfortunes I too juſtly apprehend.’

The latent Meaning of theſe Words filled me with a Tranſport that ſuffered nothing but Hope to appear. I flattered myſelf that I ſhould be able to render my Father favourable to my Paſſion. This Belief ſo wholly poſſeſſed me, that I thought every one ſhould think as I did. I ſpoke to Adelaida of my Projects like one who is ſecure of Succeſs.

‘I know not (ſaid ſhe to me with a melancholy Air) why my Heart refuſes to yield to the Hopes you endeavour to inſpire. I foreſee nothing but Miſery in the courſe of this Affair. Yet I find a Pleaſure in feeling what I do for you. I have not hid my Sentiments from you, I am willing you ſhould know them, but remember [151] that if there is a neceſſity for it, I am capable of ſacrificing them to my Duty.’

I had ſeveral Converſations with Adelaida before my Departure, and always found new Cauſe to congratulate myſelf upon my good Fortune. The Pleaſure of loving and knowing that I was beloved, filled my whole Heart; no Suſpicion, no Fear for the future could diſturb the tender Softneſs of our Interviews. We were ſecure of each other's Affection, becauſe Eſteem was the Baſis of it, and this Certainty far from diminiſhing the Ardour of our Paſſion, added to it all the Sweets of Hope, and all the Charms of Confidence.

‘I ſhould die with grief, (ſaid ſhe to me) if I bring upon you the Diſpleaſure of your Father. I would have you love me, but, Oh! I would rather have you happy.’

I parted from her at length, full of the moſt tender and moſt ardent Paſſion that ever Man felt, and my whole Soul intent upon the Deſign of rendering my Father favourable to it.

In the mean Time he was informed of every Thing that had paſſed at the Baths. The Servant whom he had put about me, had ſecret Orders to obſerve my Conduct. He had left him ignorant of nothing, neither [152] of my Love, nor my Quarrel with the Chevalier de Saint Oden: unfortunately the Chevalier was the Son of one of my Father's moſt intimate Friends; this Circumſtance, and the Danger to which he was reduced by his Wound, turned every Thing againſt me. The Servant, who had given him ſuch exact Informations, repreſented me to be much happier than I was. He deſcribed Madam and Mademoiſelle de Luſſan as full of Artifice and Deſign, as having always known me for the Count de Comminge, and had ſpared no Pains to ſeduce me.

Thus prejudiced, my Father, naturally ſevere and paſſionate, treated me at my Return with great Harſhneſs, he reproached me with my Paſſion as a Crime of the blackeſt Dye.

‘You have been baſe enough (ſaid he to me) to love my Enemies, and without reflecting what you owed either to me or yourſelf, you have entered into engagements with thoſe I hate. And I know not (added he) whether you have not done ſomething ſtill more worthy of my Reſentment!’

‘Yes, Sir, (anſwered I throwing myſelf at his Feet) I am guilty I confeſs, but I am ſo in ſpite of myſelf: at this very Moment when I implore your Pardon, I feel that no Power on Earth can [153] tear from my Heart that Paſſion which offends you, have Pity on me, and oh! ſuffer me to ſay it, have Pity on yourſelf: put an End to the Hatred which diſturbs the Tranquility of your Life. The Tenderneſs which the Daughter of Monſieur de Luſſan, and I felt for each other at firſt ſight, ſeems a Warning from Heaven to you. Alas! my dear Father, you have no other Child but me, would you make me miſerable, and load me with Misfortunes ſo much the more inſupportable, as they will come from a Hand I muſt ever love and revere? Suffer yourſelf (my dear Father) to be ſoftened into Forgiveneſs of a Son who has offended you only by a Fatality for which he could not be anſwerable.’

My Father, who had ſuffered me to continue kneeling during the whole time I was ſpeaking to him, looked on me for a Moment with mingled Scorn and Indignation.

At length, ‘I have (ſaid he) heard you with a Patience I am myſelf aſtoniſhed at, and which I did not imagine I was capable of. I will ſtill preſerve Compoſure enough to tell you what is the only Favour you are to expect from me. You muſt renounce your ill placed Paſſion, or the Quality of my Son: take your Choice, and this Inſtant deliver me the Writings [154] you have in your Cuſtody, you are no longer worthy of my Confidence.’

If my Father had ſuffered himſelf to be moved by my Supplications, the Demand he made of the Papers would have greatly diſtreſt me: but his Harſhneſs gave me Courage.

‘Thoſe Writings, (ſaid I riſing) are no longer in my Poſſeſſion, I have burned them: but the Eſtate I inherit of my Uncle's ſhall be yours, inſtead of thoſe they would have given you.’

I had ſcarce Time to pronounce theſe few Words, my Father mad with Rage, drew his Sword, and would doubtleſs have run me through, for I made not the leaſt Effort to avoid him, if my Mother had not entered the Room that Inſtant, and thrown herſelf half dead with Terror betwixt us.

‘Ah! what would you do, (ſaid ſhe gaſping with the Violence of her Fears.) Is he not your Son?’ Then forcing me out of the Room, ſhe ordered me to expect her in her own Apartment.

I waited there a long Time before ſhe appeared: ſhe came at length: I had no longer Rage, Exclamation and Menaces to combat, but a tender Mother who entered into all my Griefs, and intreated me [155] with Tears to have Compaſſion on the Condition to which I had reduced her.

‘What, my Son, (ſaid ſhe to me) ſhall a Miſtreſs, and a Miſtreſs whom you have known ſo ſhort a Time, be preferred to your Mother? Alas! if your Happineſs depended upon me, I would ſacrifice every Thing to ſecure it; but you have a Father who will be obeyed. He is upon the Point of taking the moſt violent Reſolutions againſt you. Oh! my Son, if you would not make me miſerable, ſuppreſs a Paſſion that will render us all unhappy.’

I remained ſome Moments ſilent, how difficult was it to reſiſt ſuch a Plea, ſo tenderly urged by a Mother, for whom I had the higheſt filial Affection: but Love was ſtill more powerful.

‘I would die (ſaid I) rather than diſpleaſe you. And I will die if you have not Pity on me. What can I do? It is eaſier for me to take away my own Life than forget Adelaida. Shall I be perjured and violate the Vows I have made to her? Vows which have engaged her early Affections. Shall I abandon her then when I know I have gained her Heart? Oh! my dear Mother, do not wiſh your Son to become the baſeſt of Men.’

[156]I then related to her all that had paſt between us.

‘She loves you, (ſaid I) and you, I am ſure will not be able to help loving her. She has your Sweetneſs, your Candor, your Generoſity. How is it poſſible for me to ceaſe to love her?’

‘But what do you propoſe by indulging this Paſſion? ſaid my Mother: your Father is reſolved to have you marry another, and commands you to retire into the Country till every Thing is ſettled. It is abſolutely neceſſary that you ſhould appear willing to obey him, unleſs you mean to be my Death. He expects you will depart to morrow under the Conduct of a Perſon in whom he has great Confidence. Abſence will do more for you than you can yet imagine; but be that as it will, do not irritate Monſieur de Comminge ſtill more by your Refuſal: aſk for time, and I will do every Thing in my Power, to accompliſh your Wiſhes. Your Father's Anger cannot laſt always. He will relent and you may be yet happy, but you have been highly to blame in burning the Writings. He is perſuaded that you ſacrificed them to Madam de Luſſan who ordered her Daughter to require that Proof of your Love.’

[157] ‘Oh! heavens! (cried I) is it poſſible that my Father can be ſo unjuſt? Both Madam de Luſſan and Adelaida are ignorant of what I have done, and I am very ſure had they ſuſpected my Intention, they would have uſed all their Power over me to have prevented it.’

My Mother and I afterwards took Meaſures to convey Letters to each other; and encouraged by her Indulgence, I durſt preſume to beg ſhe would tranſmit to me thoſe of Adelaida, who was ſoon to be at Bourdeaux. My Mother had the Goodneſs to promiſe ſhe would gratify me, but at the ſame Time inſiſted, that if I found Adelaida had altered her Sentiments, I ſhould ſubmit to what my Father required of me. We ſpent great Part of the Night in this Converſation, and as ſoon as Day appeared my Conductor came to inform me that it was Time to get on Horſe-back.

The Eſtate, where I was to paſs the Time of my Baniſhment, lay in the Mountains, ſome Leagues from Bagnieres, ſo that we took the ſame Road I had ſo lately paſt through. The Second Day of our Journey we came early in the Evening to the Village where we were to lye. While Supper was preparing I went to take a Walk along the great Road, and at a Diſtance ſaw an Equipage which drove very faſt, and when it came within a few Paces [158] of me overturned. My Heart by its throbbing acquainted me with the Part I had in this Accident; I eagerly flew towards the Coach, two Men on Horſe-back who attended it, alighted and joined me to aſſiſt thoſe who were within: it will be eaſily gueſſed that thoſe Perſons were Adelaida and her Mother. In Effect it was they. Adelaida was very much hurt in one of her Feet, but her Joy at ſeeing me ſeemed to leave her no Senſe of her Pain.

What Pleaſure did I taſte that happy Moment! after ſo many Afflictions, and at the Diſtance of ſo many Years, it is ſtill preſent to my Remembrance. Adelaida not being able to walk, I took her in my Arms to carry her to the Inn, her charming Arms were thrown round my Neck, and one of her Hands touched my Mouth. I was in a Tranſport that ſcarce ſuffered me to breathe. Adelaida obſerved it, her Delicacy was alarmed, ſhe made a Motion to diſſingage herſelf from my Arms. Alas! how little did ſhe know the Exceſs of my Love, I was too much tranſported with my preſent Happineſs to think there was any beyond it.

‘Set me down, (ſaid ſhe to me in a low and trembling Voice) I believe I am able to walk.’

[159] ‘What (replied I) are you ſo cruel as to envy me the only good Fortune I ſhall perhaps ever enjoy.’ I preſt her tenderly to my Boſom as I pronounced theſe Words. Adelaida was ſilent, and a falſe Step which I made on Purpoſe, obliged her to reſume her firſt Attitude.

The Inn was at ſo little Diſtance, that I was ſoon forced to part with my beauteous Burden. I carried her into a Room and laid her on a Bed, while their Attendants did the ſame by her Mother who was much more hurt than Adelaida. Every one being buſy about Madam de Luſſan, I had time to acquaint Adelaida with part of what had paſſed between my Father and me: I ſuppreſſed the Article of the burnt Writings. I knew not whether I moſt wiſhed that ſhe ſhould be ignorant of it, or know it from another Perſon. It was in ſome Degree impoſing upon her the Neceſſity of loving me, and I was deſirous of owing all to her own Heart. I durſt not deſcribe my Father to her ſuch as he really was. Adelaida was ſtrictly virtuous, and I was ſenſible, that, to reſign herſelf to the Inclination ſhe felt for me, it was neceſſary that ſhe ſhould hope we might be one Day united. I ſeemed to have great Dependance upon my Mother's Tenderneſs for me, and the favourable Diſpoſitions ſhe was in towards us; I intreated Adelaida to ſee her.

[160] ‘Speak to my Mother, (ſaid ſhe) ſhe knows your Sentiments. I have acknowledged mine to her. I found that her Authority was neceſſary to give me Strength to combat them, if I ſhould be obliged to it, or to juſtify me for reſigning my ſelf up to them without Scruple. She will uſe her utmoſt Endeavours to prevail upon my Father, to propoſe an Accommodation, and to engage the Interpoſition of our common Relations for that Purpoſe.’

The Tranquility with which Adelaida reſted upon theſe Hopes, made me feel my Misfortune more ſenſibly.

‘What, if our Fathers ſhould be inexorable (ſaid I to her preſſing her hand,) will not you have Compaſſion on a miſerable Wretch who adores you?’

‘I will do all that I can (anſwered ſhe) to regulate my Inclinations by my Duty, but I feel that I ſhall be wretched, if that Duty is againſt you.’

The Perſons who had been employed about Madam de Luſſan then approaching her Daughter, our Diſcourſe was interrupted. I went to the Bed-ſide of the Mother; ſhe received me kindly and aſſured me, ſhe would uſe every Method in her Power to reconcile our Families. I then went out of [161] their Chamber to leave them at Liberty to take ſome Repoſe. My Conductor, who waited for me in my own, had made no Enquiry about theſe new Gueſts, ſo that I had an Opportunity of being a few Moments with Adelaida before I proceeded on my Journey.

I entered her Chamber in a Condition eaſier to be imagined than deſcribed. I dreaded that this was the laſt Time I ſhould ſee her. I approached the Mother firſt. My Grief pleaded for me. And ſhe was ſo moved with it that ſhe expreſſed herſelf in ſtill kinder Terms, than ſhe had done the Evening before. Adelaida was at another End of the Room, I went to her trembling.

'I leave you, my dear Adelaida,' ſaid I. Two or three Times I repeated the ſame Words: my Tears which I could not reſtrain, ſpoke the Reſt. She wept likewiſe.

‘I ſhew you my whole Heart, (ſaid ſhe) but I do not wiſh to diſguiſe it from you, you deſerve my Tenderneſs. I know not what will be our Fate, but I am reſolved, that my Parents ſhall diſpoſe of mine.’

‘And why (replied I) ſhould we ſubject ourſelves to the Tyranny of our Parents? Let us leave them to hate each [162] other, if they will do it, and let us fly to ſome diſtant Corner of the World, and be happy in our mutual Tenderneſs, which we may make a ſuperiour Duty to that we owe them.’

‘Never let me have ſuch a propoſal from you again, (ſaid ſhe) give me not Cauſe to repent of the Sentiments I have entertained for you. My Love may make me unhappy: but it ſhall never make me criminal. Adieu, (added ſhe giving me her Hand) it is by our Conſtancy and Virtue that we ought to endeavour to triumph over our Misfortunes, but whatever happens, let us reſolve to do nothing which may leſſen our Eſteem for each other.’

While ſhe ſpoke, I kiſſed the dear Hand ſhe had given me, I bathed it with my Tears. ‘I muſt always love you, (replied I.) Death, if I cannot be yours, will free me from my Miſery.’

My Heart was ſo preſt with Anguiſh that I could with Difficulty utter thoſe few Words. I haſtily quitted the Room, and mounting my Horſe arrived at the Place where we were to dine without having one Moment ceaſed to weep. I gave free Courſe to my Tears, I found a kind of Sweetneſs in thus indulging my Grief. When the Heart is truly affected, it takes Pleaſure in every [163] Thing that diſcovers to itſelf its own Senſibility.

The remainder of our Journey paſſed as the Beginning: I had ſcarce uttered a Word during the whole Time. On the third Day we arrived at a Caſtle built near the Pyrences. Nothing was to be ſeen about it, but Pines and Cyprus-Trees, ſteep Rocks, and horrid Precipices, and nothing heard but the Noiſe of Torrents ruſhing with Violence down thoſe frightful Declivities.

This ſavage Dwelling pleaſed me, becauſe it ſoothed my Melancholly. I paſſed whole Days in the Woods, and when I returned, unloaded my ſad Heart in Letters to my beloved Adelaida. This was my only Employment, and my only Pleaſure.

I will give them to her one Day, thought I, ſhe ſhall ſee by them how I have paſt the Time in her Abſence. I ſometimes received Letters from my Mother, in one of which ſhe gave me Hope. Alas! that was the only happy Moment I ever enjoyed: ſhe informed me that all our Relations were labouring to reconcile our Families, and that there was Room to believe they would ſucceed.

After this I received no more Letters for ſix Weeks. How tedious were thoſe Days of Doubting and Anxiety. Every Morning [164] I went into the Road through which the Meſſengers paſt, and never returned till it was late in the Evening: lingering till Hope and Expectation had nothing left to feed upon, and always returned more wretched, than when I firſt ſet out.

At length I ſaw a Man at a Diſtance riding towards the Caſtle, I did not doubt but he was a Meſſenger to me, and inſtead of that eager Impatience I had felt a Moment before I was now ſeized with Apprehenſion and Dread. I durſt not advance to meet him, ſomething which I could not account for reſtrained me. Uncertainty which had hitherto appeared ſo tormenting, ſeemed now a Good which I feared to loſe.

My Heart did not deceive me. This Man brought me Letters from my Mother, in which ſhe informed me, that my Father would liſten to no Propoſals for an Accommodation, and, to complete my Miſeries, had reſolved upon a Marriage between me and a Daughter of the Houſe of Foix: that the Nuptials were to be celebrated in the Caſtle where I then was, and that my Father would in a few Days come himſelf to prepare me for what he deſired of me.

You will eaſily judge, I did not balance a Moment about the Reſolution I was to [165] take. I waited for my Father's Arrival with Tranquility enough. My Grief was ſoothed by the Reflection, that I was able to make another ſacrifice to Adelaida. I was convinced ſhe loved me: I loved her too much to doubt it. True Love is always full of Confidence.

My Mother, who had ſo many Reaſons for wiſhing to ſee me diſengaged from Adelaida, had never in any of her Letters given me the leaſt Cauſe to ſuſpect ſhe was changed, this compleated my Security; how greatly did the Conſtancy of my Adelaida heighten the Ardor of my Paſſion! during the three Days which elapſed before the Arrival of my Father, my Imagination was wholly employed on the new Proof I was ſhortly to give Adelaida of my Paſſion: this Idea notwithſtanding my miſerable Situation gave me Senſations little different from Joy.

The Meeting between my Father and me was on my Side full of Reſpect, but Coldneſs and Reſerve. On his, of Haughtineſs and Indifference.

‘I have given you Leiſure (ſaid he to me) to repent of your Folly, and I am now come to give you the Means to make me forget it: return this Inſtance of my Indulgence, with Obedience, and prepare to receive as you ought, the Count of Foix, [166] and Mademoiſelle de Foix his Daughter, for whom I have deſtined you. The Marriage ſhall be ſolemniſed here, they will arrive to morrow with your Mother, I came before them only to give the neceſſary Orders for their Reception.’

‘I am ſorry, ſir, (replied I calmly) that I cannot comply with your wiſhes, I have too much Honour to marry a Perſon I can never love, therefore I intreat you will permit me to leave this Place directly. Mademoiſelle de Foix, however aimable ſhe may be, cannot alter my Reſolution, and if I ſee her, the Affront I ſhall give her by refuſing her Hand, will be more poignant to her.’

‘No (interrupted my Father in a Rage) thou ſhalt not ſee her, nor ſhalt thou be allowed to ſee the Day, I will ſhut thee up in a Dungeon, a fitter Habitation — I ſwear by Heaven, that thou ſhalt never be delivered from thy Confinement till I am convinced thy Repentance is ſincere, and thy Change certain. I will puniſh thee for thy Diſobedience every way that is in my Power, I will deprive thee of my Eſtate and ſettle it upon Mademoiſelle de Foix, to fulfill in ſome Degree the Promiſe I have given her.’

I made no Oppoſition to my Father's tyrannical Deſign, I ſuffered myſelf to be [167] conducted to an old Tower, where I was confined in a Place at the Bottom of it, which received no Light but from a little grated Window which looked into one of the Courts of the Caſtle. My Father gave Orders that Food ſhould be brought me twice a Day, but that I ſhould not be ſuffered to ſee any Perſon whatever.

I paſſed the firſt Days of my Confinement with Tranquility enough, and even with ſome kind of Pleaſure: what I had ſo lately done for Adelaida, employed all my Thoughts, and left no Room for Reflexion upon the Horrors of my Condition; but when this Sentiment began to loſe its Force, I reſigned myſelf up to Deſpair, at being thus doomed to an Abſence of which I knew not the End: my buſy Imagination tortured me with the Apprehenſion of a thouſand other Evils, Adelaida might be forced to enter into another Engagement, I fancied her ſurrounded with Rivals all aſſiduous to pleaſe, while I had nothing to plead for me but my Miſeries; but to a Mind ſo generous as Adelaida's, was not this ſufficient? I reproached myſelf for entertaining the leaſt doubt: I aſked her Pardon for it, as for a Crime, and my Heart gathered new Strength from the Confidence I had in her Fidelity.

My Mother found Means to convey a Letter to my Hands, in which ſhe exhorted me to ſubmit to my Father, whoſe Rage [168] againſt me ſeemed to increaſe every Day. She added, that ſhe ſuffered a great deal herſelf, that her Endeavours to procure a Reconciliation between him and the Family of Luſſan, had made him ſuſpect that ſhe acted in concert with me.

I was greatly afflicted with the Uneaſineſs my Mother ſuffered on my Account, but as I could not accuſe myſelf of having voluntarily cauſed her any Part of it, all I could do was to lament her Situation.

One Day when I was as uſual wholly taken up with Reflections on my unhappy Fate, Something fell through the Window into my Dungeon, which immediately rouſed my Attention. I ſaw a Letter lye on the Floor, I ſeized it with trembling Haſte: but what became of me when I read the Contents, they were as follows:

‘Your Father's Rage has inſtructed me what I ought to do. I know all that your Generoſity concealed from me: I know the terrible Situation you are in, and I know but one Method to extricate you from it, which will perhaps make you more miſerable, but I ſhall be ſo as well as you, and that Thought will give me Reſolution to do what is required of me. Our cruel Parents, to make it impoſſible for me to be yours, inſiſt upon my marrying another. This is the Price your Father [169] has ſet upon your Liberty, it will perhaps coſt me my Life, my Quiet it too ſurely will to pay it, but I am determined, your Sufferings and your Priſon are at preſent all that I can think of, in a fews Days I ſhall be the Wife of the Marquis de Benavides, his Character is ſufficient to acquaint me with all I have to ſuffer from him; but this ſort of Fidelity I owe you at leaſt, that in the Engagement I enter, I ſhould find nothing but Miſery. May you on the contrary be happy, your good Fortune will be my Conſolation: I am ſenſible I ought not to tell you this, if I was truly generous I ſhould ſuffer you to be ignorant of the Part you have in my Marriage, I ſhould leave you in doubt of my Conſtancy. I had formed a Deſign to do ſo, but I was not able to execute it, in my ſad Situation; I have need of being ſupported with the Thought that the Remembrance of me, will not be hateful to you. Alas, ſoon, very ſoon it will not be permitted me to preſerve yours — I muſt forget you — at leaſt I muſt endeavour ſo to do. Of all my Miſeries this is what I am moſt ſenſible of: you will increaſe it, if you do not carefully avoid all Opportunities of ſeeing and ſpeaking to me. Reflect that you owe me this Mark of your Eſteem, and oh reflect how dear that Eſteem will be to me, ſince of all thoſe Sentiments you have profeſt for [170] me, it is the only one that I am allowed to require of you.’

Of this fatal Letter, which I have related at length, I was able to read no more than to theſe Words: ‘Our cruel Fathers to make it impoſſible for me to be yours, inſiſt upon my marrying another.’ Pierced to the Heart with this cruel, this unexpected Misfortune, I ſunk upon the Mattraſs which compoſed my Bed, and lay there for ſeveral Hours without Senſe or Motion, and probably might never have recovered, but for the Aſſiſtance of the Perſon who brought me my Proviſions. If he was alarmed at the Condition in which he found me, he was much more ſo at the Exceſs of my Deſpair, when my Senſes returned. The Letter which I had held faſt in my Hand, during my Swoon, and which I at laſt read quite through, was wet with my Tears, and I ſpoke and acted Extravagancies, which made him apprehenſive for my Reaſon.

This Man, who till then had been inacceſſible to Pity, was melted all on a ſudden: he blamed my Father for his cruel Treatment of me, he reproved himſelf for having executed his Orders, he aſked my Pardon on his Knees. His Repentance inſpired me with the Thought of propoſing to him, to let me quit my Priſon for eight Days only, promiſing him that at the Expiration of that [171] Time, I would return and put myſelf into his Hands. I added every thing that I could think of, to oblige him to conſent: moved at the State he ſaw me in, excited by his own Intereſt, and by the Fear that I ſhould one Day take Vengence upon him for being the Inſtrument of my Father's Cruelty, he agreed to what I deſired, upon the Condition I had myſelf propoſed to him.

I would have ſet out that Moment from the Caſtle, but there was a Neceſſity for his going to ſeek for Horſes, and when he returned he informed me that we could not get any 'till the next Day. My Deſign was to go to Adelaida, to tell her all my Grief and Deſpair, and to kill myſelf before her Eyes, if ſhe perſiſted in her Reſolution. To execute this Project, it was neceſſary that I ſhould arrive before her fatal Marriage, and every Moment's Delay ſeemed to me an Age of Miſery. I read over her Letter an hundred Times, as if I had expected to find ſtill ſomething more in it; I examined the Date over and over, I flattered myſelf that the Time might have been prolonged.

‘She will at leaſt make an Effort (ſaid I) ſhe will ſeize all Pretences to defer it: but why ſhould I flatter myſelf with ſo vain a Hope (reſumed I) Adelaida ſacrificing herſelf for my Liberty, will haſten the dreadful Moment. Alas! can ſhe believe that Liberty without her can be a Bleſſing to [172] me? I ſhall every where find this Priſon ſhe delivers me from, ſhe has never known my Heart, ſhe judges of me by other Men. It is to that I owe my Ruin: I am ſtill more miſerable than I believe myſelf, ſince I have not the Conſolation to think that ſhe knows how much I love her.’

I paſt the whole Night in making theſe Complaints, the moſt tedious Night I had ever known, even in that Place of Miſery. At length the Day appeared, I mounted on Horſeback with my Conductor, we travelled the whole Day without ſtopping a Moment, when towards the Evening I perceived my Mother in a Chariot which took the Road towards the Caſtle. She knew me immediately, and after having expreſſed her Surprize at meeting me, ſhe obliged me to come into the Chariot to her. I durſt not aſk her the Occaſion of her Journey, in the Situation I was in, I feared every thing, and my Fear was but too well founded.

‘I come my Son (ſaid ſhe) by your Father's Permiſſion to releaſe you from your Confinement.’

‘Ah! (cried I) then Adelaida is married.’ My Mother anſwered only by Silence: my Misfortune, which was then without Remedy, preſented itſelf to my Mind with all its horrid Agravations. I fell into a kind of Stupidity, and by the [173] Force of Grief, I ſeemed to have loſt the Senſe of it.

However my Body ſoon ſunk under the Weakneſs of my Mind: I was ſeized in the Coach with a Shivering like the cold Fit of an Ague. As ſoon as we arrived at the Caſtle, my Mother cauſed me to be put to Bed, I lay two Days without ſpeaking or taking any Nouriſhment, all the Symptoms of a violent Fever appeared, and on the Fourth, the Phyſicians deſpaired of my Life. My Mother, who never left me, was inconceivably afflicted, her Tears, her Prayers, and the Name of Adelaida, in which ſhe conjured me to live, made me reſolve not to obſtruct the Endeavours of the Phyſicians to ſave me. After ſuffering fifteen Days the Agonies of a moſt violent Fever, I began, tho' by ſlow Degrees, to recover: the firſt thing I did, when I was able to attend to any thing, was to ſeek for the Letter I had received from Adelaida. My Mother, who had taken it from me, for fear it ſhould increaſe my Affliction, was obliged to reſtore it to me: after I had read it ſeveral times, I put it into a little ſilk Bag, and placed it on my Heart, where I had always kept her Picture, and whenever I was alone it was always my Employment to gaze upon that lovely Picture and to read that Letter.

[174]My Mother, who was of a ſoft and tender Diſpoſition, ſhared in my Grief: ſhe likewiſe thought it beſt to yield to my firſt Tranſports, and leave it to Time to finiſh my Cure.

She permitted me to ſpeak of Adelaida, and ſometimes was the firſt to mention her to me, and perceiving that the only Thing which gave me Conſolation, was the Thought of being loved by her, ſhe told me that it was ſhe herſelf who had determined Adelaida to marry.

‘I aſk your Pardon my dear Son (ſaid ſhe) for the Grief I have cauſed you, I did not imagine you would have felt her Loſs ſo deeply: I trembled for your Health, and even your Life, while you continued under that cruel Confinement. I knew your Father's inflexible Temper, and was convinced he would never ſet you at Liberty, while there was a Poſſibility of your marrying Mademoiſelle de Luſſan: I reſolved to ſpeak to that generous young Lady; I told her my Fears for your Health, ſhe partook in them, ſhe felt them perhaps with more Force even than I did. From that Moment I ſaw her uſe every Endeavour to haſten her Marriage, for her Father, juſtly irritated at the Proceedings of Monſieur de Comminge, had long preſſed her to marry: hitherto ſhe had reſiſted [175] his Solicitations and even his Commands. I aſked her which of thoſe Perſons who addreſſed her ſhe would chuſe.’

‘It matters not which, (replied ſhe) they are all equal to me, ſince I cannot be his to whom I have given my Heart.’

‘Two Days after I had this Converſation with her, I learned that the Marquis de Benavides was preferred to all his Rivals, every one was ſurprized at her Choice, and I as much as any other.’

Benavides has a diſagreeable Perſon, his Underſtanding is mean, and his Temper extremely bad: this laſt Circumſtance made me tremble for poor Adelaida, I was reſolved to tell her my Apprehenſions, I went for that Purpoſe to the Houſe of the Counteſs de Garlande, where we uſed to meet.’

‘I am prepared (ſaid ſhe) for Miſery, but I muſt marry, and ſince I know it is the only Means of procuring your Son's Liberty, I reproach myſelf every Moment that I delay this Sacrifice. Yet this Marriage which I conſent to only for his Sake, will perhaps be the moſt cruel of his Misfortunes: I will at leaſt convince him by my Choice, that his Intereſt was the ſole Motive which engaged me to it. Pity me, dear Madam, I deſerve your Pity, and by my Behaviour to Monſieur Benavides, [176] I will endeavour to render myſelf worthy of your Eſteem.’

My Mother afterwards told me that Adelaida was made acquainted by my Father himſelf, with my having burnt the Writings, he publickly upbraided her with it on the Day that he loſt his Proceſs. She confeſt to me (added my Mother) that ſhe was more affected with your extreme Delicacy in concealing ſo generous an Action, than with the Action itſelf.

We paſt the Days in ſuch Converſations, my Melancholly was exceſſive, yet, tho' deprived of Hope, I found a kind of Sweetneſs in the Idea of my being ſtill loved.

After a Stay of two Months, my Mother received Orders from my Father to return to him. He had expreſſed no Concern for my Illneſs, and his cruel Treatment of me had extinguiſhed every Sentiment of Tenderneſs for him. My Mother preſſed me to go with her, but I intreated her to conſent to my ſtaying in the Country, ſhe yielded to my Reaſons and left me.

I was now once more alone in the midſt of my Woods, and found ſo much Sweetneſs in Solitude, that I would then have abandoned every Thing, and taken up my Habitation in ſome Hermit's Cell, had I not [177] been reſtrained by my Tenderneſs for my Mother. I often reſolved to endeavour to ſee Adelaida, but the Fear of diſpleaſing her ſtopt me. At length after long Irreſolution, I thought I might at leaſt attempt to ſee Adelaida without being ſeen by her.

Accordingly I reſolved to ſend a Perſon, in whom I could confide to Bourdeaux, to know where ſhe was, and for this Purpoſe I fixed upon a Man who had attended me from my Infancy: my Mother, during my Illneſs, had reſtored him to his Place about me, he had been with me at the Baths, he knew Adelaida, and when I mentioned my Deſign to him, he informed me that he had Friends in the Houſe of Benavides.

After having given him his Orders, which I repeated a thouſand Times, I cauſed him to ſet out from the Caſtle. When he arrived at Bourdeaux, he was informed that Benavides had carried his Lady a ſhort Time after their Marriage to an Eſtate which he had in Biſcay. Saint Laurent, for that was my Servant's Name, wrote to me to know what he was to do next. I ſent him Orders to go immediately into Biſcay, my Deſire of ſeeing Adelaida, was ſo much increaſed by the Hope I had conceived, that it was not poſſible for me to oppoſe it any longer.

[178] Saint Laurent returned at the Expiration of ſix Weeks, which my Anxiety and Impatience had lenghtened into Ages. He told me that after many fruitleſs Attempts, Benavides having had Occaſion for an Architect, he had prevailed upon his Friend to preſent him to him in that Quality, that having acquired ſome Knowledge of the Art from an Uncle under whoſe Care he had been brought up, he made no ſcruple to undertake the Buſineſs Benavides employed him in.

‘I believe (ſaid he) that Madam de Benavides knew me, for ſhe bluſhed when ſhe firſt ſaw me.’ He then told me that ſhe lived the moſt retired and melancholly Life imaginable, that her Huſband hardly ever quitted her a Moment, and that it was ſaid in the Houſe he was exceſſively fond of her, but that he gave her no other Proof of it, than by his extreme Jealouſy, which he carried ſo far, that even his Brother had not the Liberty of ſeeing her, but when he was preſent.

I aſked my Servant ſome Queſtions about that Brother, he told me that he was a very aimiable young Man, and that the World ſpoke as much in his Favour, as they did to the Diſadvantage of Benavides, and that he appeared to be greatly attached to his Siſter-in-law.

[179]This Diſcourſe made no Impreſſion upon me at that Time, the unhappy Situation of Madam de Benavides and the Deſire of ſeeing her, employed my whole Soul. Saint Laurent aſſured me he had taken proper Meaſures for introducing me into the Houſe of Benavides.

‘He has Occaſion for a Painter (ſaid he to me) to paint an Apartment, I promiſed to bring him a good one, and you muſt undertake this Buſineſs.’

Nothing now remained but to regulate our Departure, I wrote to my Mother, and told her I was going to paſs ſome Time at the Houſe of one of my Friends. This done I ſet out with Saint Laurent for Biſcay; during our Journey, I was continually aſking him Queſtions, concerning Madam de Benavides, I was deſirous of knowing the ſlighteſt Particulars relating to her. Saint Laurent was not able to ſatisfy my Curioſity, he had but few Opportunities of ſeeing her, ſhe was ſhut up in her own Apartment, with no other Company than a little Dog, of which ſhe was extremely fond. This Article touched me particularly, I had preſented her with that Dog, and I flattered myſelf that ſhe loved it for my Sake. Theſe little things which eſcape one in good Fortune, affect one ſenſibly in Miſery: the Heart in the Need it has of Conſolation, faſtens upon every Thing which is likely to afford it.

[180] Saint Laurent often mentioned to me the great Attachment of young Benavides, to his Siſter-in-law, he added, that he often oppoſed the furious Sallies of his Brother's Temper, and, but for his good Offices, Adelaida would be ſtill more miſerable than ſhe was. He earneſtly intreated me to be contented with the Pleaſure of ſeeing her, and to make no Attempt to ſpeak to her.

‘Not becauſe it would endanger your Life (added he) that, I know, is too weak a Motive to reſtrain you: but becauſe ſhe will ſuffer by any Imprudence you may be guilty of.’

The Liberty of ſeeing Adelaida, appeared to me ſo great a Bleſſing, that I was fully perſuaded that alone would ſatisfy me, and I reſolved within myſelf, and promiſed Saint Laurent to behave with the utmoſt Circumſpection.

After a moſt tedious Journey, as my Impatience made it ſeem, we arrived at Biſcay, and I was preſented to Benavides, who ſet me to work immediately.

The ſuppoſed Architect and I were lodged in the ſame Apartment, and to him was committed the Care of overſeeing the Workmen. I had been ſeveral Days at work before I ſaw Madam de Benavides, at length I perceived her one Evening from a Window in [181] my own Room, going to walk in the Garden, ſhe had only her little favourite Dog with her, her Dreſs was negligent, a kind of languiſhing Melancholly appeared in her Looks and Motions, and her fine Eyes ſeemed to dwell on the Objects around her without regarding them.

Oh, Heavens! what ſweetly painful Emotions did my Soul feel at the Sight of her: I continued leaning on the Window the whole Time ſhe ſtaid in the Garden; it was dark when ſhe returned, ſo that I could not diſtinguiſh her when ſhe paſt by my Window, but my Heart knew it was her.

I ſaw her a ſecond Time in the Chapel of the Caſtle, I placed myſelf in ſuch a Manner that I could look at her the whole Time without being obſerved. She never once turned her Eyes upon me, I ought to have rejoiced at this Circumſtance, ſince I well knew that if ſhe diſcovered me, ſhe would be obliged to go out of the Chapel, yet I was afflicted at it, and returned to my Chamber in greater Diſquiet than when I left it. I had not yet formed any Deſign of making myſelf known to her, but I was ſenſible that I ſhould not be able to reſiſt doing it if any Opportunity offered.

The Sight of young Benavides gave me likewiſe ſome kind of Uneaſineſs, he often came to ſee me work; and notwithſtanding the ſeeming Diſtance of our Rank, he [182] behaved to me with an obliging Familiarity which ought to have excited my Eſteem, yet it had no Effect upon me. His great Merit, and the Aimiableneſs of his Perſon which I could not but be ſenſible of, withheld my Gratitude, I was afraid of a Rival in him, and a certain impaſſioned Sadneſs which I perceived in him, which was too like my own, not to proceed from the ſame Cauſe, gave me a Suſpicion, which be ſoon confirmed.

After aſking me one Day ſeveral Queſtions, relating to my Condition in Life.

‘You are in Love (ſaid he to me ſighing imperceptibly to himſelf,) the Melancholy in which I perceive you plunged continually, perſuades me that your Heart is not well, tell me the Truth, can I do any Thing for you? the Miſerable in general have a Claim to my Compaſſion, but there is one ſort of Grief which I pity more than any other.’

I believe I thanked Don Gabriel (that was his Name) with a very ill Grace, for the kind Offers he made to me. However I could not help owning to him that I was in Love. But I told him that Time only could produce any Change in the State of my Fortune.

[183] ‘You are not abſolutely unhappy then (replied he) ſince you may hope for a Change, I know Perſons who are much more to be pitied than you.’

When I was alone I reflected upon the Converſation that had paſſed between Don Gabriel and myſelf. I concluded that he was in Love, and that his charming Siſter-in-Law was the Object of his Paſſion, his whole Behaviour which I examined with the utmoſt Attention convinced me I was not miſtaken: I obſerved him always aſſiduous about Adelaida, he gazed on her with Eyes like mine, yet I was not jealous, my Eſteem for Adelaida would not admit of ſuch an injurious Sentiment, but I could not help fearing, that the Company of an agreeable Man who was continually rendering her Services that ſoftened the Horrors of her preſent Situation, would make her reflections on me be greatly to my Diſadvantage, whoſe Paſſion had been productive of nothing but Misfortunes to her.

I was full of theſe Thoughts when one Day I ſaw Adelaida enter the Room where I was painting, led by Don Gabriel.

‘Why (ſaid ſhe) do you preſs me to come and look at the Ornaments of this Apartment? You know I have no Taſte for theſe Things.’

[184] ‘I hope, Madam, (ſaid I, looking earneſtly upon her, and bowing low) that if you will deign to caſt your Eyes upon what is here, you will find ſomething not unworthy your Attention.’

Adelaida, ſtruck with the Sound of my Voice, turned inſtantly towards me, I perceived ſhe knew me, for ſhe bluſhed and bent her Eyes on the Ground, and after pauſing a Moment, ſhe left the Room without giving me a Look, ſaying, that the Smell of the Paint was diſagreeable to her.

I remained behind, terrified, confuſed and overwhelmed with Grief. Adelaida had not deigned to give me a ſecond Look, ſhe would not even ſhew that ſhe was enough intereſted in my Diſguiſe to expreſs any Signs of Reſentment at it.

What have I done (ſaid I) I am indeed come hither contrary to her Commands, but if ſhe ſtill loved me ſhe would pardon a Fault that proceeded from the Exceſs of my Paſſion for her.

I now concluded, that ſince Adelaida no longer loved me, ſhe muſt of Neceſſity have beſtowed her Heart upon another. This Idea filled me with a Grief ſo new and violent, that I thought I had never been truly miſerable till then. Saint-Laurent, who came from Time to Time to ſee me, [185] entering the Room that Moment, found me in an Agitation that made him tremble.

‘What ails you, Monſieur, (ſaid he to me) what has happened to you?’

‘I am undone, (replied I) Adelaida no longer loves me, ſhe no longer loves me (repeated I) It is but too true. Alas! I never had Reaſon to complain of my Fate till this cruel Moment, what Torments would I now endure to purchaſe this Bleſſing which I have loſt! This Bleſſing which I preferred to all Things and which in the Midſt of my greateſt Miſeries filled my Heart with ſo ſoft a Joy.’

I continued a long Time to exclaim in this Manner, while Saint-Laurent in vain endeavoured to draw from me the Cauſe of my Grief. At length, I related to him what had happened. ‘I ſee nothing in all this (ſaid he) which ought to drive you to the Deſpair I ſee you in. Mad [...]m de Benavides is certainly offended at your raſh Attempt. She was deſirous of puniſhing you by appearing indifferent, and perhaps ſhe was apprehenſive of betraying herſelf if ſhe had looked upon you.’

‘No no (interrupted I) they who love have not ſuch Command over themſelves in thoſe firſt Emotions, the Heart alone is liſtened to. I muſt ſee her (added I) I [186] muſt reproach her with her Change. Alas! After giving herſelf to another, ought ſhe to take away my Life by ſo cruel an Indifference? Why did ſhe not leave me in my Priſon, there I ſhould have been happy, had I been aſſured of her Love?’

Saint-Laurent fearing that any one ſhould ſee me in the Condition I was in, obliged me to retire to the Chamber where we both lay. I paſt the whole Night in tormenting myſelf, my Thoughts were at Strife with each others in one Moment, I condemned my Suſpicions, and the next relapſed into them again. I thought it unjuſt to wiſh that Adelaida ſhould preſerve a Tenderneſs which rendered her miſerable. In thoſe Moments I reproached myſelf for loving her leſs than my own Satisfaction.

‘Why ſhould I wiſh to live? (ſaid I to Saint-Laurent) if ſhe loves another, I will endeavour to ſpeak to her only to bid her an eternal Adieu. She ſhall hear no Reproaches from my Mouth, my Grief which I cannot conceal from her, ſhall ſpeak for me.’

When this Point was reſolved upon, it was agreed that I ſhould leave Biſcay as ſoon as I ſhould have an Interview with her, we then began to conſider upon the neceſſary Means of procuring it. Saint-Laurent [187] told me that we muſt ſeize the firſt Opportunity that offered, when Don Gabriel went to hunt, as he often did, and Benavides employed in his domeſtic Affairs, for which he always ſet apart two Mornings in a Week.

He then made me promiſe, that, to avoid giving any Suſpicion, I ſhould go on with my painting as uſual: but that I ſhould likewiſe declare, that I was under a Neceſſity of returning ſoon to my own Country.

Accordingly I reſumed my former Employment; I had almoſt, without perceiving it, ſome Hope that Adelaida would come again into that Apartment. Every Noiſe I heard gave me an Emotion, I was ſearce able to bear. In this Situation I remained ſeveral Days, and then loſing all Hope of ſeeing Adelaida in that Manner, I eagerly ſought for ſome Moment in which I might be ſo fortunate as to find her alone.

At length this Moment came. I was going as uſual to my Work, when I ſaw Adelaida paſſing to her own Apartment. I knew that Don Gabriel went out early that Morning to hunt, and I had heard Benavides talking in a low Hall of the Caſtle to one of his Farmers, ſo that I was pretty certain of finding her alone.

[188]I entered her Apartment with ſo much Precipitation that Adelaida ſaw me not, till I was very near her. She would have retired to her Cloſet as ſoon as ſhe perceived me, but I catched hold of her Robe and prevented her.

‘Do not fly from me, Madam, (ſaid I to her) ſuffer me this laſt Time to enjoy the Bleſſing of beholding you. I ſhall never importune you more. I am going far from you to die with Grief for the Miſeries I have been the Cauſe of to you, and for the Loſs of your Heart. I wiſh Don-Gabriel may be more fortunate than I have been.’

Adelaida, whoſe Surpriſe had hitherto prevented her from ſpeaking, interrupted me at theſe Words, and giving me a Look of mingled Tenderneſs and Anger.

'What, (ſaid ſhe) dare you make me Reproaches? 'Dare you ſuſpect me? — you.

The Tone, with which ſhe pronounced this laſt Word, brought me inſtantly at her Feet.

‘No, my dear Adelaida, (interrupted I) no, I have no Suſpicion that is injurious to you. Pardon a few diſtracted Words, which my Heart diſavows.’

[189] ‘I Pardon you all, (ſaid ſhe to me) provided you depart immediately and never attempt to ſee me more. Reflect that it is for your Sake I am the moſt miſerable Creature in the World, would you give me Cauſe to reproach myſelf with being the moſt criminal.’

‘I will do every thing you command me, (replied I) but only promiſe that you will not hate me.’

Although Adelaida had ſeveral times deſired me to riſe, yet I ſtill continued at her Feet. To thoſe who truly love, this Attitude has a thouſand ſecret Charms. I was ſtill kneeling when Benavides ſuddenly opened the Chamber Door. Tranſported with rage, he flew towards his Wife, and drawing his Sword.

'Thou ſhalt die, perfidious Woman,' (cried he) and would have infallibly killed her, had I not thrown myſelf between them, and put by his Sword with my own.

‘Wretch! (cried Benavides) you firſt ſhall feel my Vengeance!’ And at the ſame Time gave me a Wound on my Shoulder. I did not love Life well enough to be ſolicitous for the Preſervation of it: but my hatred to Benavides would not ſuffer me to abandon it to his Fury, this cruel Attempt [190] upon the Perſon of his Wife deprived me almoſt of Reaſon. I threw myſelf upon him, and plunging my Sword in his Body, he fell at my Feet without Senſe or Motion.

The Servants, drawn by the Cries of Madam de Benavides, entered the Room that Moment, and ſeveral of them throwing themſelves upon me, diſarmed me while I made no Effort to defend myſelf. The Sight of Madam de Benavides bathed in Tears, and kneeling by her Huſband, left me no Senſibility of any Thing but her Grief. I was dragged out of her Chamber into another, and the Door faſtened upon me.

There it was, that, delivered up to my own Reflections, I ſaw the Abyſs into which I had plunged Madam de Benavides, the Death of her Huſband, killed before her Eyes, and killed by me, could not fail of giving riſe to Suſpicions againſt her. What Reproaches did I not make myſelf! I had been the Cauſe of her firſt Misfortunes, and I had now compleated her Ruin by my Imprudence.

My Imagination continually repreſented to me the dreadful Condition in which I had left her. I acknowledged that ſhe had juſt Reaſon to hate me, and I did not murmur at it. The only Consolation I [191] had, was in the Hope that I was not known: the Idea of being taken for an Aſſaſſin and a Robber, which on any other Occaſion would have made me tremble with Horror, now gave me Joy. Adelaida knew the Innocence of my Intentions, and Adelaida was the whole World to me.

Impatient to be interrogated, that I might clear the Honor of Adelaida, I paſt ſeveral Hours in the moſt racking Inquietude; in the Middle of the Night my Chamber Door was opened, and I ſaw Don Gabriel enter.

‘Be not apprehenſive of any Harm, (ſaid he to me, as he approached) I come by the Command of Madam de Benavides, ſhe has had Eſteem enough for me to truſt me with every Thing relating to you, probably, (added he, with a Sigh which he could not ſuppreſs) ſhe would have judged differently if ſhe had known me well, but I will be juſt to her Confidence. I will ſave you, and I will ſave her, if I can.’

‘You ſhall not ſave me, (replied I) I ought to juſtify the innocence of Madam de Benavides, and I will do it at the Expence of a thouſand Lives, if I had them to loſe.’

I then acquainted him with my Deſign of keeping myſelf concealed, and paſſing [192] for an Aſſaſſin to prevent any Imputation falling upon her.

‘This Project might be neceſſary, (replied Don Gabriel) if my Brother was dead as I perceive you think. But his wound, altho' great, is probably not mortal, and the firſt Sign of Life and Senſe he had given, was to order that Madam de Benavides ſhould be confined to her own Apartment. This proves that he ſuſpects you are her Lover, and if you perſiſt in your Deſign, you will loſe your own Life without preſerving hers. Let us go, (added he) the Safety I offer you today, I probably cannot afford you tomorrow.’

‘And what will become of Madam de Benavides? (cried I) No I can never reſolve to withdraw myſelf from Danger, and to leave her in it.’

‘I have already told you, (replied Don Gabriel) that your Preſence will only render her Situation worſe.’

‘Well, (ſaid I ſighing) I will fly ſince you will have it ſo, and that her Intereſt demands it. I had hoped that by the Sacrifice I intended to make her of my Life, I ſhould at leaſt have been pitied by her: but I deſerve not to have this Conſolation. I am an unhappy Wretch, who [193] am not even worthy to die for her. Protect her (added I, to Don Gabriel, the Tears ſtreaming from my Eyes as I ſpoke) you are generous; her Innocence, her Misfortunes muſt move you.’

‘You may judge (ſaid he) by what has eſcaped me, that I am too much for my own Quiet concerned in the Fate of Madam de Benavides. I will do every Thing for her. Alas! (added he) I ſhould have thought myſelf well paid, if I could have flattered myſelf that ſhe had loved no one. How is it poſſible that you ſhould not be ſatisfied with your good Fortune in having touched a Heart like hers? But let us go, (purſued he) let us take Advantage of the Night.’

Then taking my Hand and turning a dark Lanthorn, he led me through the Courts of the Caſtle. Tranſported with Rage againſt myſelf for what I had done, in the Wildneſs of my Deſpair, I wiſhed myſelf ſtill more miſerable than I was.

Don Gabriel when he left me, adviſed me to retire to a Convent of Religious which was within a Quarter of a League of the Caſtle.

‘You muſt (ſaid he) keep yourſelf concealed in their Houſe for ſome Days, that you may not be in Danger from the Search [194] I myſelf ſhall be obliged to make for you; and here is a Letter for one of thoſe Religious, which will procure you Admiſſion into the Houſe.’

I loitered a long Time about the Caſtle after he left me, not being able to remove myſelf far from the Place where Adelaida was; at length the Deſire of hearing all that happened to her, determined me to ſet out for the Convent.

I arrived there juſt at Day-break: the Religious to whom I delivered Don Gabriel's Letter, received me very civilly, and carried me into a Chamber near his own. My Paleneſs and the Blood he obſerved upon my Cloaths, made him apprehenſive that I was wounded. He was begining to enquire after my Health, when I fainted away: with the Aſſiſtance of a Servant he put me into Bed, and ſent for the Surgeon belonging to the Convent to examine my Wound: he declared that it was in a dangerous Condition, through the Fatigue and Cold I had ſuffered.

When I was alone with the good Father to whom I was recommended, I intreated him to ſend to a Houſe in a certain Village I named to him, to enquire for Saint Laurent, for I ſuppoſed he would take Refuge there. I was not miſtaken, he came with the Meſſenger I had ſent to him: the poor [195] Fellow was in exceſſive Affliction when he heard that I was wounded, he approached my Bed-ſide, and anxiouſly enquired how I did.

‘If you would ſave my Life (ſaid I to him) you muſt learn in what State Madam de Benavides is: inform yourſelf of all that has paſſed. Haſte, loſe not a Moment, and remember that what I ſuffer in this Uncertainty, is ten thouſand times worſe than Death.’ Saint Laurent promiſed to do every Thing I deſired, and went away to take proper Meaſures for ſatisfying me.

Mean Time I was ſeized with a violent Fever, my Wound grew more dangerous, they were obliged to make large Inciſions, but the Torments of my Mind made me almoſt inſenſible to thoſe of my Body; the Image of Madam de Benavides bathed in Tears, as I had ſeen her when I left her Chamber, and kneeling by her Huſband whom I had wounded, was continually before my Eyes. I took a Review of the Misfortunes of her Life, I found myſelf in all; her Marriage to which ſhe was forced on my Account, her fatal Choice of the moſt jealous and brutal Man in the World for a Huſband, was made for my Sake, and I had lately compleated all her Misfortunes by expoſing her Reputation to injurious Cenſures. I called to my Remembrance the unjuſt Jealouſy I had diſcovered, which, although it [196] had laſted but a few Moments, and was baniſhed by a ſingle Word from her, yet I could never pardon myſelf for. Adelaida could not but think me unworthy of her Eſteem, ſhe could do no otherwiſe than hate me. This melancholly Apprehenſion I ſupported by the Rage with which I was animated againſt myſelf.

Saint Laurent returned the next Day, he informed me that Benavides was ſtill extremely ill of his Wound, that Adelaida was in the utmoſt Affliction, and that Don Gabriel made a ſhew of ſeeking for me every where.

This News was not very likely to calm the Perturbations of my Mind. I knew not what I ought to wiſh for, every Thing was againſt me, I could not even wiſh for Death, I thought I owed the Prolongation of my wretched Life to the Juſtification of Madam de Benavides.

The good Father to whom I was recommended, beheld me with great Compaſſion, he heard me ſigh continually, and always found my Face bathed in Tears. He was a Man of Senſe and Politeneſs, who had been long in the World, and whom a Concurrence of ſtrange Accidents had drove into a Cloiſter. He did not endeavour to reaſon me out of my Grief, or to conſole me by the uſual Methods, he only expreſſed great [197] Senſibility of my Misfortunes; this Way ſucceeded: by Degrees he entirely gained my Confidence, perhaps alſo I only wanted an Opportunity to ſpeak, and to complain to him. I conceived ſo great an Affection and Eſteem for him, that I related to him my whole Story. He became ſo neceſſary to me after a few Days Stay in the Convent, that I could not bear him to be abſent from me a Moment: I never met with a Man who had more real Goodneſs of Heart; I repeated to him the ſame Things a thouſand Times over, he always liſtened to me with the utmoſt Attention, and ſympathiſed in all my Griefs.

It was through him that I learned every Thing that paſſed in the Houſe of Benavides.

He had been much in danger from his Wound, but it was at length cured. I was informed of it by Don Jerome, ſo was my Friend the Religious called. He afterwards told me that all ſeemed quiet in the Caſtle, that Madam de Benavides lived more retired than before, and that ſhe was in a very languiſhing State of Health. He added, that I muſt reſolve to remove as ſoon as I was able, for if it ſhould be diſcovered that I was concealed there, it would expoſe Madam de Benavides to new Diſtreſſes.

[198]It was not likely that I ſhould be ſoon in a Condition to leave the Convent. I was waſting away with a continual Fever, and my Wound was not yet healed. I had been in this religious Houſe above two Months, when one Day I obſerved Don Jerome to be penſive and melancholly, he always turned his Eyes away when they met mine, he ſeemed ſtudiouſly to avoid looking at me and with Difficulty anſwered my Queſtions. I had conceived a very tender Friendſhip for him: Misfortunes give Senſibility to the Heart. I was going to expreſs my Concern for his Uneaſineſs, and to enquire into the Cauſe, when Saint Laurent entering my Chamber, told me that Don Gabriel was in the Convent, and that he had juſt met him.

Don Gabriel here (ſaid I looking at Don Jerome) and you never to mention to me his Coming! What is the meaning of this Reſerve? You fill me with the moſt dreadful Apprehenſions: what is become of Madam de Benavides? For Pity draw me out of this cruel Uncertainty.’

'Would I could leave you always in it!' (ſaid Don Jerome at length embracing me.)

‘Ah! (cried I) ſhe is dead, Adelaida is dead! Benavides has ſacrificed her to his Rage! You anſwer me not — alas! then I have nothing to hope. Ah! it was not [199] Benavides but I who have plunged the Poignard into her Breaſt, but for my fatal Paſſion ſhe might have been ſtill alive— Adelaida is dead, I ſhall never behold her more — I have loſt her for ever, ſhe is dead, and I ſtill live! Why do I not follow her, why do I delay to revenge her upon her Murderer? — Alas! Death would be too great an Indulgence to me, it would ſeparate me from myſelf, and I am made up of Horror and Anguiſh.’

The violent Agitation I was in cauſed my Wound, which was not yet well healed, to open again. I loſt ſo much Blood that I fell into a Swoon, which laſted ſo long, that they thought me dead; but after continuing ſeveral Hours in this happy State of Inſenſibility, I awoke to Grief unutterable.

Don Jerome apprehenſive that I ſhould make an Attempt upon my own Life, charged Saint Laurent to watch me with the ſtricteſt Attention. My Deſpair now took another Form: I complained not, I ſhed not a Tear; then it was that I formed a Reſolution to go and inhabit ſome Solitude where I might, without Controul, deliver myſelf up a Prey to my Affliction.

I was deſirous of ſeeing Don Gabriel, for I eagerly ſought every Thing that could heighten my Deſpair. I intreated Don Jerome to bring him, and the next Day they [200] came together into my Chamber. Don Gabriel ſeated himſelf upon the Side of my Bed, we continued a long Time ſilent, neither of us were able to ſpeak: he looked upon me with Eyes ſwimming in Tears.

‘You are very generous, Monſieur (ſaid I) at length to viſit a Wretch whom you have ſo much Reaſon to hate.’

‘You are too miſerable (replied he) to make it poſſible for me to hate you.’

‘Ah! (cried I) tell me, I beſeech you, every Circumſtance of my Misfortunes, leave me ignorant of nothing, the Explanation I deſire of you may poſſibly prevent my taking ſome Meaſures which you have an Intereſt to hinder.’

‘I ſhall redouble your Affliction and my own (replied he) but I cannot help it:— I will ſatisfy you, and in the Recital I am going to make you, you will find you are not the only Perſon to be pitied. Take then the Incidents in order as they happened, we ſhall too ſoon come to the melancholly Cataſtrophe.’

‘I had never ſeen Madam de Benavides till ſhe became my Siſter-in-law; my Brother, who had ſome Affairs of Conſequence to ſettle at Bourdeaux, ſaw her there and fell in love with her; and although he [201] had ſeveral Rivals, whoſe Birth and Riches were ſuperior to his, yet Madam de Benavides, for Reaſons I never could gueſs at, prefered him to them all: a ſhort Time after their Marriage, he brought her to his Eſtate in Biſcay, there it was that I ſaw her for the firſt Time: if her Beauty excited my Admiration, I was ſtill more charmed with the Graces of her Mind, and the extreme Sweetneſs of her Temper, which my Brother put every Day to new Tryals. However the Paſſion I then had for a very amiable young Perſon, made me believe I was ſecured from the Influence of her Charms which it was impoſſible to behold without Love: I even deſigned to make uſe of my Siſter-in-law's Intereſt with my Brother, to prevail upon him to conſent to our Marriage. The Father of my Miſtreſs, offended at my Brother's Refuſal, had given me but a very ſhort Time to bring him to a Compliance, declaring that when it was expired he would marry his Daughter to another.’

‘The Friendſhip and Eſteem which Madam de Benavides expreſſed for me, gave me Courage to implore her Aſſiſtance. I often went to her Apartment with an Intention to ſpeak to her, but the ſlighteſt Obſtacle imaginable reſtrained me: mean while the Time which had been preſcribed to me drew towards a Period. I had received [202] ſeveral Letters from my Miſtreſs, in which ſhe preſt me to uſe every Method to gain my Brother's Conſent. My Anſwers did not ſatisfy her: without my perceiving it, an Expreſſion of Coldneſs ran through them which drew many Complaints from her, they appeared to me to be unjuſt, and I reproached her with it. She now believed herſelf abandoned, and Reſentment joined to the Commands of her Father, determined her to marry the Perſon he propoſed to her; ſhe herſelf in a Letter ſhe wrote to me informed me of her Marriage: ſhe reproached me but it was with Tenderneſs, and concluded with earneſtly intreating me never to ſee her more. I had loved her paſſionately, I imagined I ſtill loved her, and I could not learn that I had loſt her for ever without feeling a real Affliction. I was afraid ſhe was unhappy, and I reproached myſelf with being the Cauſe of it.’

‘Abſorbed in theſe Reflections I continued walking in a melancholly Manner in the little Wood which you uſed often to viſit: there I was met by Madam de Benavides, who obſerving my Uneaſineſs, kindly deſired to know the Cauſe of it. A ſecret Repugnance which I felt within myſelf, reſtrained me from telling her. I could not reſolve to own to her that I had been in Love, but the Pleaſure of ſpeaking to her of that Paſſion carried it over that [203] Conſideration. All theſe Emotions paſſed in my Heart without my perceiving the Cauſe, as yet I had not dared to examine into the Nature of what I felt for my Siſter-in-law. I related my Story to her, I ſhewed her the Letter which Iſabella had wrote to me.’

‘Why did you not mention this ſooner to me (ſaid Madam de Benavides) perhaps I might have been able to obtain the Conſent of your Brother, tho' he refuſed it to you. My God! how much I pity you, how greatly am I concerned for her: ſhe doubtleſs will be miſerable.’

‘The Compaſſion, which Madam de Benavides expreſſed for Iſabella, made me apprehenſive that ſhe would think hardly of me, as the Perſon who had made her unhappy. To diminiſh therefore this Compaſſion, I eagerly told her that the Huſband of Iſabella was a Man of Birth and Merit, that he held a very conſiderable Rank in the World, and that it was highly probable his Fortune would be ſtill more ſo.’

‘You are deceived (anſwered my lovely Siſter-in-Law) if you think all theſe Advantages can make her happy, nothing can make amends for the Loſs of what one loves. It is a cruel Misfortune (added ſhe) when one is obliged to act contrary [204] to one's Inclination to comply with one's Duty.’

‘She ſighed ſeveral Times during this Converſation, I even perceived that it was with Difficulty ſhe reſtrained her Tears.’

‘She left me ſoon afterwards, I had not Power to follow her, I remained in a Trouble and Confuſion I am not able to deſcribe. I now, for the firſt Time, perceived what I had hitherto induſtriouſly concealed from myſelf, that I was in love with my Siſter-in-law, and I thought I could diſcover a ſecret Paſſion in her Heart. A thouſand Circumſtances then ruſhed upon my Memory, which before I had given no Attention to, her Taſte for Solitude, her Indifference for all thoſe Amuſements which make the Delight of Perſons of her Sex and Age, her extreme Melancholly, which I had attributed to my Brother's bad Treatment of her, now ſeemed to me to proceed from another Cauſe. How many ſad Reflections now roſe at one Time in my Mind, I found myſelf in love with a Perſon whom I ought not to love, and this Perſon's Heart in the Poſſeſſion of another.’

‘If ſhe loved nothing (ſaid I) my Paſſion, although without Hope, would not be without Sweetneſs: I might pretend to the Bleſſing of her Friendſhip, in that I would [205] place my Felicity. But this Friendſhip will not ſatisfy my Heart, ſince ſhe has Sentiments more tender for another.— I was ſenſible I ought to uſe my utmoſt Endeavours to vanquiſh a Paſſion ſo dangerous to my Quiet, and which Honour would not permit me to entertain. I took a Reſolution to fly from my too lovely Siſter, and I returned to the Caſtle to tell my Brother that ſome Affairs called me from him: but the Sight of Madam de Benavides left me no Power to follow the Dictates of my Reaſon, all my Reſolutions vaniſhed into Air, yet to furniſh myſelf with ſome Pretence to continue near her, I perſuaded myſelf that I was neceſſary to her, in being ſometimes able to calm the tempeſtuous Humours of her Huſband.’

‘About this Time you arrived. I found in your Air and Behaviour ſomewhat greatly above the Condition you appeared in. I treated you with Familiarity and Kindneſs, I would have entered into your Confidence, and have made you my Friend, my Intention was to prevail upon you afterwards to draw a Picture of Madam de Benavides for me, for notwithſtanding the deluſive Reaſons my Paſſion found for ſtaying with my Siſter, yet I reſolved ſome Time or other to leave the Caſtle. But in this Separation ſo juſt, ſo neceſſary, I was willing at leaſt to have her Picture. [206] The Manner in which you received the Advances I made you, ſhewed me that I had nothing to hope for from you, and I was gone to bring another Painter into the Houſe that unhappy Day when you wounded my Brother. Judge of my Surprize at my Return, when I was informed of what had happened. My Brother, who was deſperately wounded, kept a gloomy Silence, caſting from Time to Time a terrible Look upon Madam de Benavides. As ſoon as he ſaw me he called me to his Bed-ſide.’

‘Deliver me (ſaid he) from the Sight of a Woman who has betrayed me, cauſe her to be conducted to her own Apartment, and give ſtrict Orders not to ſuffer her to ſtir out of it.’

‘I would have ſaid ſomething againſt this rigorous Order to my Brother, but he interrupted me at the firſt Word.’

‘Do as I deſire you (ſaid he) or never ſee me more.’

‘I was obliged to obey, and approaching my Siſter-in-Law I intreated her to let me ſpeak to her in her own Chamber.’

‘Let us go, (ſaid ſhe weeping) execute the Orders you have received.’

[207] ‘Theſe Words, which had the Air of a Reproach, pierced me to the Soul. I durſt not make her any Anſwer in the Place we were then in; but no ſooner had I led her to her Chamber, than looking on her with that Grief and Tenderneſs my Heart was full of,’

‘What, Madam, (ſaid I) do you confound me with your Perſecutor; I who feel your Trouble as ſenſibly as you do yourſelf, I who would ſacrifice my Life to ſave you? I grieve to ſay it, but I tremble for you. Retire for ſome Time to a Place of Safety, I will procure you to be conducted wherever you pleaſe ſo it is a ſecure Aſylum from your furious Huſband.’

‘I know not (ſaid ſhe) whether Monſieur de Benavides has any Deſign to take away my Life, but I know that it is my Duty not to abandon him, and I will fulfil it tho' I periſh.’

‘Then after a ſhort Pauſe (ſhe added) I am going, by placing an entire Confidence in you, to give you the greateſt Mark of my Eſteem it is in my Power to give, and indeed the Confeſſion I have to make you is neceſſary to preſerve yours for me. But go and attend your Brother, a longer Converſation may make you [208] ſuſpected by him. Return hither as ſoon as you conveniently can.’

‘I obeyed Madam de Benavides and went to my Brother's Apartment, the Surgeon had viſited him, and deſired that no one might be allowed to come into his Chamber. I flew back again to his Wife, agitated with a thouſand different Thoughts. I was anxious to know what ſhe had to ſay to me, and yet I feared to hear it. She related to me the Manner in which ſhe became acquainted with you, the Paſſion you conceived for her the Moment you ſaw her, the generous Sacrifice you had made her, and ſhe did not conceal the Tenderneſs with which you had inſpired her.’

‘Ah! (interrupted I) have I then been dear to the moſt perfect Woman upon Earth, and have I loſt her.’ This Idea filled my Soul with ſuch tender Sorrow, that my Tears, which had hitherto been reſtrained by the Exceſs of my Deſpair, began now to ſtream in great Abundance from my Eyes.

‘Yes continued Dan Gabriel (with a Sigh) you were beloved. Good Heaven! what Tenderneſs did I not diſcover for you in her Heart, notwithſtanding her Misfortunes and the Horror of her preſent Situation. I perceived that ſhe indulged [209] with Pleaſure the Thought, that her Tenderneſs for you was authoriſed by what you had done for her. She confeſſed to me that when I led her into the Chamber where you was painting, ſhe knew you, and that ſhe had wrote to you, to command you to leave the Caſtle, but that ſhe could not find an Opportunity to give you her Letter: ſhe afterwards related to me how her Huſband ſurpriſed you together at the very Moment when you was bidding her an eternal Farewell; that he attempted to kill her, but you interpoſed and wounded him in defending her.’

‘Save this unhappy Man (added ſhe) you only can preſerve him from the Fate that waits him, for I know that in the Fear of expoſing me to the leaſt Suſpicion, he will ſuffer the moſt cruel Death rather than declare who he is.’

‘He is well rewarded for all he can ſuffer, Madam (replied I) by the good Opinion you have of him.’

‘I have owned my Weakneſs to you (ſaid ſhe) but you have ſeen that if I am not Miſtreſs of my Affections, I have at leaſt been ſo of my Conduct, and that I have taken no Step which the moſt rigorous Virtue could condemn.’

[210] ‘Alas! Madam, (interrupted I) it is not neceſſary that you ſhould condeſcend to juſtify yourſelf to me. Too well am I convinced by my own Experience that it is not always in one's Power to diſpoſe of one's own Heart. I will uſe my utmoſt endeavours to obey you and to deliver the Count de Comminge: but oh! Madam, permit me to aſſure you that I am more miſerable than he is.’

‘I left the Room as I pronounced theſe Words without daring to raiſe my Eyes to Madam de Benavides. I ſhut myſelf up in my own Chamber to conſider what I had to do. I had already taken a Reſolution to deliver you, but I was in doubt whether I ought not to fly from the Caſtle myſelf. The Torments I had ſuffered during the relation Madam de Benavides had made me, ſhewed me the Exceſs of my Paſſion for her, it was neceſſary that I ſhould ſuppreſs Sentiments ſo dangerous to my Virtue, and in order to ſuppreſs them, it was neceſſary I ſhould ſee her no more; but it ſeemed cruel to abandon her in ſuch a diſtreſsful Situation, to leave her unprotected in the Hands of a Huſband who believed himſelf wronged by her. After continuing long irreſolute, I determined at once to aſſiſt Madam de Benavides, and to avoid ſeeing her as much as poſſible. I could not inform her of your Eſcape till the next Day: ſhe ſeemed a little more eaſy on your Account, but I [211] thought I could perceive that her Grief was increaſed, and I doubted not but the Declaration I had made of my Sentiments was the Cauſe. I quitted her immediately in order to free her from the Embarraſſment my Preſence threw her into.’

‘I was ſeveral Days without ſeeing her, my Brother grew worſe and his Phyſicians thought him in great Danger. I was obliged to make her a Viſit to acquaint her with this News.’

‘If I had loſt Monſieur de Benavides (ſaid ſhe) in the ordinary Methods of Providence, his Death would have leſs ſenſibly affected me, but the Part I have unfortunately had in it, makes it an inſupportable Affliction to me. I am not apprehenſive of the ill Treatment I may meet with from him, I am only afraid of his dying in a Perſuaſion that I have wronged him. If he lives I may hope that he will be one Day convinced of my Innocence, and reſtore me to his Eſteem.’

‘Suffer me, Madam, (ſaid I) to endeavour to merit yours. I implore your Pardon for thoſe Sentiments I have dared to let you perceive. I was not able to prevent their Birth, or to conceal them from you. I even know not whether I can ſubdue them; but I ſwear to you, that I [212] will never importune you with them. I had taken a Reſolution to fly far from you, but your Intereſt retains me here.’

‘I confeſs to you (replied Madam de Benavides) that you have given me great Uneaſineſs: Fortune ſeemed deſirous of taking from me the Conſolation I have found in your Friendſhip.’

‘The Tears ſhe ſhed while ſhe ſpoke to me were more powerful than all the Efforts of my Reaſon. I was aſhamed of having augmented the Miſeries of one already ſo unhappy.’

‘No Madam, (replied I) you ſhall never be deprived of that Friendſhip you have the Goodneſs to ſet ſome Value upon, and I will endeavour to render myſelf worthy of yours, by my Solicitude to make you forget the Extravagance I have been guilty of.’

‘In Effect, when I left her I found myſelf more calm and eaſy, than I had ever been ſince I firſt beheld her. Far from leaving her, I endeavoured by the Reſolutions I vowed to take when in her Preſence to furniſh myſelf with new Arguments for performing my Duty. This Method ſucceeded: I accuſtomed myſelf by Degrees to reduce my former Sentiments to Friendſhip and Eſteem, I told her ingenuouſly the [213] Progreſs I made in my Cure, ſhe thanked me for it, as for ſome conſiderable ſervice I had rendered her; and to reward me gave me every Day new Marks of her Confidence. Still my Heart would ſometimes revolt, but Reaſon always got the Victory.’

‘My Brother after languiſhing a long Time at length began to recover: he would never be prevailed upon to give his Wife permiſſion to ſee him tho' ſhe often requeſted it. He was not yet in a Condition to leave his Chamber, when Madam de Benavides fell ill in her turn. Her Youth ſaved her this Time, and I was full of hope that her Illneſs had ſoftened her Huſband's Heart, for although he had continued obſtinately reſolute not to ſee her during his own Danger notwithſtanding her earneſt intreaties yet he ſhewed ſome ſolicitude in enquiring for her when ſhe was ill.’

‘She was almoſt recovered when my Brother ordered me to be called to him.’

‘I have ſome important Buſineſs (ſaid he) which demands my Preſence in Saragoſſa. My Health will not permit me to take this Journey, I muſt intreat you therefore to go in my ſtead. I have ordered my Equipage to be got ready and you will oblige me by ſetting out immediately.’ The Marquis de Benavides is older [214]than by a great Number of Years. I have always had the ſame Reſpect for him, as for a Father. And he has held the Place of one to me. Beſides I had no Reaſon to urge which could diſpenſe with my doing as he deſired. I was obliged therefore to reſolve to go, but I thought this ready Compliance gave me a Right to ſpeak to him in Favour of Madam de Benavides. What did I not ſay to ſoften him! he appeared to me to be ſhaken, I even fancied I ſaw Tears in his Eyes.’

‘I have loved Madam de Benavides (ſaid he to me) with the moſt ardent Paſſion, it is not yet extinguiſhed in my Heart; but Time and her future Conduct can only efface the Remembrance of what I have ſeen.’ I durſt not enter into any Diſcourſe ‘with him, concerning the Cauſe of his Complaints, that would have again recalled his former Rage, I only deſired permiſſion to acquaint my Siſter-in-law with the Hopes he had given me. He granted my Requeſt: this poor Lady received the News I brought her with a kind of Joy.’

‘I know (ſaid ſhe) that I can never be happy with Monſieur de Benavides, but I ſhall at leaſt have the Conſolation of being where my Duty calls me.’

[215] ‘After having again aſſured her of my Brother's good Diſpoſition to her, I took my Leave of her. One of the chief Domeſtics in the Houſe, in whom I confided, had promiſed to be ſtrictly attentive to every Thing that regarded her, and to give me Information.’

‘After theſe Precautions which I thought ſufficient, I ſet out for Saragoſſa. I had been there fifteen Days without having any News from the Caſtle, and was beginning to be very uneaſy at this long Silence, when I received a Letter from the faithful Domeſtic I mentioned. He informed me that three Days after my Departure, Monſieur de Benavides had diſcharged him and all the reſt of his Servants, except one Man whom he named to me, and the Wife of that Man.’

‘I trembled as I read this Letter, and without troubling myſelf any farther about the Buſineſs with which I was charged, I hired Poſt Horſes to return to the Caſtle.’

‘When I was within a Day's Journey of this Place, I received the fatal News of the Death of Madam de Benavides. My Brother who wrote to me himſelf, appeared ſo greatly afflicted, that I could not ſuppoſe he had been acceſſary to it. He told me the great Love he had for his Wife had ſubdued his Reſentment, and [216] that he was ready to pardon her when Death ſnatched her from him. That ſhe had relapſed a ſhort Time after my Departure, and her Fever encreaſing ſhe died upon the fifteenth Day of her Illneſs. Since I came hither to ſeek ſome Conſolation in the Company of Don Jerome, I have been informed that my Brother is plunged in the deepeſt Sadneſs, that he ſees no one, and he has even intreated me to defer ſeeing him for ſome Time.’

‘I find no Difficulty in complying with his Requeſt (continued Don Gabriel) thoſe Places in which I have ſeen the unfortunate Madam de Benavides, and where I ſhall no more ſee her, would encreaſe my Grief: her Death ſeems to have awakened all my former Sentiments, and I know not whether the Tears I ſhed, do not more proceed from Love than Friendſhip. I have determined to go into Hungary, where I hope either to find Death in the War, or to recover the Peace I have loſt.’

Here Don Gabriel ceaſed to ſpeak. I was not able to anſwer him, but with Tears, my Voice was loſt in Sighs; Don Gabriel alſo wept bitterly, at length he left me without my being able to utter a ſingle Word. Don Jerome attended him out, and I was left alone: the melancholly Relation I had juſt heard, increaſed my Impatience to ſee myſelf in a Place where I might abandon [217] myſelf without Interuption to the Exceſs of my Grief. The Deſire of executing this Scheme haſtened my Cure, after having been long in a languiſhing Condition my Wound was healed, my Strength returned, and I found myſelf able in a little Time to leave the Convent.

The Parting between Don Jerome and I, was on his ſide full of Tenderneſs and friendly Concern, but the Loſs of Adelaida had left me inſenſible to all other Impreſſions. I would not acquaint him with my Deſign leſt he ſhould endeavour to oppoſe it, I wrote to my Mother and ſent my Letter by Saint-Laurent, making him believe that I would wait for an Anſwer, in the Place I then was. This Letter contained an Account of all that had happened to me ſince I ſaw her laſt; I earneſtly aſked her Pardon for leaving her as I reſolved to do for ever, I added that in Tenderneſs to her paternal Affection, I choſe to ſpare her the Sight of a miſerable Wretch who had now nothing left to wiſh for, but Death. And laſtly I conjured her not to make any Attempts to diſcover the Place of my Retreat, and recommended the faithful Saint-Laurent to her Protection.

When I parted with him I gave him all the Money I had about me, reſerving only what was ſufficient to anſwer my Expences during my Journey. The Letter I had received [218] from Madam de Benavides, and her Picture which I wore next my Heart, was all the Wealth I was poſſeſt of: I travelled with an Impatience which hardly allowed me to ſtop a few Moments, to the Abbey de la T . . . . . Upon my Arrival I demanded the Habit of the Order. The Father Abbot obliged me to undergo the Probationary Forms, and when they where finiſhed, aſked me whether the wretched Diet and other Auſterities did not appear more than equal to my Strength. Abſorbed in Grief I had not even perceived the Difference of my Diet, and the Auſterities he mentioned: my Inſenſibility was taken for a Mark of Zeal, and I was received.

The Certainty I now had that my Tears might flow uninterrupted, and that I might paſs my whole Life in this ſad Employment, gave me ſome Kind of Conſolation; the horrid Solitude, the melancholy Silence, that reigned in this Cloiſter, the mortified Countenances of all about me, left me wholly devoted to that Grief, which was become ſo precious to me, that it ſupplied the Place of all I had loſt. I performed all the Exerciſes of the Cloiſter without thinking of their Severity, for every Thing was alike indifferent to me. I went every Day into the thickeſt Part of the Wood, there would I read over the Letter, and gaze on the Picture of my dear Adelaida, bathe them both with my Tears, and replacing them upon [219] my Heart, return with greater Weight of Grief.

Three Years I led this melancholy Life, while Time neither alleviated my Sorrow, nor brought the Period to it, which I ſo earneſtly deſired, when one Morning I was ſummoned by the Tolling of the Bell to be preſent at the Death of one of the Religious. He was already laid upon the Aſhes, the laſt Sacrament was going to be adminiſtred to him, when he deſired to ſpeak to the Father Abbot.

‘What I am going to ſay Father (ſaid the dying Penitent) will animate with new Fervor all who ſhall hear me, ſince by Methods ſo extraordinary I have been drawn out of the Abyſs of Sin and Miſery into which I was plunged, and conducted to the Port of Salvation. I am unworthy of the Name of Brother, with which theſe holy Religious have honoured me; in me you behold an unhappy Woman whom a profane Paſſion has led to this ſanctified Place. I loved and was beloved by a young Man of a Rank equal to my own; the mutual Hatred of our Fathers put a Bar to our Marriage; I was even obliged for the Intereſt of my Lover to give my Hand to another Perſon, and in the Choice of my Huſband, I endeavoured ſtill to give him Proofs of the Continuance of my Paſſion. [220] The Man who could not be ſuppoſed to inſpite me with any Sentiments but thoſe of Hatred and Contempt, was preferred to every other who addreſt me; becauſe, the Sacrifice I made him ſhould be compleat, and that he might have no Cauſe for Jealouſy. The Almighty decreed that a Marriage contracted with ſuch criminal Views ſhould prove a Source of Miſery to me. Although I never after would conſent to ſee my Lover, yet my Huſband and he met and wounded each other before my Eyes: Terror and Grief threw me into a violent Illneſs; I was ſcarcely recovered, when my Huſband ſhut me up in a private Apartment of his Caſtle, and cauſed it to be reported that I was dead. I continued two Years in that melancholy Confinement, with no other Conſolation than what the Compaſſion of her who daily brought me my Food afforded me. My Huſband not ſatisfied with the Miſeries he inflicted on me, had the Cruelty to inſult me under them. Oh! my God (what do I ſay) dare I accuſe of Cruelty the Inſtrument thou waſt pleaſed to make uſe of for my Puniſhment? Theſe Afflictions did not bring me to a juſt Senſe of the Extravagancies of my Conduct. Inſtead of weeping for my Faults, I wept only for my Lover. The Death of my Huſband ſet me at Liberty. The Woman who had ſerved me, being the only Perſon who knew the Truth of [221] my Condition, came to open the Doors of my Priſon and informed me that I had paſſed for dead from the Moment I entered it. Not doubting but the Treatment I had met with from my Huſband had given Riſe to very unfavourable Suſpicions of my Virtue, I deliberated whether it was not neceſſary I ſhould paſs the Reſt of my Days in a Convent; and I was confirmed in this Deſign when I learned that the only Perſon who could retain me in the World had not been heard of for a long Time. I diſguiſed myſelf in the Habit of a Man that I might leave the Caſtle without being known. The Convent to which I reſolved to retire, was that in which I had been educated, and is but a few Leagues diſtant from hence. I was travelling to it, when the Solitarineſs of this Place ſtriking my Imagination as I paſſed by, I alighted from my Chaiſe in order to indulge my ſad Reflections a few Moments. A ſecret Impulſe, which I could not reſiſt, led me in to your Chapel, ſcarce had I entered, when among the Voices that ſung the Praiſes of our Lord, I diſtinguiſhed one too well accuſtomed to reach my Heart; I thought at firſt that my diſordered Imagination had deceived me by a fancied Reſemblance, but when I approached, notwithſtanding the Alteration which Time, Grief, and the Auſterities of a Cloiſter had made in his Countenance, [222] I immediately knew that Seducer, ſo dear to my Remembrance. Great God! what became of me at this Sight, what were the cruel Agitations of my Mind? Far from praiſing the Almighty for calling him to ſo holy a Profeſſion. I blaſphemed againſt him for having deprived me of him; you puniſhed not my impious Murmurs, oh! my God, and you made uſe of my own Folly and Miſery to draw me to yourſelf. I was not able to leave a Place which incloſed what I loved, and in order that we might no more be ſeparated, I diſcharged my Guide and preſented myſelf, Father, to you. Deceived by the Eagerneſs I diſcovered to be admitted into your Cloiſter, you received me willingly. Alas! what was the Diſpoſitions which I brought to your holy Exerciſes, a Heart filled with a profane. Paſſion, and every Thought employed on the dear Object of its Tenderneſs. The Almighty who by abandoning me to my wild Affections would give me greater Cauſe for humbling myſelf one Day before him, doubtleſs permitted thoſe empoiſoned delights which I taſted in breathing the ſame Air, and living in the ſame Houſe with him I loved. I followed him every where, I aſſiſted him in his Labours as much as my Strength would allow, and in thoſe Moments I thought myſelf over-paid for all that I had ſuffered, but yet my imprudent Tenderneſs [223] did not carry me ſo far as to make myſelf known to him. But what was the Motive that hindered me? The Fear of diſturbing the Quiet of him for whom I had loſt my own. But for this fear I ſhould perhaps have attempted to ſnatch from God a Soul which I believed wholly devoted to him.’

‘Two Months are now clapſed, ſince, in Obedience to a Regulation of our holy Founder, who was deſirous by a continual Idea of Death, to ſanctify the Lives of his Religious, we have been obliged each to dig his own Grave. I followed as uſual him to whom I was attached by Ties ſo ſhameful. The Sight of his Grave, the Ardor with which he dug it, pierced my Heart with ſuch an Exceſs of Sorrow, that I was obliged to leave him and retire to the moſt unfrequented Part of the Wood to give free Courſe to my Tears. From that Moment I was in continual Apprehenſions of loſing him, the Idea of his Death was ever preſent to my Mind, my Tenderneſs increaſed every Day. I followed him every where, and if I was ſome Hours in a Day without ſeeing him, I thought I ſhould never ſee him more.’

‘But now the Happy Moment arrived when God was pleaſed to draw me to himſelf, I went with the Man my Soul [224] ſo fondly loved, into the Foreſt to cut Wood for the Uſes of the Houſe; after ſome Time ſpent in this Employment, I perceived that my Companion had left me; anxious and uneaſy at his Abſence, I could not help going to ſeek for him: after having wandered through great Part of the Foreſt, I ſaw him at length in one of the moſt retired Parts of it, employed in gazing earneſtly upon ſomething he had taken from his Boſom; he was in ſo profound a Revery, that I came up cloſe to him, and had Leiſure to look upon what he held in his Hand without his perceiving me, how great was my Aſtoniſhment when I ſaw it was my own Picture. I was now ſenſible that far from enjoying that Quiet I was ſo unwilling to interrupt, he was like me the miſerable Victim of a criminal Paſſion: I ſaw the Powerful Hand of God ready to fall upon him; that fatal Paſſion which I had carried with me even to the Feet of his Altars, ſeemed to have drawn the Vengeance of Heaven upon him who was the Object of it. Full of this terrifying Idea I came to proſtrate myſelf before thoſe Altars, I implored of God my own Converſion in Order to obtain that of my Lover. Yes, oh! my God, it was for him that I offered up my Supplications to thee, for him I ſhed Tears of Remorſe and Grief, it was the Conſideration of his Intereſt that brought me to thee. Thou hadſt Compaſſion upon my [225] Weakneſs, my Prayer, prophane as it was, thou didſt not reject; my Heart became ſenſible of the healing Power of thy Grace; from that bliſsful Moment I experienced the Peace of a Soul which is with thee, and deſires only thee. Thou waſt pleaſed to purify me by ſufferings: I was ſeized with Sickneſs ſoon after. If the Partner of my wild Affections ſtill groans under the Weight of his profane Paſſion, let him caſt his Eyes upon me, let him View the Wretch whom he has ſo madly loved, let him reflect upon that tremendous Moment to which I am now arrived, and to which he ſhall ſhortly arrive, oh! let him ſeek God e'er he has ſilenced his Mercy to liſten only to his Juſtice. But I feel the Time of my laſt Sacrifice approaching: I beſeech theſe holy Religious to offer up their Prayers for my departing Soul; I humbly intreat their Pardon for the Offence I have given them, and I acknowledge myſelf unworthy to partake of their Sepulchre.’

The found of that adored Voice, now undiſguiſed, and always preſent to my Remembrance, made me know Adelaida at the firſt Words ſhe pronounced. What Language can convey an Idea of what I then felt? All that the moſt ardent Love, all that the tendereſt Compaſſion, all that the moſt poignant Grief, and wildeſt Deſpair could inſpire tore my diſtracted Soul that Moment. [226] I was proſtrate on the Ground like the other Religious, while ſhe was ſpeaking, the Fear of loſing any one of her Words reſtrained my Cries, but when I found that in uttering the Laſt ſhe had expired; the Houſe ecchoed with my agonizing Shrieks.

The Religious running to me, raiſed me from the Ground, I tore myſelf out of their Arms, I flew to the Corps of Adelaida, and kneeling down beſide it, I bathed one of her lifeleſs Hands with my Tears.

‘I have loſt you then a ſecond Time my dear Adelaida (cried I) and I have loſt you for ever, what! have you been ſo long with me and did not my ungrateful Heart acknowledge you? but we will never more be ſeparated: Death, added I, folding her in my Arms, Death, leſs cruel than my inexorable Father, ſhall now, in ſpite of him, unite us for ever.’

True piety is never ſevere, the Father Abbot, moved at this Sight endeavoured by the tendereſt Condolances, and the moſt holy Exhortations to ſoften my Grief, and prevail upon me to abandon the Corps of Adelaida which I held faſt locked in my Arms; finding me deaf to all he could urge, he was obliged to uſe force, they dragged me from the lovely Body into my own Cell whither the Father Abbot followed me, he ſtaid with me the whole Night, vainly attempting to [227] calm my Mind, my Deſpair was increaſed by the Conſolations he offered me.

‘Give me Adelaida, (ſaid I) why have you ſeparated us? Suffer me to die beſide her. Oh! why did not my Soul take its Flight with hers. Alas! I can live no longer in a Place where I have loſt her, and where ſhe ſuffered ſo many Miſeries. Permit me (added I) throwing myſelf at his Feet, permit me to leave this Cloiſter, what will you do with a miſerable Wretch whoſe Deſpair will trouble your Repoſe? ſuffer me to retire to ſome other Solitude, there to wait for a final End to all my Sorrows. My dear Adelaida will obtain of God that my Penitence and Prayers may be effectual for my Salvation. And oh! Father do not refuſe my laſt Requeſt, promiſe me that the ſame Tomb ſhall unite our Aſhes, and I in return engage not to haſten that Moment which my Soul ſo ardently pants after.’

The Father Abbot moved with Compaſſion for my Misfortunes, and perhaps deſirous of removing from the Eyes of his Religious, an Object which gave ſo much ſcandal to their Piety, granted my Requeſt, and promiſed to do what I deſired. I left the Convent that Moment, and came hither where I have lived ſeveral Years, having no other Conſolation than that of weeping for what I have loſt.

[228]The Count of Comminge here concluded his affecting Narration, and retired in haſte to indulge a Grief which the melancholy Ideas his Story had recalled to his Remembrance, made too violent to be longer reſtrained.

The Chevalier whoſe generous Heart was ſenſibly moved at the ſad Recital of ſo many cruel Misfortunes, ſat ruminating a long Time upon what he had heard; he admired the unſhaken Fidelity of Adelaida, and comparing her Tenderneſs and truth with the capricious Behaviour of the Counteſs of Berci, he thence drew Arguments to ſtrengthen his Reſentment, and to confirm his Reſolution of quitting her for ever. He now became ſo fond of the noble Solitary, that he eagerly watched every Opportunity of converſing with him. He entered ſo deeply into his Affliction, ſo pathetically lamented his Misfortunes, and ſpoke of Adelaida with ſo much Reverence and Admiration, that the melancholy Count found a kind of Sweetneſs in his Society which he had been long a Stranger to.

The Chevalier knowing how dear the Mention of Adelaida was to him, always introduced the ſadly pleaſing Theme; he would ſit whole Hours and liſten to his tender Comulaints, and while he deſcribed the Birth and Progreſs of his Paſſion, his Diſappointments, his Sufferings and his Deſpair, [229] he would ſigh ſympathetically, dwell on the moſt affecting Circumſtances of his Story, and ſometimes lament the Cruelty of his Fate, with ſo much Paſſion, as ſhewed his Heart had the deepeſt Senſe of his Misfortunes. Nothing could be more ſoothing to the unfortunate Count than this Conduct, but it was very dangerous to the Quiet of the Chevalier; by ſuch ſoftening Converſations he indulged Ideas which in the Reſolution he had taken to quit the Counteſs of Berci for ever, it was his Buſineſs to baniſh as much as poſſible from his Mind. His Imagination now repreſented her to him with all thoſe reſiſtleſs Graces which firſt captivated his Affection, a thouſand tender Paſſages ruſhed back upon his Remembrance; with mingled Pain and Pleaſure he reflected on the Time when firſt her Gratitude for the Services he had done her, forced from her an Acknowledgment of her Love; he thought on thoſe happy Days when ſhe was under his Protection at Bruſſels, and when all Obſtacles being removed he was at Liberty to avow his Paſſion, and was bleſt with a Declaration that ſhe would be his. When once theſe Thoughts found free Admittance into his Mind, he gave himſelf wholly up to their ſoftening Influence: he no longer beheld Madam de Berci falſe, proud, and ungrateful, but tender, paſſionate, conſtant, ſuch as he wiſhed, ſuch as he fain would believe her to be; he ſought for Pretences to excuſe her Conduct [230] and to blame his own. In all Love-Quarrels the Tranſition from fancied Hate or Indifference, to Fondneſs and Deſire, is extremely ſudden and violent. The Chevalier had no ſooner cheated himſelf into a Perſuaſion that he had injured his Miſtreſs by his unjuſt Suſpicions, than he was eager to go and throw himſelf at her Feet, but he was reſtrained by the Fear of her Reſentment for the cruel Letter he had wrote to her, and his voluntary Baniſhment from her Sight; anxious and impatient, yet timid and irreſolute he wore away his Days. He no longer courted the Converſation of the melancholy Solitary, but was wholly abſorbed in Reflections on his paſt Happineſs, when the Counteſs and he convinced of each other's Tenderneſs and Fidelity, ſuffered no doubt to ſadden their bliſsful Proſpect of being united for ever. He ſought out the thickeſt Receſſes of the Wood, and there laid at the Foot of ſome over-grown Oak, he fed his Paſſion with delightful Hopes, while he forbore to ſeek the Certainty, for Fear of loſing the ſweet Deluſion.

But now the Approaches of a Rude and chearleſs Winter, began to leſſen his Taſte for Solitude and Silence. The Trees had loſt their refreſhing Shade, the Earth its beautiful Verdure, no more the ſweet Harmony of the Birds exhilirated his Spirits, the gently daſhing Stream no more by its Murmurs ſoothed his pleaſing [231] Melancholy. All Nature ſeemed to wear a Face of Sadneſs, and the altered Proſpect now raiſed only gloomy Ideas in his Mind; his Rage and Indignation turned wholly upon himſelf, he curſed his Pride, his Folly and his Obſtinacy, the Former for having ſo readily ſuggeſted Notions of his being injured and affronted by Madam de Berci, and the Latter for making him ſo ſtrenuouſly adhere to his mad Reſolution of never ſeeing her more.

The Deſign of Returning to Paris was as eagerly formed and as quickly executed as that of leaving it had been before. He took a tender Leave of the unhappy Count de Comminge, and providing himſelf with a Horſe and a Diſguiſe in the next Village, he ſet out for that City, with an impatience that never ſuffered him to ſtop till he reached the Gates of it.

It was late at Night, which, together with his Diſguiſe, ſecured him from being known; he alighted at the Houſe of his faithful Friend Monſieur la Ronvere: ſcarce would he give him, leave to expreſs his Joy at ſeeing him again whom all Paris had believed to be dead when he eagerly enquired after the Counteſs of Berci, aſking him a hundred Queſtions in a Breath. Monſieur la Ronvere gave him a particular Account of all that had happened to Madam de Berci, ſince he left Paris, her Grief, her [232] Illneſs, and the preſent languiſhing State of her Body and Mind.

The Chevalier ſighed often while his Friend was ſpeaking, a Tear ſometimes ſtole from his Eyes, yet the Emotions he felt had more of Pleaſure than Pain in them. He attributed that Grief, that Illneſs, and her preſent Melancholy, to her Regret for the Unjuſtice ſhe had done him, and her Fears of having loſt him for ever. The Idea of being ſtill dear to the Woman whom he adored, and whoſe ſuppoſed Inconſtancy had given him ſo many Pangs, filled him with a Tranſport which even the Account his Friend gave him of the weak State ſhe was in could not allay. Not doubting but his return, and his renewed Tenderneſs would reſtore her to Peace and Health, his Heart exulting in the Proofs ſhe had given of her Love for him, would admit no anxious Fears to diſturb his preſent Happineſs; he even reſolved to let her remain in Ignorance of his Fate, till he had indulged himſelf with a Sight of the melancholy Fair one. Unperceived by himſelf, ſome Remains of Jealouſy and Diſtruſt lay dormant in his Breaſt; the Delicacy of his Love could not be ſatisfied with a leſs certain Teſtimony of her Grief, than what his own Obſervation could give him; he fancied to himſelf a thouſand ſecret Pleaſures in contemplating that lovely Face, overſpread with tender Sorrow [233] on his Account, and reading in her ſweet expreſſive Eyes, the dear Inquietude of her Heart.

Monſieur la Ronvere who expected to have found him impatient to throw himſelf at the Feet of the mourning Counteſs, was ſurpriſed to ſee him ſit ſilent and abſorbed in thought. ‘Surely (ſaid he ſmiling) it is not neceſſary to remind you that your Miſtreſs is in Paris. The Chevalier rouſed from his pleaſing Revery, told his Friend that he was reſolved to remain concealed a few Days, that he might have an Oppertunity of ſeeing the Counteſs without her knowing him; the Reaſons he gave for this Deſign appeared very whimſical to Monſieur la Ronvere, who had no Notion of thoſe Refinements which make up the chief Bliſs as well as Pains of Lovers. He tried to reaſon the Chevalier out of this wild Curioſity, but finding his Arguments would not prevail, he alledged the Impoſſibility of gratifying it, ſince the Counteſs hardly ever came abroad.

The Chevalier had been uſed to conquer Difficulties, nor was he ſorry to hear that it was not an eaſy Matter to ſee his Miſtreſs. He diſguiſed himſelf in a tattered Coat, hid part of his Face with a large black Patch, turned up his Hair under a Wig of a different Colour, and thus metarmophoſed took his Way to the Street [234] where Madam de Berci reſided, having firſt obliged his Friend to promiſe that he would keep his Secret faithfully.

The moſt he could hope for, or indeed deſired, was a tranſient View of his Miſtreſs from the Windows of her Apartment, but he had ſpent ſeveral Days in paſſing backwards and forwards thro' the Street without obtaining that Satisfaction. Monſieur la Ronvere did not fail to divert himſelf with every new Diſapointment, often urging him, tho' in vain, to lay aſide his ridiculous Enterpriſe.

Mean Time the Family de Saint-Sauveur were making Preparations for the Nuptials of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt and the young Count of Berci. The fair Amazon having by a generous Effort of her Reaſon conquered her Paſſion for the Chevalier des Eſſars, liſtened favourably to the Vows of the Count of Berci, who offered her a Heart which had never acknowledged any Power but hers. She had contracted a ſtrict Friendſhip with the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur and Madam de Berci, and was therefore pleaſed with an Allyance which made her ſtand in ſome Degree of Relation to them.

The King whoſe Admiration and Eſteem of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt increaſed with the Knowledge of her aimiable Qualities, did her the Honour to ſign her Contract of Marriage and promiſed to grace [235] the Solemnity with his Preſence; and to do Honour to the Nuptials of a Lady who had ſignaliſed herſelf in Arms, he decreed a ſolemn Turnament to be held, the Prize, which was a Jewel of great Value, was to be beſtowed by her Majeſty upon the Cavalier whom Skill or Fortune ſhould moſt Favour in the Field.

If any Thing would have relieved that Melancholy into which the Chevalier's Abſence had plunged Madam de Berci, the Marriage of her once dreaded Rival muſt have done it but in the Suppoſition that ſhe had for ever loſt his Heart, Jealouſy could not mingle with the Pangs ſhe felt for that Loſs. Jealouſy is doubt, but ſhe was in abſolute Deſpair. Unwilling to interrupt by her Grief the Joy which theſe Nuptials diffuſed among her Relations, or darken by her melancholy Appearance the Pomp with which they were to be celebrated, ſhe reſolved to leave Paris a few Days before the Ceremony was performed. But an Accident happened which made her Change this Reſolution.

The Chevalier's aſſumed Appearance had for ſome Days preſerved him from any particular Notice, but at length his frequent Viſits to the Street where the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur lived, his earneſt Gazing at the Houſe, his eager Attention in obſerving all who went in or out, attracted the Obſervation of ſome of the Servants. Mademoiſelle [236] de Gevincourt's Woman, ſhe who had ſo ſucceſsfully pleaded her Lady's Cauſe when ſhe ſtopped the Chevalier's Journey to Paris, had a Curioſity to ſee this Man whoſe odd Behaviour furniſhed ſo much Diſcourſe for the Domeſticks of the Marquis. They pointed him out to her as he ſauntered along the Street, his Eyes magnetically as it were, drawn up to the Windows of Madam de Berci's Apartment.

The faithful Maria felt an Emotion at the Sight of this Man, for which ſhe could not account; her Heart ſeemed to acknowledge an Acquaintance with him, and guided by a ſudden Impulſe, ſhe ran into the Street and followed him at a little Diſtance, expecting when he would turn that ſhe might ſee his Face.

The Chevalier, when he came to the End of the Street, ſtopped, as uncertain whether he ſhould return to his Friend's Houſe, or attempt once more to get a Sight of his Miſtreſs. Maria who had already diſcovered ſomething in his Air and Mein, notwithſtanding his Diſguiſe, which brought the Chevalier des Eſſars to her Remembrance, was fully convinced that it was he, by the View ſhe now had of his Face. Tranſported with Joy, ſhe was upon the Point of accoſting him, but prudently repreſt this firſt motion, upon reflecting that he had doubtleſs aſſumed that Diſguiſe for ſome [237] important Deſign, which might be defeated by an unſeaſonable Diſcovery, and therefore paſſing by without ſeeming to take Notice of him, ſhe entered the Houſe again by a back Way, and flew to acquaint her Lady with what ſhe had ſeen.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt had juſt quitted the Counteſs of Berci, whom ſhe had in vain endeavoured to perſwade to ſtay in Paris, during the Celebration of her Nuptials. ‘Madam de Berci is more dejected than ever, (ſaid ſhe) to Maria, as ſhe entered her own Apartment. I love her ſincerely, nor can I think myſelf happy while ſhe is unfortunate.’

‘If it depends upon the Chevaliers Return Madam, ſaid the overjoyed Maria, to make the Counteſs eaſy, ſhe will ſoon be ſo, for he is here in Paris, I have ſeen him. How! interrupted Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, is the Chevalier here? What do you tell me! Is it poſſible?’

The charming Amazon had ſcarce Patience to liſten to her Woman's Account of the Chevalier's Diſguiſe, and the Manner in which ſhe diſcovered him, ſo eager was ſhe to communicate this good News to the young Marchioneſs de Saint Sauveur.

Theſe Ladies being convinced from every Circumſtance of the Chevalier's Behaviour, [238] that his Love for the Counteſs of Berci was as ardent as ever, reſolved to acquaint her with all they had heard.

Madam de Berci affected to receive the News with great Compoſure, but the ſudden Tranſition from Grief and Deſpondency, to Joy and Hope, was too powerfully expreſt in her lovely Features, to leave them in doubt of the ſweet Emotions with which her Heart was agitated; her Cheeks glowed with Bluſhes of Surpriſe and Pleaſure; her Eyes ſparkled with a Vivacity they had been long unuſed to; her Voice imperceptibly to herſelf, loſt its plaintive Accent. Her fair Friends obſerved and were tranſported at the Alteration. They now found it no difficult Taſk to prevail upon her to ſtay in Paris.

‘Depend, upon it ſaid Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, the Chevalier will not diſcover himſelf till after the Turnament, he is too fond of Glory to neglect this Opportunity of ſignaliſing his Return by ſome noble Exploit, and he expects to agreeably ſurpriſe his Friends.’ The Ladies had indeed gueſſed truly, the Chevalier des Eſſars reſolved to appear in the Liſts, and when the Turnement was ended to make himſelf known. He cauſed a new Suit of Armour to be made of the Colour of Aſhes, beneath which, bright Flames ſeemed to break out; on his Shield was painted a Cupid, rekindling [239] his Torch, with this Motto, revived by Kindneſs. The Chevalier fully determined to keep himſelf concealed till after the Turnament, would no more venture to walk diſguiſed thro' the Street where his Miſtreſs lived — the Appearance of Maria had alarmed him, and tho' he was perſuaded ſhe did not then know him, yet he was Apprehenſive that a ſecond View might give her Suſpicions that would awake her Curioſity.

In three Days the Nuptials of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt were to be ſolemniſed, and the fourth was deſtined for the Turnament. During this Interval the Chevalier indulged the moſt delightful Reflections. His Imagination filled with the Idea of the Counteſs of Berci, continually repreſented her to him as diſſolved in Tears, lamenting his Loſs, and devoting all her future Days to ſolitude and Grief. How did he exult in the Thought that his Preſence would baniſh all her Sorrows, and reſtore her to Health, Peace, and Joy.

As ſoon as the wiſhed for Morning appeared, the Chevalier aroſe full of Hope and pleaſing Expectation, Monſieur la Ronvere would aſſiſt in putting on his Armour, never did he look ſo lovely Fierce as then, the Hero and the Lover were ſo happily blendid in the majeſtick Sweetneſs of his Countenance, that it was impoſſible [240] to behold him without feeling at once Delight and Awe. At the Sound of the Trumpets, the King and Queen, attended by the whole Court entered the Field, and took their Places upon a Magnificent Scaffold, erected for them.

The Bride glittering with Jewels but brighter in her own native Lovelineſs, was placed on a Scaffold oppoſite to their Majeſties. On one Side of her ſat the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur, and on the other the Counteſs of Berci. The Friends of that Lady who knew not her ſecret Motives for Emerging from that Solitude in which ſhe had been ſo long buried, were ſurpriſed to ſee her in ſo publick an Aſſembly, herſelf gay as a Bride, and her charming Eyes animated with the ſweeteſt of all Paſſions Hope, dealing round their reſiſtleſs Glances, while they were in ſearch of the beloved Object that poſſeſſed all her Thoughts.

Mean time a great Number of the young Lords of the Court had tilted againſt each other, with various Succeſs; four at length remained Maſters of the Field, and the Judges ſeeing no other Knight offer himſelf to the Combat, were going to declare them Victors when the Chevalier des Eſſars preſented himſelf in the Liſts.

[241]The Eyes of the whole Aſſembly were immediately fixed upon this laſt Comer, his noble Air, the Gracefulneſs of his Figure, and that charming Confidence with which he demanded the Combat, won every Heart.

The great Henry, delighted with his Appearance, aſſured the Queen that this Stranger would carry away the Honour of the Day. The Heart of Madam de Berci by its fluttering Emotions inſtantly acknowledged its Conqueror. 'Tis he whiſpered ſhe in a Rapture to the Bride, who as well as the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur had anxiouſly expected him.

But what cruel Tortures tore the Breaſt of the Chevalier des Eſſars at the Sight of the Counteſs in a Place where he ſo little expected to ſee her? ſhe, whom he had been told had ever ſince his Abſence devoted herſelf to Solitude and Melancholy, whom his fond Fancy had painted as diſſolved in Tears, and ſunk in languiſhing Dejection, yet whom he now beheld dreſt with ſtudied Elegance, as if deſirous of pleaſing; Joy ſparkling in her Eyes, and Smiles of Pleaſure wandering over her lovely Face. ‘Perfidious Woman (ſaid he to himſelf, as he ſtood contemplating her) is it thus my Loſs is mourned?’

Wild with Jealouſy and Deſpair, he doubtleſs would have gone to the Scaffold [242] where ſhe ſat, and reproached her publickly for her Ingratitude and Inconſtancy; but the Sound of the Trumpets recalled him to himſelf, and now animated with Rage, Indignation, and a Deſire of ſhewing his faithleſs Miſtreſs that he deſerved, tho' he could not keep her Heart; with a Rapidity like Lightening he ſprung forwards to meet his Adverſary, and threw him to the Ground at the firſt Onſet.

His three other Courſes were performed with the ſame Skill and Valour, and were indeed ſo many Victories, and he remained ſole Maſter of the Field. The Air reſounded with the joyful Acclamations of the Multitude, and every Tongue repeated the Praiſes of the brave Stranger. The old Marquis des Eſſars, the Count of Berci, and the Marquiſſes de Saint-Sauveur who in thoſe noble Exploits acknowledged the Chevalier des Eſſars, all eagerly crouded about him, and with the moſt rapturous Expreſſions of Joy, congratulated him on his Victory, and themſelves on his Return.

The Chevalier who would gladly have withdrawn himſelf from the Liſts, to avoid being known, finding it impoſſible to conceal himſelf any longer, took of his Caſque, and embraced his Friends. The Gloom that hung upon his Brow, the Faintneſs of his Accent, and the apparent Diſorder of his Mind filled them with Perplexity [243] and Grief, but they had no Leiſure to enquire into the Cauſe of his Uneaſineſs, for the Judges of the Field approaching, led him to the Queen's Scaffold to receive the Prize.

That Princeſs, after complimenting the Chevalier upon his Succeſs, preſented him with a Jewel of great Value, which he received kneeling, and with a Grace that charmed every Beholder. The Great Henry who had been talking to the Marquis des Eſſars, advancing to meet him, as he was leaving the Queen, to go and throw himſelf at his Feet, ‘Chevalier, (ſaid he, tapping his Shoulder with that eaſy Gaity, which was ſo natural to him) you have this Day diſgraced four of the braveſt Lords in my Court, and in Revenge I will give you Fetters that ſhall laſt you your Life.’ All this Time the Counteſs of Berci ſuffered great Inquietude. She had fully obſerved every Look and Motion of the Chevalier; but found not in them the ardent Lover her Imagination was ſo full of. He did not once turn his Eyes towards the Place where ſhe ſat, and after their Majeſties were departed, he ſhewed no Eagerneſs to preſent himſelf to her, but continued talking in an eaſy Manner to the Old Marquis des Eſſars his Uncle; and when at laſt Civility obliged him to go and pay his Reſpects to the Bride, and her Company, he advanced not with the impatient Step of a Lover, but loitering, careleſs, [244] and with an Attention, wholly diſengaged. Grief, Diſappointment, Anger, appeared by Turns in the fair Face of Madam de Berci; but ſtruggling to conceal her Emotions, ſhe received the Chevaliers Compliments, and returned them with a well perſonated Indifference. The new Counteſs of Berci and the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur were aſtoniſhed at the Chevalier's Behaviour, and would have doubted the Truth of what Maria had told them, concerning his Diſguiſe, had it not been confirmed, to them by Monſieur la Ronvere, who thought he was no longer obliged to keep it ſecret, and was pleaſed to have an Opportunity of relating an Incident to the Counteſs, which ſet the Paſſion of the Chevalier in ſo ſtrong, and ſo whimſical a Light.

He more than any other was ſurpriſed at the cold and indifferent Manner in which the Chevalier accoſted the Counteſs, becauſe he had ſo lately been a Witneſs of the Tranſports of his Paſſion. The two old Marquiſes des Eſſars and de Saint-Sauveur who hoped the Chevalier's Return would put an End to his Wanderings, and Madam de Berci's Grief by a happy Union, were both afflicted, and inraged at the Caprices of theſe Lovers, who ſeemed determined to render themſelves and their Friends for ever unhappy; but there was no Time to enter upon any Explanation, they were [245] obliged to follow their Majeſties to the Louvre. The Chevalier led the Bride to her Coach, and received her Hand again at the Gates of the Palace: during this Interval ſhe obſerved him heedfully, and through all his aſſumed Gaity, diſcovered that his Heart was not at Eaſe, ſhe was going to mention the Counteſs of Berci to him, but they were now in the Preſence of their Majeſties; and the brave old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur approached to preſent the Bride to the King. Monſieur la Ronvere who was impatient to enquire into the Cauſe of the Chevalier's unaccountable Behaviour, ſeeing him diſengaged, drew him aſide, and expoſtulated with him upon it.

‘Ah, Friend (ſaid the Chevalier ſighing) you have deceived me cruelly, could I have expected to ſee the Counteſs of Berci in ſo publick an Aſſembly, after the Repreſentation you made me of her Melancholly, her Love of Solitude, and her continued Tenderneſs for me!’

‘You are indeed deceived, (ſaid Monſieur la Ronvere) but it is by the Suggeſtions of your own jealous Fancy. It was the Hope of ſeeing you that carried Madam de Berci to the Turnament.’ He then related to him in what Manner he was diſcovered in his Diſguiſe; the Effect that News had on his Miſtreſs, who concluding [246] he would appear at the Turnament, yielded to her Friend's Intreaties to be there.

Theſe few Words entirely removed the Chevalier's Suſpicions, all his Jealouſy vaniſhed in a Moment, and gave Place to Love, Hope and Joy; already his altered Looks prepared the Counteſs for a different Behaviour, the paſſionate yet reſpectful Glances he gave her, did not eſcape her Notice, ſhe bluſhed with Pleaſure and Surpriſe; yet ſtill kept up her aſſumed Indifference. The Chevalier was ſtepping towards her, when the Marquis des Eſſars his Uncle fixed all his Attention, by addreſſing himſelf in this Manner to the King.

‘It is with inconceivable Regret, my gracious Sovereign, that I find myſelf obliged to interrupt the Happineſs of this Day, with Complaints of my Nephew's Ingratitude. Your Majeſty will eaſily imagine that his Offences muſt needs be very great, ſince they have forced me to take this extraordinary Method to bring him to a juſt Senſe of his Duty.’

This ſtrange Speech filled all that were preſent with Aſtoniſhment and Uneaſineſs. The Chevalier was in the utmoſt Confuſion, and the poor Counteſs wondered what new Miſeries were preparing for her.

[247]The King having ordered the Marquis to proceed. ‘Your Majeſty, reſumed he, and the whole Kingdom have been Witneſſes to the more than parental Affection I have born to that ungrateful Man; loaded with Years and Infirmities, I came in Arms to defend his Innocence, and expoſed my Life to preſerve his Honour. It would be an endleſs Taſk to repeat all the Benefits I have conferred upon him, which he has only repaid by an obſtinate Diſobedience to my Will; twice I have attempted to ſecure his Happineſs, by an honourable and advantagious Match, and each Time he has eluded my Wiſhes, and voluntarily baniſhed himſelf from his Country rather than comply with the Propoſals I made him.’

Scarce had the Marquis des Eſſars ended this Speech, when the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur following his lead, thus adreſſed himſelf to the King. ‘Sire, (ſaid he) my Daughter is not leſs guilty than the Chevalier, after all the Miſeries ſhe has ſuffered herſelf, after all the Affliction ſhe has given her Parents and Friends on his Account; ſhe has denied to give him her Hand, and to make her Diſobedience more remarkable, refuſed to conſent to what ſhe once ſo ardently deſired when it became our Will ſhe ſhould do ſo.’

Theſe Complaints which at the Beginning had ſpread ſo much Conſternation through [148] the Company, and had filled the two Perſons moſt concerned in them, with Grief and Confuſion, now produced Smiles of Pleaſure on every Face. The Chevalier was overjoyed ſince he found they were likely to terminate in his Marriage with the Counteſs of Berci, whoſe fair Face, though overſpread with Bluſhes, expreſſed no Signs of Diſſatisfaction. ‘Sire, (ſaid the Chevalier, bowing profoundly low to the King) I ſhould be the baſeſt of Men if I did not acknowledge that the Obligations I have received from the Marquis des Eſſars are above all Gratitude and Return; I have indeed too long delayed to give him thoſe Proofs of my Obedience and Submiſſion to his Will, which he deſires, but I hope he will pardon an Error which I die with Impatience to repair.’

‘And what have you to ſay, Madam, ſaid the King ſmiling, to the Complaints your Father has made of you?’ Madam de Berci who only wanted to yield with Dignity, and expected a new Command from her Father and the King, replied with inaffable Grace: ‘That I have been the Cauſe of any Affliction to my Parents is one of the greateſt Misfortunes of my Life: but your Majeſty is, I hope convinced, that my Will has not always been in Fault; ſome Errors I have been led into from Want of Experience, but many more by a ſtrange Concurrence of Circumſtances, [249] which hardly left me the Freedom of Choice. As to the Point on which my Father claims my Obedience, I can only ſay, that the Condition of my Widowhood and other important Reaſons have ſeemed to me ſufficient to diſpenſe with it.’

The Counteſs of Berci did not imagine the King would be ſatisfied with this Excuſe; but ſhe had ſoon Cauſe to repent of her Diſingenuity, for that Prince, who thought there was great Force in her Plea, declared that ſhe ſhould be at Liberty to follow her Inclinations.

Madam de Berci was in the utmoſt Confuſion at this unlooked for Deciſion; her Father was concerned, and her Friends were in Pain for her; but the Chevalier, to whom it ſeemed the Sentence of his Death, was in Deſpair, and approaching the Counteſs, who was in viſible Emotions, ‘Ah, Madam, (ſaid he) are all my Sufferings for you forgot, and can you doom to ceaſeleſs Miſery a Man who ſo ardently loves, and has ſo faithfully ſerved you?’

Madam de Berci made no Anſwer; but the King who watched her Eyes and read in them all that paſſed in her Heart, ſaw his Interpoſition was neceſſary. And taking her Hand, ‘If I diſpenſed with your Obedience [250] to your Father, Madam, (ſaid he) I will not to your King, he regulated your firſt Choice, the ſecond ſhall be yours and mine.’ Saying this, he preſented her Hand to the Chevalier, who received it with a Tranſport, which hardly left him Power to expreſs his Gratitude. His Majeſty to favour the Counteſs's Confuſion, whoſe charming Face was all overſpread with Bluſhes, drew the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur aſide and entered into Diſcourſe with him: this little Interval the Lovers employed, in removing thoſe Doubts which had retarded their Happineſs, and were likely to have ſaparated them for ever. When his Majeſty joined the Company he found Madam de Berci with the Queen, that Princeſs who had conceived a great Eſteem for the Chevalier des Eſſars, and had been much moved with the Misfortunes of the Counteſs of Berci, congratulated them on this happy Event in Terms highly obliging to them both. The next Day ſaw the Celebration of their Nuptials, and every ſucceeding one brought an Increaſe of Happineſs to a Pair united as well by Virtue as by Love.

The END.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5151 The memoirs of the Countess of Berci Taken from the French by the author of the Female Quixote In two volumes pt 2. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5F54-C