PART I.

IN the Reign of one of the greateſt Princes the French Monarchy ever had, lived a young Noble⯑man equally illuſtrious for his Vir⯑tues, and the Grandeur of his Deſcent. The Count of Berci is the Name I ſhall give him here. His Perſon was genteel and elegant, his Manners ſoft and inſinuating. He was in high Eſteem for his Valour; and his Fidelity to his Maſter during thoſe Troubles which diſturbed the firſt Years of the Reign of Henry IV, acquired him the Eſteem of that great King, who knew how to diſtinguiſh, and loved to reward Merit.

[2]With ſuch Advantages of Nature and For⯑tune, it will be eaſily imagined, the Count of Berci could not be unſucceſsful in a well-placed Paſſion: nor indeed was he ſuffered to ſigh long for the Daughter of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, whom he demanded in Marriage. The Marquis approved of his Ad⯑dreſſes, and the young Lady gave him her Hand without Reluctance.

The Count and Counteſs of Berci paſſed the firſt Years of their Marriage in the chaſte Pleaſures of a tender Union. The Count neglected no Opportunity to procure for his Wife all thoſe Amuſements which it is natu⯑ral for Perſons of her Sex and Years to be fond of: and the Counteſs, on her Side, made it her chief Care to merit his Eſteem by an exact and prudent Conduct, and preſerve his Love by her Softneſs and Attention to pleaſe. Hymen laviſhed on this amiable Pair his choiceſt Favours: their Love, always tender and ſincere, was always uniform and conſtant, neither embittered with Jealouſy, nor palled by any of thoſe Diſguſts which too often fol⯑low the Poſſeſſion of what we have moſt ar⯑dently deſired.

But this Happineſs was not to laſt for ever. The Chevalier des Eſſars happened to ſee the Counteſs of Berci one Evening at the Play: to ſee her, and to love her with the moſt ar⯑dent Paſſion, was the ſame Thing. The Che⯑valier's Birth was noble; his Face, tho' beau⯑tiful to Exceſs, was without Effeminacy; [3] his Perſon, tho' eminently genteel, was bold and manly; to the frank and eaſy Manners of a Soldier, he joined the poliſhed Elegance of a Court. His early Valour had made him remarkable in Europe, and the following Pages of this Hiſtory will furniſh ſuch amazing Proofs of his Courage as would tranſcend Be⯑lief, if the Hiſtories of paſt Ages, had not given Credibility to the Exploits of thoſe He⯑roes who filled the World with their Glory and their Virtues.

The Chevalier des Eſſars was then in his thirtieth Year, and the Counteſs of Berci juſt turned of eighteen. Her Stature was tall, her Shape eaſy and delicate, her Complexion fine and animated, her Eyes were large, black, and full of Fire; all the Features of her Face were regular and charming; a thouſand name⯑leſs Graces were diffuſed over her whole Form, and captivated the Heart of every Be⯑holder. Yet this Perſon, lovely as it was, was her leaſt Perfection. She had a fine Underſtanding, cultivated by Reading and Reflexion; a Wit lively and pleaſing; a noble and generous Mind, and a Sweetneſs in her Manners that ſecured all thoſe Hearts which the Charms of her Perſon had firſt ſur⯑priſed. But truly admirable as all theſe Qua⯑lities were, it was that unclouded Reaſon, that ſolid Virtue, that noble Fortitude, and that blameleſs Conduct, which ſhe conſtantly maintained even in her greateſt Misfortunes and the moſt dangerous Circumſtances of her Life, that crowned and gave a Luſtre to them all. [4] She was early taught, that Beauty, when not accompanied by Virtue and the brighter Graces of the Mind, could never hope for the Eſteem of wiſe and good Men, whoſe Eyes it only pleaſed, but could not extend its Influence to the Heart: and that the greateſt perſonal Ad⯑vantages, if not ſtrengthened by Virtue, were the moſt fatal Gifts, that Nature could diſpenſe.

The Counteſs of Berci felt all the Force of theſe Maxims; ſhe received and lodged them in her Heart, and regulated by them the whole Conduct of her Life; and if ſhe, at length, felt ſome Senſibility for the Paſſion of the Chevalier des Eſſars, ſhe re⯑ſtrained it within ſuch ſtrict Bounds that it never endangered her Virtue; and by her prudent Conduct ſhe changed the moſt im⯑petuous Man in the World, into the moſt re⯑ſpectful and ſubmiſſive Lover that ever was.

But it is now Time to return to the Che⯑valier des Eſſars. At the firſt Sight of the Counteſs of Berci her Charms made a deep Impreſſion upon his Heart, he was ſo wholly engroſſed by them, that he was indifferent to all Things elſe, nor could he give a Mo⯑ment's Attention to any other Object. When the Play was ended, he eagerly enquired the Name of that enchanting fair One, and was overjoyed to find he might love her without bluſhing. He returned home full of pleaſing Anxiety: a new and ſweet Diſorder poſſeſt him. How altered in a few Hours! He was no more: that fiery Warrior, whoſe Soul till [5] then, had been acceſſible to no other Paſſion but Glory. The Image of the Counteſs of Berci took full Poſſeſſion of his Breaſt, and the Conqueſt of her Heart was the only Am⯑bition he was now ſenſible of. Oh powerful Love! how in a Moment doſt thou fix thy Empire in our Souls, and ſuſpend or deſtroy every other Paſſion.

The Chevalier des Eſſars would have re⯑joiced to find that the Object of his Paſſion had been ſingle, and at Liberty to receive his Vows. Her being married was a Circum⯑ſtance which gave him great Grief and Per⯑plexity; he even made ſome Efforts to van⯑quiſh his new-born Love: Company, Diſſi⯑pation, and the Remonſtrances of his Friends might perhaps, have rendered thoſe Efforts effectual; but he, on the contrary, delivered himſelf up to Solitude, and converſing only with his own Thoughts, his Reaſon became ſubjected to his Love: he flattered himſelf that he might love without a Crime; his diſ⯑ordered Imagination ſuggeſted a thouſand vain Chimera's, and leaving it to Time and For⯑tune to make him happy, he abandoned him⯑ſelf entirely to the Violence of his Paſſion. Although he had never ſeen the Counteſs of Berci till that fatal Evening at the Play, yet he had ſome ſlight Acquaintance with the Count; and he conceived that the beſt Way to get an Introduction to the Wife, was to commence a ſtrict Friendſhip with the Huſ⯑band. And here his Succeſs was anſwerable to his Wiſhes. The Count of Berci thought [6] it an Honour to be ranked among the parti⯑cular Friends of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and met his Advances with ſuch Eagerneſs, that in a ſhort Time they became inſeparable.

The Count of Berci was continually talking to his Wife of the great Merit of the Che⯑valier: he made one in all their Parties of Pleaſure. The Counteſs, to pleaſe her Lord, took all Opportunities of ſhewing the Reſpect and Eſteem ſhe had for him; and the Cheva⯑lier at firſt only diſcovered a profound Venera⯑tion for the Counteſs: but his Paſſion gaining daily new Force by the frequent Opportuni⯑ties he had of ſeeing the lovely Object of it, it was with the utmoſt Difficulty he con⯑cealed the Secret of his Heart; and, weary of the intolerable Reſtraint, he reſolved to ſeize the firſt favourable Moment to reveal his Love without giving the Count any Suſpicion: and this Deſign employed all his Thoughts.

In effect, it was very difficult to execute: but what will not a Lover attempt, who lives in the moſt terrible Uncertainty of his Fate? The Chevalier, to prevent giving the Count any Suſpicions, had at firſt regulated all his Actions, his Words, and even his Looks, with ſo much Prudence that nothing eſcaped him in his Preſence which could diſ⯑cover his real Sentiments: he was neither too free, nor too reſerved, and kept ſo juſt a Mean; that his Behaviour had not the leaſt Appearance of Artifice, or Affectation. The Count and Chevalier were always together, [7] and every Day was diſtinguiſhed with ſome new Amuſement. Aſſemblies, Tournaments, Running at the Ring, each had a Place in this Circle of Pleaſures. The two Friends were always the Challengers in every Tour⯑nament, and never failed to give the moſt ſhining Proofs of their Valour and Dexterity.

In former Times the French Nobility were paſſionately fond of all thoſe Diverſions which at firſt were inſtituted in Honour of the Ladies. The Prizes, which the Victors always received from their Hands, was a Spur to their Emula⯑tion: and early incited them to form themſelves for all thoſe Exerciſes which it became every Nobleman to be ſkilful in. But Tourna⯑ments, which are natural Repreſentations of Battles, however proper they might be to in⯑ſtruct the young Nobility in the military Art, were notwithſtanding aboliſhed in France, as being thought too dangerous. No one can be ignorant of the fatal Accident that hap⯑pened to Henry the Second, one of our Kings, who died of a Wound he received in a Tour⯑nament, in the forty firſt Year of his Age, and the thirteenth of his Reign. Tourna⯑ments and Running at the Ring were ſtill in Uſe in the Times I am ſpeaking of, and they were the moſt ſplendid and moſt noble Amuſe⯑ments in the Court of our Kings. I hope the Reader will pardon this ſhort Digreſſion, the ſucceeding Part of this Hiſtory will ſhew the Neceſſity of it. But let us now return to our noble Friends.

[8]The Count of Berci had a Taſte for Magnificence and Pleaſure. The Chevalier was always with him either at his Houſe, or at ſome public Diverſion, after which, till the Hour of Supper arrived, they amuſed them⯑ſelves with walking in ſome of thoſe en⯑chanting Gardens which conſtitute one of the chief Pleaſures of Paris. The charming Counteſs made one in all their Parties. The Chevalier would have thought them inſipid without her Preſence: but ſtill no Opportu⯑nity offered to ſpeak to her in private. In vain he endeavoured to conceal his Torments; the ſoft Languor that appeared in his Eyes when he met thoſe of the Counteſs, gave her ſome Suſpicion of his Paſſion; but the unfor⯑tunate Lover gained no Advantage from thoſe Suſpicions. At length the fatal Flame that preyed upon his Heart began to affect his Health, he grew pale and wan, a fixed Me⯑lancholy appeared in his Countenance and Behaviour.

The Count of Berci was greatly affect⯑ed with the Situation in which he ſaw his Friend. ‘What ails you, my dear Cheva⯑lier,’ ſaid he to him one Day when they were walking together; ‘ſome ſecret Grief lies heavy upon your Heart. Is your Fa⯑vour at Court declining, or does ſome one of the Beauties that adorn it hold you in her Chains, and by her Rigour occaſion this ſtrange Alteration in you? Speak, my dear Chevalier, open your Heart freely to me, and be aſſured, that my Fidelity in keeping [9] your Secret, will not be leſs than my Con⯑cern for your Misfortunes.’

The Chevalier was a little diſconcerted by this Diſcourſe of his Friend. 'My dear Count, ſaid he, endeavouring to ſuppreſs a Sigh which nevertheleſs would force its Way; ‘how oblig⯑ing is this tender Anxiety of yours. Believe me, there are few Evils in Life that would give me much Affliction with ſuch a Friend to alleviate them. But indeed I have no Rea⯑ſon to complain of my bad Fortune: the King is ſtill pleaſed to continue his Favour towards me; and my Heart, hitherto inſen⯑ſible to the Charms of Love, has eſcaped the Chains of any of our Beauties, whom I have beheld with an Indifference that pre⯑ſerved my Freedom. Ambition is the ſole Paſſion of my Soul, and the Deſire of ac⯑quiring Glory takes up all my Thoughts: Ever ſince our invincible Monarch has been in peaceable Poſſeſſion of the Throne of his Anceſtors, the French Nobility have lan⯑guiſhed in a ſhameful Inactivity. I can no longer bear to lead this inglorious Life, and am determined to ſeek for Laurels in other Countries, which I will water with the Blood of our Enemies. The Deſire of Glo⯑ry, my Friend, is the Paſſion that conſumes me, hence proceeds that Diſcontent you have obſerved in me; and that Languor your Tenderneſs has likewiſe taken Notice of, is cauſed by a ſlight Indiſpoſition with which I have been troubled for ſome Days paſt.’

[10]'I am willing to believe you, Chevalier,' replied the Count: ‘but if there is any Foun⯑dation for the Report that now prevails of a Rupture between the King and the Empe⯑ror, you will not need to go far to ſeek Occaſions of acquiring Glory, and of ſigna⯑liſing your Valour. As for the Indiſpoſi⯑tion you complain of, I am perſuaded the Air of the Country will contribute greatly to remove it. It is now the moſt agreeable Seaſon of the Year. The Counteſs and my⯑ſelf intend to ſet out in a few Days for my Eſtate of Beauplan; it is but a few Leagues diſtant from Fontainebleau, where the King is at preſent. We will go from Time to Time to pay our Reſpects to his Majeſty; and we will endeavour to make your Stay at Beauplan ſo agreeable, that you ſhall be quite freed from your Melancholy. Come, you muſt go with us, I deſire it as a Fa⯑vour; and be aſſured you cannot give the Counteſs a more ſenſible Pleaſure: ſhe eſteems you greatly; and the Alteration ſhe has obſerved in your Health gives her no leſs Uneaſineſs than it has done me.’

The Chevalier eagerly accepted a Propoſal ſo conformable to his Wiſhes. The Count's laſt Words gave him a ſweet Emotion, that might have been eaſily diſcovered in his Countenance, had not the Arrival of the reſt of the Company, who joined them that Inſtant, concealed it from his Obſervation. The Converſation now became general, and during the reſt of the Time that they continued walking, they ſpoke [11] of nothing but the Pleaſures and Amuſements the Country would afford them.

In the mean Time, the Chevalier, who never, ſince the Commencement of his fatal Paſſion, had had Room to entertain the leaſt Sentiment of Joy, reſigned himſelf up to the pleaſing Hopes with which the new Propoſal of his Friend inſpired him. He flattered him⯑ſelf that, while he continued in the Houſe of his beloved Counteſs, he could not ſail of meeting with frequent Opportunities of en⯑tertaining her alone, in one of which he might aſſume Courage enough to declare his Paſſion; at leaſt he hoped that the calm Plea⯑ſures of the Retirement he was going to, would alleviate his Cares. Full of theſe ſoothing Ideas he ſet out for Beauplan; but he ſoon found that Groves and Meads, thick Woods and winding Alleys, with the ſoft Muſick of Birds, and murmuring Streams, were powerful Aids to Love, and while they ſoothed, increaſed his Flame. He had likewiſe vainly hoped that in the [...] ſhould find his Miſtreſs leſs engaged [...] to form their Ar⯑rival at the Caſtle of Beauplan, all the neigh⯑bouring Gentry came to pay their Reſpects to the Count and his Lady, and for fifteen Days there was ſuch a conſtant Succeſſion of Viſitors at the Caſtle, that the Chevalier ne⯑ver found the Counteſs alone one Moment, during that whole Time.

The unfortunate Chevalier was now in a worſe Situation than he had ever been. The [12] Amuſements of the Country had no Charms for him, all Company was irkſome, he ſought Solitude and Silence, and there without Re⯑ſtraint abandoned himſelf to the gloomy Re⯑flexions which filled his Soul. Theſe frequent Abſences giving the Count great Uneaſineſs, he uſed to go in Search of him, and always found him either in the wildeſt Part of the Foreſt, or in ſome romantic Cave, ſwallowed up in deep Reflexion, with his Eyes fixed on one particular Object, which nevertheleſs he ſeemed not to regard; his Mind being whol⯑ly employed upon what paſſed within it. The Count was now convinced that his Friend had diſguiſed the true Situation of his Heart, and that the Noiſe and Tumult of Paris were more likely to cure his Diſorder, than the Privacy of the Country.

The Count, who neglected nothing which he thought could diſſipate his Melancholy, obliged him one Day to make one in a Party for the Chace: they were to hunt the Stag. The Counteſ [...] [...] at home with a Bro⯑ther of [...], a Youth about twenty Years o [...] [...] ▪ Madam de Berci, as ſoon as ſhe had dined, deſired her Brother to walk out with her, to meet the Hunters in their Return. They had already entered a Wood whoſe dark embowering Shades for ever ex⯑cluded the Sun, and made it look like the eter⯑nal Abode of Solitude and Silence. She ſat down at the Root of a Tree to reſt herſelf a Moment, when her Attention was imme⯑diately engaged by the Voice of a Perſon [13] whom, although ſhe did not ſee, ſhe knew to be but at a ſmall Diſtance from her. She roſe up inſtantly, and with her Brother-in-law walked ſoftly towards the Place from whence this Voice ſeemed to come, and being now very near ſhe heard diſtinctly theſe Words:

‘Unhappy Wretch, what is it thou hopeſt for? Why doſt thou waſte the miſerable Re⯑mains of thy Life in this wild Solitude? Art thou reſolved to die thus obſcurely, and not have the melancholy Pleaſure of letting her, for whom thou dieſt, know the Sacri⯑fice thou makeſt her? Ah! too lovely Counteſs, added he after a Moment's Pauſe, is it poſſible that my Eyes have not diſco⯑vered to you the Flame you have kind⯑led in my Heart? Sure, if you knew the Torments I ſuffer, your Compaſſion at leaſt would meet the Wretch you have un⯑done. No, no, I deceive myſelf; your haughty Virtue would ſuggeſt to you that I ought to die unpitied and unlamented. Wretch that I am, dare I avow ſuch Sen⯑timents? Is it for me to form ſuch auda⯑cious Hopes! Is it for me to make ſuch unjuſt Complaints? Ought I not rather to bluſh at my own Baſeneſs, I who ſeek to violate the ſacred Rights of Hoſpitality, and break through all the tender Ties of Friend⯑ſhip? Yet, alas! mine is an involuntary Crime, I love, and who can reſiſt the Force of that imperious Paſſion?’

[14]He reſted for ſome Moments on this Thought, which ſeemed to calm his Sorrow as it palliated his Crime, and leſſened his own Remorſe. But again with new Sighs he continued his mourn⯑ful Soliloquy in this Manner: ‘It is true, O adorable Counteſs, that, when I firſt be⯑held you, I was no longer Maſter of my Heart; you triumphed over it in Spite of myſelf, and I am ſenſible your Power will not ceaſe but with my Life. But oh! how long will this miſerable Life endure, unleſs I aſſume Courage enough to reveal my Paſ⯑ſion. Ah! you will doubtleſs puniſh me for my Temerity: yet I am reſolved to diſcloſe my fatal Secret, and, before your Eyes will pierce this unhappy Breaſt, if I am not able to move ſome Pity in yours.’

The Counteſs of Berci, unwilling to hear more, left the Foreſt with Precipitation. It was not difficult for her to diſcover that ſhe herſelf was the Subject of thoſe Complaints ſhe had juſt heard, and that it was the Che⯑valier des Eſſars who had uttered them. That unhappy Lover, who had with much Diffi⯑culty been perſuaded to hunt that Day, took the firſt Opportunity that offered to with⯑draw, and was returning to the Caſtle with a Reſolution to diſcover his Paſſion to the Coun⯑teſs. But the natural Timidity of a Lover reſtraining him, inſtead of entering, he took a Path that carried him from the Caſtle, and following it, found himſelf inſenſibly at the Entrance of this Wood; its Gloomineſs pleaſed [15] him, he alighted from his Horſe, and tying it to a Tree, wandered about on Foot a long Time, till being tired, he threw himſelf down under the Shade of a large Tree, and there gave free Courſe to his Complaints, not imagining that he ſhould be overheard, in a Place which ſeemed to him, to be only a ſit Receſs for Wretches like himſelf.

It is not eaſy to determine which was moſt ſurpriſed, the Counteſs or her Brother-in-law. This young Lord had till then been abſolute⯑ly ignorant of the Chevalier's Paſſion for his Siſter, and if ſome ſlight Suſpicions of it had forced their Way into the Mind of the Coun⯑teſs, her Virtue never ſuffered her Thoughts to reſt a Moment upon them. Although her Innocence was fully proved by the Com⯑plaints her Lover had uttered, yet ſhe was under great Uneaſineſs at what had happened. Young, innocent, and unexperienced, ſhe knew not what Conduct to obſerve on ſo cri⯑tical an Occaſion. She could not determine, whether it was moſt eligible to recommend Secreſy to her Brother-in-law, or to deſire him to reveal to her Huſband what he had heard; whether ſhe ought to conceal an Af⯑fair of ſuch Conſequence from the Count, or tell him herſelf what he might poſſibly learn one Day from his Brother. After ſome Mo⯑ments Reflexion, ſhe believed the Danger equally great, whether ſhe was ſilent, or diſ⯑cloſed the Secret, and therefore took a Re⯑ſolution upon the Spot, not only to ſay no⯑thing to her Huſband, but alſo to diſſemble [16] her Knowledge of it even to her Brother-in-law: accordingly ſhe purſued her Way to the Caſtle in a profound Silence, and ſeemed to have underſtood nothing of what ſhe had heard.

But ſhe could not impoſe upon the young Berci he eaſily penetrated into her Thoughts, and knew how to account for her Perplexity. He did not love the Chevalier des Eſſars; the great Friendſhip his Brother expreſt for him excited his Jealouſy, and he ſecretly congratu⯑lated himſelf at firſt, that Fortune had fur⯑niſhed him with a favourable Opportunity to ruin him for ever with his Brother. But theſe were the firſt Motions of his Mind: his na⯑tural Generoſity prevailed over his Paſſions, and he rejected with Shame the baſe Thoughts which had involuntarily obtruded themſelves upon him.

He was apprehenſive likewiſe, that if his Brother ſhould be made acquainted with the Sentiments which the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars had avowed, it might raiſe Suſpicions injurious to the Honour of his Wife, and change that tender Love he had hitherto felt for her, and that Confidence he had repoſed in her Fidelity, into Indifference and Diſtruſt. The young Chevalier de Berci had a great Eſteem for his Siſter-in-law; he trembled at the Thoughts of kindling the Flame of Diſcord between her and her Huſband; and he loved his Brother too tenderly to inſpire him with a Paſſion ſo cruel and tormenting as Jealou⯑ſy. [17] All theſe Conſiderations determined him to be ſilent with reſpect to what had hap⯑pened: but obſerving that the Counteſs con⯑tinued ſilent and penſive, he ſpoke to her thus: ‘I am no longer ſurpriſed, Madam, at the terrible Melancholy in which the Chevalier des Eſſars is plunged: he is in Love, and you are the Object of his Paſſion. And I muſt needs confeſs that the extreme Indifference you diſcover for this unhappy Man aſtoniſhes me.’

'Methinks,' replied the Counteſs with ſome Emotion, ‘you are not leſs indiſcreet than the Perſon you ſpeak of. If it be true, that I am the Object of his Paſ⯑ſion, as you tell me, it is no leſs true that the Conqueſt, far from flattering my Vanity, gives me on the contrary great Uneaſineſs. But that we may no longer have Occaſion to talk of the Chevalier des Eſſars and his preſumptuous Deſigns, for which I am truly afflicted, I conjure you by our mutual Friendſhip to aſſiſt me in finding out the Means of procuring his De⯑parture from Beauplan; there is nothing I wiſh with more Ardour than to be freed from his Preſence, that I may receive no farther Proof of that Extravagance you at⯑tribute to him. My Virtue is alarmed by the bare Poſſibility that I may be ſuſpec⯑ted of giving the leaſt Encouragement to his unhappy Paſſion; and my Honour is ſenſibly wounded by being the involuntaly Object of it.’

[18] ‘I am very much concerned, Madam, replied the young Berci, that I cannot do you the Service you require of me. If I undertake to remove the Chevalier des Eſſars from Beauplan, he may poſſi⯑bly complain of my Proceedings to my Brother, who will doubtleſs inſiſt upon knowing my Reaſons for thus treating a Man who is ſo dear to him; how then ſhall I avoid diſcloſing a Secret which for many Reaſons it is not fit he ſhould be acquainted with? However, if you ſhall judge it pro⯑per to write a Letter to the Chevalier ſuch as your own Prudence ſhall dictate to you, I will very willingly take upon myſelf the Care of getting it ſafely delivered to him; and I am perſuaded that honouring you ſo much as he does, and ſeeing that his Paſ⯑ſion is both diſcovered and contemned, he will take a Reſolution to baniſh himſelf voluntarily from your Preſence, rather than interrupt your Quiet, and the Happineſs of your Family.’

This Expedient was approved by the Counteſs, and ſhe reſolved to put it in Execu⯑tion that very Night. They arrived at the Caſtle without meeting any one; but the Hun⯑ters were not long after them. They entered with joyful Acclamations, having taken in that Day's Sport a monſtrous Stag. The Che⯑valier des Eſſars was the laſt that returned home; they did not fail to railly him upon his leaving them; he got off by ſaying that he had loſt his Way, and had not been able to re⯑join [19] the Company. Little did he then imagine that the Complaints he had uttered in the Fo⯑reſt at Beauplan had reached the Ears of his Miſtreſs, and that ſhe was forming ſuch cruel Reſolutions againſt him.

The Counteſs of Berci, whoſe Mind was in great Agitation retired to her Apartment ſooner than uſual, and giving Orders to her Attendants that no one ſhould interrupt her, ſhe ſhut herſelf up in her Cloſet, and aban⯑doned herſelf to her Reflexions. The Ad⯑venture of the Foreſt, ſo dangerous to her Re⯑putation, ſo injurious to her Virtue, filled her with Inquietude. She dreaded the fatal Conſe⯑quences that might reſult from it; ſhe reproa⯑ched her own innocent Self for being the Ob⯑ject of ſo criminal a Purſuit, and deteſted thoſe Charms which had been capable of inſpiring Wiſhes, and of ſuggeſting Hopes deſtructive to her Fame: a Torrent of Tears ran from her fine Eyes, and wet that beautiful Breaſt which was afflicting itſelf for the Crimes of others, not her own.

At length, ſhe became a little more compoſed, and began to write: after many times altering, effacing, and writing anew, ſhe at length finiſh⯑ed a Letter, and ſending for her Brother-in-law, ſhe delivered it to him, intreating him to diſ⯑poſe it in ſuch a Manner that the Chevalier des Eſſars might find it that Night in his Chamber, without his being able to gueſs how it came there. She recommended it to him in a par⯑ticular Manner that in copying this anonimous [20] Letter he ſhould carefully diſguiſe his Hand, for ſhe apprehended ſome dangerous Conſe⯑quences might enſue, if the Chevalier diſco⯑vered that it was the young Berci, who had written the Letter.

Every Thing was done with as much Expedi⯑tion and Secreſy as ſhe could have wiſhed. Sup⯑per being ſerved, the Counteſs left her Chamber and ſeated herſelf at Table: the whole Compa⯑ny, except the Chevalier and the Counteſs, was chearful and ſupped with a good Appetite. How⯑ever they aſſumed as much Gaiety as poſſible, and both carefully diſſembled the uneaſy Thoughts which agitated their Souls. The Counteſs taſted by Anticipation the good Effects her Letter was likely to produce, and the Cheva⯑lier, ignorant of the new Torments that For⯑tune was preparing for him, regretted his not having made Uſe of the favourable Oppor⯑tunity which the Count's Abſence had afforded him to declare his Paſſion; and was reſolved not to defer opening his whole Heart to the Counteſs any longer than the next Day, if he ſhould be ſo happy to find her alone.

As ſoon as the Company broke up, the Count as uſual attended the Chevalier to his Apartment, where after diſcourſing with him ſome Time upon indifferent Matters, he retired and left him with his Servants, whom the Chevalier diſmiſſing when he was undreſt, approached his Bed and then found the fatal Letter, which was conceived in theſe Words: ‘Fly from this hoſpitable Houſe, which thou haſt vio⯑lated [21] with thy impure Deſigns? Fly, raſh and preſumptuous Man! Heaven has per⯑mitted thy impious Thoughts to be diſ⯑cloſed, which thou hadſt vainly imagined were hid in the inmoſt Receſſes of thy Heart; and out of the Depth of a vaſt Fo⯑reſt, amidſt the Shades of an eternal Night, has brought thy Crime into open Day. Unworthy as thou art of the Name of a Gentleman, thou haſt plotted the Diſho⯑nour of the Count of Berci thy Friend: and not ſatisfied with having formed De⯑ſigns againſt the Innocence of his Wife, thou haſt the Audacity to reſolve upon con⯑feſſing thy Paſſion to her, a Paſſion as odious as it is criminal. Thy Death had been al⯑ready the Puniſhment for thy Crime, if thy injured Friend and his Wife, both equally outraged, had been made acquainted with thy Purpoſe: But if Heaven has permitted that they ſhould be ſtill ignorant of it, it is becauſe thou ſhouldſt have Time to reflect upon the Horror of thy Enterpriſe. Fly then inſtantly from a Place where, if thou ſhouldſt happen to be diſcovered, nothing could preſerve thee from the Fury of their juſt Revenge.’

What a cruel Stroke was this to a tender Lover, to have all his Hopes blaſted in a Moment, and deprived for ever of the Sight of her who was dearer to him than Life. Pale, trembling, and overwhelmed with the deepeſt Deſpair, he remained for a long Time motionleſs, with his Eyes fixed on the fatal [22] Letter which he ſtill held in his Hand. He could not comprehend by whom it had been written with ſuch an Appearance of Myſtery, but he knew that he was diſcovered, and that the Complaints he had made that Day in the Foreſt had been overheard. Oppreſt with Grief, he threw himſelf upon his Bed, but Sleep was a ſtranger to his Eyes. In vain he endeavoured to gueſs the Author of this cruel Letter, the Count of Berci he knew, had not quitted the Chaſe, and it was not pro⯑bable that that Nobleman would, on an Oc⯑caſion wherein his Honour was ſo deeply concerned, have contented himſelf with writing in ſuch a Manner. Neither was it likely that the Counteſs was the Author of it: He was entirely ignorant of her having been in the Foreſt, and, beſides, the Letter declared that ſhe as well as her Huſband had no Suſ⯑picion of his Love and his Schemes. It was probable, therefore, that this anonymous Let⯑ter had been written by the Count of Berci's Brother, who had not been of the Party for Hunting. The Chevalier had on many Oc⯑caſions perceived that this young Lord was not his Friend; but he could not perſuade him⯑ſelf that a Youth like him, ſtimulated by Hatred, would have been capable of acting with ſo much Prudence and Moderation in an Affair which furniſhed him with an Opportunity of ruining him with the Count his Brother.

The more he reflected upon this Letter, the greater Uncertainty he found himſelf in, and the more his Trouble increaſed. [23] But miſerable as he knew he ſhould be, when deprived of the Sight of his dear Counteſs, yet he reſolved to quit the Caſtle of Beauplan immediately: he was convinced, that ſince his Paſſion was diſcovered by ſome one in the Family, he could not ſtay longer without ex⯑poſing the Honour of Madam de Berci to Suſpicion, and that the perpetual Reſtraint he ſhould be obliged to lay upon himſelf, would ſubject him to new Torments. His Thoughts now were wholly employed upon the Means of departing without giving Umbrage to the Count; and how to procure a Mo⯑ment's Converſation with the Counteſs, the Hope of which was the only Conſolation he had in the miſerable Condition to which he was reduced.

As ſoon as Day appeared, he went himſelf and wakened one of his Footmen, ordering him to prepare to ſet out for Fontainebleau with the utmoſt Expedition; he then wrote a Letter to one of his moſt intimate Friends at Court, intreating him to ſend him an An⯑ſwer after the Model he preſcribed to him. He then directed his Footman to give this Letter into his Friend's own Hands, and to bring him his Anſwer with the utmoſt Diſ⯑patch. The Servant returned early the next Morning from Fontainbleau with the requeſted Letter, in which the Chevalier's Friend in⯑formed him that it was neceſſary he ſhould come to Court as ſoon as poſſible, for Rea⯑ſons of great Importance, which he could not confide to any one but himſelf.

[24]In the mean Time the Chevalier waſted all his Moments in contriving Expedients to pro⯑cure an Interview with the Counteſs, but none of them ſucceeded: ſhe avoided him ſo carefully, and with ſuch apparent Deſign, that he was convinced ſhe not only had diſ⯑covered his Paſſion, but was likewiſe the Author of that Letter, which had ſo greatly alarmed him. Finding all his Endeavours to ſpeak to the Counteſs ineffectual, he went to the Count's Apartment, where, as his good Fortune would have it, he alſo found the Counteſs his Wife. He ſhewed Monſieur de Berci the Letter he had received from his Friend, and intreated him not to be offended, that for ſome Time he ſhould be obliged to deprive himſelf of the Pleaſure of his Society. The Count, who tenderly loved the Chevalier des Eſſars, was greatly afflicted at this News. ‘You cannot, ſure, ſaid he, be ſo much hur⯑ried as to hinder you from giving us at leaſt the Remainder of this Day, to prepare for the Grief we ſhall ſuffer by loſing you; be⯑ſides, I have myſelf received ſome News from Court, which I want to communicate to you, and to have your Advice upon.’ Saying this, the Count quitted the Room immediately, without waiting for the Cheva⯑lier's Anſwer; for the Expreſs that had brought him Letters from Paris attended his Orders; and by thus leaving him alone with his Wife, he himſelf contributed to ſatisfy the Wiſhes of this too tender and unfortunate Lover.

[25]The Counteſs, ſeeing her Huſband leave the Room, was preparing to follow him, excu⯑ſing herſelf to the Chevalier on Account of ſome neceſſary Orders ſhe had to give; but the Chevalier, well knowing the Value of an Opportunity which he might probably never meet with again, ſtopt her with a reſpectful Air, and beholding her with Eyes in which the Diſorder of his Soul was but too viſible, ‘Ah do not fly, Madam, ſaid he with a trem⯑bling Voice, grant me one Moment's Audi⯑ence. I have juſt acquainted the Count with the News that has been brought me from Court, but I have received others alſo from a Perſon who is extremely dear to me. I conjure you, Madam, do not refuſe me the Favour of reading this Letter, it will not de⯑tain you long.’ Saying theſe Words he pre⯑ſented her with the Billet, which he ſuſpected ſhe had wrote to him, and fixing his Eyes at the ſame Time attentively upon her Face, the Counteſs, who in an Inſtant perceived the Snare he had laid for her, could not conſtrain herſelf ſo far as to conceal her juſt Indignation from the Chevalier. ‘What Advantage do you expect from your Artifice, Monſieur, ſaid ſhe, what have you dared to hope from this Temerity? Can you imagine that I will ſuffer you to remain at Beauplan after the Offence you have been guilty of? Be ſatis⯑fied with my Moderation in not revealing your injurious Deſigns to my Lord. And take Care that by another Attempt, which may poſſibly come to his Knowledge, my Honour may not be wounded by the Sacri⯑fice [26] of your Life to his Reſentment.’ ‘Ah! Madam, replied the Chevalier, throwing himſelf at her Feet, how unjuſt, how rigorous are you! I love the Count of Berci, your Huſband, with the ſincereſt Affection, and I adore you with ſuch Purity of Sentiments, ſuch inviolable Reſpect, that I cannot think either of you ought to be offended at my Paſſion. It is indeed true, Madam, that what I concealed from you, through Fear of your Reſentment, I freely uttered to the Trees amidſt the Gloomineſs of a Foreſt that ſeemed ſacred to Solitude and Grief. There it was that I indulged my Sorrow by Complaints, which I had not the Temerity to wiſh, might come to your Ear: But ſince, contrary to my In⯑tentions, you have heard them, ſuffer me to confeſs, Madam, that if it is a Crime to love an amiable Object with the moſt reſpectful Paſſion, I am the moſt guilty Man in the World. Nay, more, while I confeſs ſo freely this Crime, if it be one, I likewiſe proteſt that I can never repent of it. Ah! Madam, how uſeleſs are your Threats againſt my Life? I would only preſerve it for your Service, and I cannot ſacrifice it more nobly than to my Love for you. But your Honour requires that I ſhould deprive myſelf of the only Conſola⯑tion my unhappy Deſtiny affords me, I muſt live without ſeeing you, that your Quiet may not be diſturbed, nor your Re⯑putation injured. Ah! what would not ſuch Motives prevail upon me to do? Yes, [27] Madam, I will leave you, I will reduce my⯑ſelf to the moſt horrible Deſpair, rather than give you the ſl [...]ghteſt Uneaſineſs; b [...]t do not imagine that I will renounce my Love. Alas! it is no longer in my Power to do ſo: All I can do is to avoid your Preſence, that I may adore you without of⯑fending you. I go then, Madam, from your Sight; yes, you ſhall have this fatal Proof of my Obedience. But, ah! permit me to intreat, that ſoftened by ſuch an im⯑plicit Submiſſion to your inhuman Com⯑mands, you may be one Day prevailed upon to recall a miſerable Wretch, who to pleaſe you, baniſhed himſelf from the moſt de⯑lightful Abode he can ever be in, in this World.’

This Speech, uttered with thoſe inſinuat⯑ing Charms which always accompany the Diſcourſe of a Lover, tender, ſubmiſſive, and unhappy, made ſome Impreſſion on the Breaſt of the Counteſs; but the more ſhe felt her⯑ſelf moved by Words ſo well calculated to ſeduce her, the more ſhe guarded herſelf againſt their dangerous Softneſs, by reflecting upon what ſhe owed to her own Honour, and her Huſband's Tenderneſs for her. She turned away her Eyes, that ſhe might not meet thoſe of the Chevalier, whoſe paſſionate Glances died her Cheeks with Bluſhes, and gave her a Confuſion ſhe wiſhed him not to be ſenſible of. Aſſuming, therefore, a calm and ſerene Air, ſhe anſwered him thus:

[28] ‘You ought to know my Character well, Monſieur, and to believe that my Know⯑ledge of your Merit would make me think the Paſſion you avow for me an Honour, were I at Liberty to accept of it. As I am, it is injurious to my Virtue and my Fame, both which ought to be dear to you if you have really any Tenderneſs for me. You ought to be ſatisfied with the Eſteem your Merit has inſpired me with, ſince it is all my Virtue will allow of, and never hope that I ſhall be capable of entertaining any other Sentiments. Purſue then, Monſieur, the Reſolution you have taken to leave Beauplan, which will appear the more ne⯑ceſſary, when you ſhall know that young Berci was with me in the Foreſt when you indulged thoſe imprudent Complaints; he will doubtleſs watch your Conduct ſtrictly; every thing will appear of Con⯑ſequence to an intereſted Obſerver. He is jealous of the Friendſhip his Brother bears you, he may do you bad Offices with him; at leaſt he may diſcloſe your Secret: young Men, though generous, are not always diſ⯑crete.’

The Counteſs had but juſt ended theſe Words, when the Count entered the Chamber with his Brother. The Chevalier was griev⯑ed that their Converſation was interrupted, and both he and the Counteſs were apprehen⯑ſive that the young Lord had diſcovered their Secret. However their Suſpicions were ſoon removed. The Count taking the Chevalier [29] aſide, diſcovered his own Affairs to him, with ſuch unlimited Confidence, that he was perſuaded he was intirely ignorant of his. Whilſt they were engaged in this private Conference, the Counteſs acquainted her Brother-in-law with the Succeſs of her Billet. She told him that the Chevalier had reſolved to quit Beauplan immediately; but ſhe took no Notice of his having mentioned his Love to her, or that he knew the Billet he had found came from her.

The Chevalier felt ſome Alleviation of his Sorrows by the Confeſſion he had made to the Counteſs. She had indeed given him no Hopes, but ſhe had liſtened to him without Anger. He appeared leſs melancholly than uſual the reſt of that Day, and paſſed the Night, if not in Tranquility, yet free from the dreadful Inquietude which his Doubts about that fatal Letter had occaſioned. The next Day, after taking a tender Leave of the Count and Counteſs, he ſet out for the Court. His Mind being wholly employed upon the Gentleneſs and Moderation with which Ma⯑dam de Berci had liſtened to the Confeſſion he made her of his Paſſion, he rode with great Swiftneſs, contrary to the general Practice of Lovers, who move ſlowly and with Regret from the Place where they have left the Object of their Tenderneſs; and fortu⯑nately as it proved for him, he arrived before Night at the Entrance of the Foreſt of Fontainebleau.

[30]Scarce had he rode a few Paces in it, when, by the Report of ſome Piſtols that were fired, and the Cries that reached his Ears, he judged that ſome Perſons were attacked by Robbers in that Wood, and that they were not at any great Diſtance. All the Attendants he had with him, were a Valet de Chambre, and two Footmen; but had he been alone, he had too much Courage to have gone back. He rode on then with an Intrepidity natural to him, and directing his Courſe to the Place from whence the Noiſe proceeded, he ſaw a ſingle Man environed by ten Robbers, who were upon the Point of aſſaſſinating him. Theſe Wretches had already killed two of his Attendants, and diſperſed three others who ſought their Safety in Flight. The Man that was left, defended himſelf deſperately, and knowing that he could not eſcape Death, he reſolved to ſell his Life dear. He had al⯑ready got rid of two of the Robbers with his Piſtols, and ſupporting himſelf againſt the Trunk of a large Tree, he parried with his Sword, as well as he could, the Strokes that theſe Villains aimed at him.

The Chevalier des Eſſars, tranſported with Rage at this Sight, fired his Piſtols at the Robbers and did ſome Execution; he afterwards ruſhed in among them, being mounted upon a vigor⯑ous Horſe, and pierced with his Sword all who oppoſed his Paſſage. His Piſtols laid two of theſe Aſſaſſins upon the Earth; his Horſe threw down another, who fell at his Feet, and his Sword delivered him from a fourth. [31] The reſt of theſe wicked Wretches, ſeeing the Ground covered with their dead and wounded Comrades, were ſeized with Terror, and believing the whole Marecha [...]ſſ [...]e was at their Heels, they diſappeared in an Inſtant, and took Shelter in the deepeſt Receſſes of the Foreſt, leaving the Field of Battle free to the intrepid Chevalier des Eſſars.

After this bloody Combat, he approached the Gentleman whom he had relieved, and was charmed to ſee in a Perſon, whoſe white Hairs ſhewed that he was full of Years, all the Fire and Activity of Youth. He was ſtruck with a reverential Awe at the Majeſty which appeared in his Counte⯑nance, and ſaluting him in a moſt reſpect⯑ful Manner, enquired if he was wounded, and offered him his beſt Services. ‘Generous Unknown, replied the old Gentleman, my Wounds, I believe, are but inconſiderable: to your Valour and the ſpeedy Relief you brought me, I owe the Preſervation of my Life; but I am very much concerned for the Loſs of my Servants, who are all either dead, or diſperſed.’ ‘As for the former, replied the Chevalier, they have died like Men of Honour; the others, who ſo baſe⯑ly abandoned you, are not worthy of your Cares; nevertheleſs they are ſo near the Court, whither I ſuppoſe your Journey was to terminate, that they cannot be in any Danger.’ ‘I was indeed going to Court, anſwered the old Gentleman; but I did not deſign to continue there any conſidera⯑ble [32] Time. It is long ſince my Age and the Charms of a Country Life have forced me from that honourable Captivity. But, Monſieur, let us, I conjure you, ſee whe⯑ther theſe two faithful Servants, whom with Grief I ſaw fall in my Defence, have any Occaſion for our Aſſiſtance.’ The Che⯑valier's Servants had already alighted, and were buſy about the two Men who they found ſtill breathed, although they were dangerouſly wounded in many Places. With great Dif⯑ficulty they reſtored them to their Senſes; and then hollowing to the reſt of the old Gentle⯑man's Servants who had fled, their Voices, favoured by the Silence of the Night, re⯑ſounded through the Foreſt, and reached the Ears of thoſe terrified Men, who hearing themſelves called by their Names, began to loſe Part of their Fears, and they returned to their Maſter, whom they could not behold without Confuſion. After having bound up his Wounds, they applied themſelves to re⯑lieve their Comrades, who were in much greater Danger, and ſeating them upon Horſes they mounted behind and ſupported them; and in this Manner purſued the Road to Fon⯑tainebleau.

During this Journey, the Chevalier des Eſſars addreſſed himſelf to the old Gentleman, and apologiſing for his Curioſity, intreated him to let him know who it was he had had the good Fortune to aſſiſt. ‘I am too much obliged to your Valour, Monſieur, replied the old Gentleman, not to ſeize eagerly [33] this Occaſion of gratifying your Wiſhes. I will not only tell you my Name and Qua⯑lity, but I will give you an Account of my Adventures. The Life which you have ſo lately preſerved, is a Benefit I hold from your Generoſity and all the Moments, which for the future I ſhall enjoy, ought to be devoted to you. Happy, if the grate⯑ful Senſe I have of what you have done for me, will not be unacceptable; but happier ſtill, if Fortune will be favourable to my moſt ardent Wiſhes, and afford me the Means of ſerving you, and of giving you ſome ſtriking Proof of my Gratitude.’ The Chevalier returned Anſwers full of Re⯑ſpect to theſe obliging Expreſſions, and in⯑treated the old Gentleman to begin his Reci⯑tal, and give him a more perfect Knowledge of a Perſon for whom he already felt ſo much Eſteem. Accordingly the old Gentleman be⯑gan thus:

‘I was born in the Province of Burgundy, I am called the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, great Part of my Life has been ſpent in the Field, in the Service of my Country and Religion, and there have been few memo⯑rable Actions that have paſt in my Time, which I have not been a Witneſs of. I was wounded in that fatal Battle, in which Don John of Auſtria and the Venetians died the Sea of the Levant with Ottoman Blood. After having ſerved a long Time in foreign Countries, I returned to France, I made my laſt Campaigns in thoſe fatal Civil Wars, [34] where Citizens, blinded by a falſe Zeal, dipped their impious Hands in the Blood of their Fellow-Citizens, and thought it for the Glory of Religion to attack the Lives of their Countrymen with a ſavage Fury. Deplorable Times, when the Subject thought he was doing an acceptable Service inſo⯑lently to take up Arms againſt his lawful King.’

‘I am ſpeaking, Monſieur, of the laſt Re⯑bellions in France againſt that generous Monarch, ſo dear at preſent to the very People, who once ſo eagerly oppoſed him: A Prince whoſe Goodneſs, Courage and Glory, will live eternally in the Annals of our Hiſtory. I had the Honour to fight near him in the celebrated Battle of Ivry, the Event of which, was to ſeat him upon the Throne, or to exclude him from it for ever. His Forces were greatly inferiour to thoſe of his Enemies; but Henry, whoſe Perſon alone was worth a whole Army, formed himſelf the Plan of the Battle, was preſent in every Part, animated all, and expoſed himſelf like a common Soldier to every Danger. Before he ordered the Sig⯑nal to be given for ſounding the Charge, he ſpoke theſe few Words to his Soldiers, with that majeſtick Sweetneſs, which gain⯑ed him every Heart. Friends, ſaid he, you are French Men, I am your King, and there is the Enemy. This noble and Iaconick Speech inſpired us with Courage and ex⯑cited a general Emulation. We gained a [35] complete Victory, which was followed by many other great Advantages. The Re⯑duction of Mante and Vernon, which were brought under the Obedience of their law⯑ful Sovereign, put him in Poſſeſſion of all the Bridges of the Seine that lay between Paris and Rouen.’

‘We afterwards made ourſelves Maſters of all the Towns in the Neighbourhood of Paris. The Siege of that great Capital, which was reduced to the laſt Extremity, having been raiſed by the King in Com⯑paſſion to the unhappy Pariſians, and fail⯑ing in our Attempt to get Poſſeſſion of it by Stratagem, we inveſted and took Chartres in a moſt rigorous Seaſon. At length this great Prince, who had cauſed himſelf to be inſtructed in the Principles of the Catho⯑lick Religion, became ſenſible of the Errors of his own, and performed his Abjuration at the Abbey of Saint Dennis with all the Formalities in uſe in ſuch Ceremonies. From that happy Day, the Party of the League ſunk inſenſibly, and our great Mo⯑narch, by this wiſe and prudent Step, which was neither influenced by Intereſt nor Fear, ſaw himſelf in the peaceable Poſſeſſion of a Throne, which was his lawful Inheritance, and which he held but from God alone.’

‘Theſe were the laſt Campaigns in which I ſerved. The whole Kingdom, ſubmitting to Henry the Great, I reſolved to make a a Viſit to my paternal Eſtate. Love was [36] the Cauſe of my ſettling there. I was weary of the tumultuous Life of a Soldier; the calm Pleaſures I taſted in the Country made me deſirous of Privacy and Retire⯑ment, and my Paſſion for Madam de Saint-Sauveur, whom I happened to ſee at the Houſe of a neighbouring Gentleman, whom I went to viſit, confirmed me in my Reſo⯑lution to quit the Court, and to paſs the Remainder of my Life in Burgundy, my native Province. I married her: in the Courſe of two Years ſhe brought me a Son and a Daughter. My Son is at preſent at Court, and my Daughter was married about three Years ago to a Nobleman called the Count of Berci, who is now at a Caſtle of his, half a Day's Journey from hence. I quitted my Retreat to come and viſit my Children, whom I paſſionately longed to ſee, and was wholly intent upon the Plea⯑ſure of embracing my dear Son, whom I propoſed to viſit firſt, when at the Entrance of this Foreſt I was ſet upon by a Band of Robbers, and ſhould have doubtleſs loſt my Life by their Hands, but for the ſeaſonable Succour you brought me.’

‘Such, Monſieur, is the Hiſtory of my Life and Fortunes, which I have given you in a few Words; but, brave Unknown, added the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, I expect that you will gratify my Impatience to know who has ſo lately expoſed his Life, yet freſh and blooming, to ſave the poor Remains of mine.’

[37]The Chevalier des Eſſars was equally ſur⯑prized and pleaſed at what he had heard, a ſecret Joy took Poſſeſſion of his Soul, and a hundred Times he bleſt his good Fortune, that the Foreſt of Fontainebleau had afforded him an Opportunity of ſaving the Life of his Miſtreſs's Father. He might have made him⯑ſelf known to the Marquis of Saint-Sauveur, not only without Danger of any diſagreeable Conſequence, but alſo with an Increaſe of Satisfaction to the old Man, who would have been charmed to hear that this Preſerver was the intimate Friend of the Count of Berci, his Son-in-law: yet through an Exceſs of Delicacy, which few would have been capable of, he choſe rather to conceal his Name. He flattered himſelf, that when the Counteſs ſhould know that the Life of her Father had been preſerved by him, and that by conceal⯑ing his Name he gave a convincing Proof that he ſought not any Acknowledgement from her for ſuch a Service, ſhe would be as much pleaſed with his Diſcretion and Modeſty, as with his Courage.

Having taken his Reſolution, therefore, he anſwered the old Marquis in this Manner: ‘I am but a private Man, Monſieur, and ſo little known in the World, that if I ſhould tell you my Name, you would know it no better than you do my Perſon. I have only the Honour to inform you, that this Day I paſſed by the Caſtle of Beauplan, where the Count of Berci is at preſent. I heard that he was in good Health, as is [38] likewiſe the Counteſs your Daughter; and the high Reputation they have among all the neighbouring Gentry, for their many great and amiable Virtues, makes me think myſelf happy to have ſerved them in the Perſon of a Gentleman of your Rank, and ſo deſervedly dear to them.’

The Chevalier's Precaution was of no Uſe to him; his Valet de Chambre, who knew not that his Maſter had any Reaſons for con⯑cealing his Name, had diſcovered it before to one of the Marquis's Attendants: but when he found by his Maſter's Diſcourſe, that he had a Deſign to keep himſelf unknown, he was concerned at what he had done, and in⯑treated the Servant to whom he had been ſo communicative, not to repeat what he had ſaid. In the mean Time the Marquis and the Chevalier continued their Journey to Fontaine⯑bleau, during which the Marquis had often, but in vain, urged his Preſerver to diſcloſe his Name and Condition.

The Court was ſo full, that no Lodgings could be procured, except one Apartment, which the Chevalier obliged the Marquis to accommodate himſelf with, and he went to the Houſe of Monſieur de Morigny his Friend. This young Lord gave him a moſt obliging Reception, and the Chevalier as ſoon as they ſat down to Supper, relating the Adventures which had happened to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur in the Foreſt of Fontainebleau, Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny aſked him, if he knew the [39] Son of that Marquis who was now at Court. ‘I have never ſeen him, replied the Chevalier, but I have heard great Praiſes of his Cou⯑rage.’ ‘He is one of the braveſt young Men in France, reſumed Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny; we performed our Exerciſes together at Paris, we were hardly ever aſunder du⯑ring our Travels through Italy, and till within theſe few Days we have lived in the ſtricteſt Intimacy and Friendſhip; but there is a great Coldneſs between us at preſent, and I believe it will not be long before we ſhall break altogether with each other.’

‘I am ſorry for it, anſwered the Chevalier, but is it impoſſible to effect a Reconcilia⯑tion between you?’ ‘It will be a very difficult Thing, returned Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny, ſince it is Love that has diſunited us. We are both enamoured of one Lady, and neither of us are diſpoſed to yield up our Pretentions. However if he had firſt ad⯑dreſſed the Lady, my Friendſhip for him would have induced me to make an Effort to ſubdue my Paſſion; but ſince I ſaw, and loved her firſt, I expect he ſhould make a Sacrifice, ſuch as I would do in his Situa⯑tion. I ſpoke to him to this Purpoſe this Evening, as we both came away toge⯑ther from Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, for that is the Name of the young Lady we love. I know not how he received what I ſaid, but I explained myſelf in a Manner ſufficiently intelligible, and it is not my Fault if he did not underſtand my Meaning.’

[40]The Chevalier was extremely afflicted at this Diſcourſe; he foreſaw that if theſe Friends ſhould have a Duel, during his Stay at Fon⯑tainebleau, he ſhould be obliged, according to the Rules of that falſe Notion of Honour which then prevailed in France, to offer him⯑ſelf as a Second to Monſieur de Morigny. He was not deceived in his Conjecture, Monſieur de Morigny was ſcarce awake the next Mor⯑ning, when a Gentleman deſired Admittance to him, he ordered him to be ſhewn imme⯑diately into his Apartment; after the firſt Civilities the Gentleman told him that the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur deſired to ſee him immediately with his Sword in his Hand, to give him Satisfaction for the injuri⯑ous Treatment he had received from him the Evening before: the Gentleman added, that the Marquis had done him the Honour to chuſe him for his Second, and therefore he intreated him to fix upon one of his Friends for the ſame Service. ‘Monſieur, replied Morigny, with great Compoſure, I am ready to give your Friend the Satisfaction he de⯑mands, but I will have no Second, and I know you are a Man of ſo much Honour, that upon the Security of your Word, I will go alone to meet my Adverſary.’

‘I expected ſuch an Anſwer from one of your Courage and Generoſity, replied the Gentleman, and in the ſame Circumſtances, I would make ſuch a one myſelf, but you doubtleſs know better than I, that Cuſtom in this Place gives the Law to Reaſon. The [41] Buſineſs of Seconds is to be Witneſſes of the Conduct of their Friends, not to fight themſelves; but the contrary has obtained by long Uſe, and you and I are too young to eſtabliſh new Laws. I entreat you then, Monſieur, to employ ſome one of your Friends upon this Occaſion, or permit me to tell the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, that you refuſe to give him the ordinary Means of Satisfaction.’

Monſieur de Morigny was going to make the Gentleman ſome Anſwer when the Che⯑valier des Eſſars ſuddenly entered the Room; he had heard that ſome Perſon had enquired for Monſieur de Morigny, and judging by the Diſcourſe he had with him the Evening before, that the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur would in⯑fallibly ſend a Challenge the next Morning, he roſe haſtily, and wrapping his Nightgown about him, ſlipped into a Place from whence he could overhear their Converſation. He ruſhed into the Room upon hearing the Gen⯑tleman ſay theſe laſt Words: ‘What is the Matter, Gentlemen, ſaid he? you ſeem to be diſputing ſome Point, is there no way to bring you to an Accommodation. I have thought, added he without giving them Time to reply, of an Expedient to put an End to your Conteſt, for I ſuſpect the De⯑ſign, Monſieur, that brought you here. I declare then that if Monſieur de Morigny will not accept the Challenge with the Con⯑ditions you bring him, I offer to take it up⯑on myſelf, and will attend your Call when⯑ever [42] you pleaſe.’ ‘You are too generous, my dear Chevalier, ſaid Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny, embracing him; and ſince you will have it ſo, let us dreſs ourſelves inſtantly, and meet the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur at the Place appointed.’

It was with infinite Pain and Regret, that the Chevalier took this Step: no Quarrel of his own had ever given him ſo much Uneaſi⯑neſs. He was under terrible Apprehenſions that by it he ſhould ruin himſelf with the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and the Count of Berci his Friend. He was preparing to aſſiſt Monſieur de Morigny againſt the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, at the Hazard of all the fatal Conſequences that might reſult from this Combat. But theſe Conſiderations were weak, compared to that of incurring the Diſpleaſure of his dear Counteſs. He had Reaſon to expect that ſhe would be highly in⯑cenſed againſt him; yet terrible as this Thought was, that Notion of falſe Honour, to which the braveſt Men were Slaves at that Time, made him reſolve, at the Expence of all that was dear to him, to comply with it. Unjuſt and cruel Law, which reaſonable Men im⯑poſed upon themſelves! Thoſe deſtructive Maxims cannot be rejected with too much Horror, nor can their Influence during that miſerable Period be too highly lamented. Every Day teemed with the Fates of ſome brave Youths, who wantonly ſacrificed each other's Lives in ſupport of a Quarrel wherein they had no Part, and which they had heard [43] of but a few Moments before. This Mad⯑neſs they carried ſtill farther: a Man would have thought himſelf injured, and have pub⯑lickly complained of the Injuſtice that was done him, if on ſuch an Occaſion his Friend had not made choice of him for his Second; and if it happened that he was informed of the Diſpute, he would with the utmoſt Eagerneſs run to offer his Arm to revenge the often imaginary Wrong. It very frequently hap⯑pened, that the Adverſary to whom he was to be oppoſed, was one of his in [...]mate Friends, yet it would have been diſhonourable if he had ſcrupled on theſe glorious Occaſions to have deprived him of Life. We cannot give too many Praiſes to that Prince, truly worthy of the Name of Great, who by wiſe Edicts, ſupported by illuſtrious Examples of a ſalutary Rigour, at length ſuppreſſed this ſavage Gal⯑lantry, which every Day carried off ſome of the Flower of his Nobility, and the braveſt Men in his Kingdom. But let us reſume the Thread of our Hiſtory, and ſee what paſſed at the Houſe of Monſieur de Morigny.

As ſoon as it was determined there, that they ſhould fight two againſt two, the Che⯑valier des Eſſars, and Monſieur de Morigny, dreſt themſelves in haſte, and were conducted by the Gentleman into one of the moſt private Parts of the Foreſt of Fontainebleau, where they found the young Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur waiting for them on Horſeback. They all diſmounted in an Inſtant, and ſtripping themſelves to their Shirts, the Chevalier des [44] Eſſars and the Gentleman left the young Mar⯑quis de Saint Sauveur, and Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny to terminate their real Diſpute, while they went to put an End to their imaginary one. However they aſſaulted each other with no leſs Fury than the two others, and after both had made ſeveral Paſſes without Succeſs, they cloſed and each received a Wound from his Adverſary. The Chevalier paſſed his Sword through the Gentleman's right Thigh, and was himſelf wounded at the ſame Time in the left Arm. The Gentleman no longer able to ſtand fell upon the Ground, and the Chevalier des Eſſars, too generous to take Advantage of his good Fortune, and having not the leaſt Deſign to terminate by the Death of his Adverſary the Combat which was now become unequal, ſpoke to him in theſe Terms:

‘Let us put an End, Monſieur, to a Diſ⯑pute which began on our Friend's Account, we have no Reaſon to hate each other. Take my Advice, let us content ourſelves with the Blood we have mutually ſhed, and do you permit me to go and endeavour to ſeparate two Men, whom a Trifle has made Enemies.’

He quitted the Gentleman that Inſtant, without waiting for his Anſwer, and ran eagerly to the two Rivals, who had both given and received ſeveral Wounds. But in the Moment as he was advancing towards them, the Sword of the young Marquis by [45] a Stroke of his Enemy's broke in the Middle. The unfortunate Youth ſeeing the Chevalier des Eſſars approach alone with his Sword drawn and bloody, did not doubt but that he had killed his Friend and was come to the Aſſiſtance of Monſieur de Morigny. But not ſuffering theſe Apprehenſions to appear, he redoubled his Efforts, although he had now nothing but a broken Sword to defend him⯑ſelf with, and reſolved to ſell his Life dearly. But the Chevalier des Eſſars, throwing him⯑ſelf between the Combatants, intreated them to ſtop a Moment and liſten to him.

‘You are both brave, ſaid he, neither has had any Advantage over the other, but what Chance, not ſuperiour Skill or Strength, has given. I therefore conjure you, Gentlemen, to remember your former Friendſhip, once ſo tender and ſincere, and do not raſhly ſacrifice it to ſo ſlight a Difference as yours is. Can you refuſe to grant this Favour to two Friends who have ſo lately expoſed their Lives and ſhed their Blood for you?’

‘Well, Marquis, ſaid Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny, will you not now confeſs yourſelf vanquiſhed, when with only a broken Sword you have the Chevalier des Eſſars and me alſo to oppoſe?’

‘No, anſwered the brave Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, with a generous Indignation, I am not vanquiſhed, do not flatter yourſelves that you have this Advantage over me, you [46] are indeed Maſters of my Life, Fortune has delivered it into your Hands, but you can⯑not take my Courage from me, although I am deprived of the Means of defending myſelf.’ ‘Live then, replied Monſieur de Morigny, charmed with the young Mar⯑quis's Courage and noble Contempt of Death; live unconquered and invincible: the poor Advantage I have gained, I owe only to Fortune, I claim no Triumph from it; and all I conteſt for is, that I may not be overcome in Virtue and Generoſity.’

‘Ah, my dear Morigny, replied the young Marquis, I now acknowledge you have truly vanquiſhed me, when with ſuch Great⯑neſs of Soul you give me a Life which you might have deprived me of without Shame, and Injuſtice, but which my Courage would never have ſuffered me to aſk for. Yes, dear Morigny, my Eyes are opened, in thee I no longer behold a Rival, and an Enemy; but ſee with Joy a virtuous and magnanimous Friend. My Heart, ſoftened by thy Generoſity, reſigns for ever its Ha⯑tred and Deſire of Revenge. Suffer me then with this tender and ſincere Embrace to aſſure you, that I have the higheſt Eſteem for your Virtues, and the utmoſt Gratitude for the Kindneſs you have ſhewn me.’ Saying this he threw away his broken Sword, and ran into the Arms of Monſieur de Morigny. They continued a long Time in a ſtrict Em⯑brace, and reciprocally conjured each other to forget they had ever had any Difference, [47] vowing a perpetual Friendſhip for the future, which no Conſideration whatever ſhould have Power to break.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur then en⯑quiring of Monſieur de Morigny the Name of his generous Friend, he turned to the Che⯑valier des Eſſars, and politely thanked him for the Generoſity he had ſhewn him, and which he had not merited, intreating him in the moſt obliging Terms, to grant him the Honour of his Friendſhip. The Chevalier met theſe Advances of the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur with a Politeneſs full of Mo⯑deſty and Reſpect; he embraced him tenderly, and they both vowed an eternal Friendſhp.

Mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars loſt a great deal of Blood; but the Friend of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur loſt much more: that Gentleman was ſo weakened by his Wound, and the great Effuſion of Blood from it, that he had not been able to riſe. They all ran to the Place where the Che⯑valier des Eſſars had left him, and found him more ſenſible of his Misfortune in not having been able to follow the Che⯑valier, than of the Pain of his Wound. But when he was informed of the happy Event of the Combat between his Friend and Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny, he congratulated them both with a ſincere Joy.

The whole Court was already informed of this Duel. The Challenge had not been ſent [48] with ſuch Secreſy, but Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin, who was the Occaſion of it, had Notice of it a few Moments afterwards. Several of the young Lords of the Court, to whom ſhe had communicated the Affair, mounted im⯑mediately to go in Search of the Rivals, and to ſeparate them: but not knowing the Spot they had choſen to decide their Quarrel, they wandered about a long Time in the Foreſt, and did not find them till the Combat was over. The firſt that diſcovered them were the Friends of the Gentleman who had been wounded in the Thigh: they cauſed a Hand⯑litter to be made immediately with ſome Branches they broke off the Trees, and car⯑ried him to Fontainebleau. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur earneſtly recommended him to the Care of his Attendants, and took Leave of him with great Tenderneſs, expreſſing the utmoſt Concern for his Wound; and then mounting his Horſe, he joined the Chevalier des Eſſar, and Monſieur de Morigny, and they rode all together, after renewing their Pro⯑teſtations of an inviolable Friendſhip for the Future. Monſieur de Morigny and the Che⯑valier des Eſſars took the Road to Paris, and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur that which led to the Caſtle of his Brother-in-law the Count of Berci; for their Combat had made it dan⯑gerous for them to return to Fontainebleau.

The old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who had riſen very early that Morning to viſit his wounded Servants, was informed by one of his Footman of the Duel fought by his Son, [49] which already made a great Noiſe at Fontaine⯑bleau. He ſent immediately to his Son's Lodgings to be more particularly informed, and his Meſſenger was told that the young Lord went out very early in the Morning with three other Gentlemen on Horſeback, with an Intention, as it was ſuppoſed, to fight, and that ſeveral of the Courtiers had mounted their Horſes and were gone to ſeparate them. This News filled the old Man with the moſt dreadful Alarms, he mounted a Horſe that Inſtant, and galloped after them, and ſoon met the Men who carried the wounded Gen⯑tleman; from whom he was informed of the Event of the Combat. The good old Man then returned to Fontainebleau, and after re⯑commending his Servants to the Care of the Surgeons, he took the Road to the Caſtle of Beauplan, whither he did not doubt his Son had retired. His Eagerneſs to ſee him and be aſſured that he was not dangerouſly hurt, made him uſe ſuch Speed, that the young Lord was ſtill in the Embraces of the Count and Counteſs of Berci when he ar⯑rived.

The Counteſs and her Brother felt very different Sentiments at the Sight of their Fa⯑ther, hers was all Joy and Tenderneſs, his Surprize and Confuſion. After the old Mar⯑quis had embraced his Son-in-law and his Daughter, the young Marquis approached to pay his Duty to him, and was received with equal Tenderneſs as the others, the good old [50] Gentleman ſeeming not to perceive that he had his Arm in a Scarf; but as ſoon as they were all ſeated at Table, the Counteſs of Berci obſerved it for the firſt Time: ‘Certainly, ſaid ſhe, you have ſome Reaſons which you are unwilling to own for wearing this Scarf. I cannot believe you carry it in Triumph, as a Favour from a Miſtreſs, but rather that you are obliged through Neceſſity to wear it. I beg you will explain this Myſtery to me, it has an Appearance that gives me great Inquietude.’

‘I own to you, Siſter, replied the young Marquis, that I am obliged to wear this Scarf on Account of a violent Pain I feel in my Arm, but it is not dangerous, there⯑fore do not be uneaſy about it.’ ‘I know Son, ſaid the old Marquis, that your Arm gives you ſome Pain, but pray tell the true Cauſe of it to your Siſter. I ſhall raiſe another Quarrel between you and a Gen⯑tleman I met in the Foreſt of Fontainebleau to Day, if you relate the Affair differently from what he told it.’ The young Mar⯑quis bluſhed at theſe Words, and not doubt⯑ing but that his Father was fully informed of the whole Affair, he related it to his Brother-in-law and his Siſter very ſuccinctly, praiſing particularly the Generoſity of Monſieur de Morigny's Second, who, he ſaid, had ſaved his Life in the very Moment that his Sword was broken in his Hand; and he owned that he could not have avoided Death, if that brave [51] Man had not eagerly thrown himſelf between him and his Adverſary.

The young Marquis was about to tell the Name of his Deliverer, when he ſtopt through Reſpect, perceiving his Father was going to ſpeak. ‘Son, ſaid the old Gentleman, you have to Day had a very narrow Eſcape, let me adviſe you never to tempt an unneceſſary Danger, there are Accidents enough which happen in the World, by which the Life of a brave Man may be ſhortened, there is no Occaſion to ſeek Death, he comes too often unexpected and undeſired. Your Raſhneſs was the Cauſe of your Danger this Day, but that which I eſcaped Yeſterday was the meer Effect of ill Fortune. I was attacked in the Foreſt of Fontainebleau by a Band of Robbers, who wounded two of my moſt faithful Servants, and put the reſt to Flight. I could not have avoided ſinking under their Strokes, but for an Aſſiſtance, more than human I think, which was brought me when my Strength had almoſt wholly for⯑ſaken me; a Gentleman on Horſeback came to my Relief, when I deſpaired of Safety, he appeared like the avenging Thunder of Heaven, he either overthrew or diſperſed all my Enemies in a few Moments. I could not view him plainly becauſe it was almoſt dark, but he had the Air and Port of a Hero, as well as the Valour and Courage of one, but his Modeſty exceeded every thing I ever met with; I could not help be⯑ing [52] grieved at it, becauſe it robbed me of the pleaſing Satisfaction of knowing to whom I was obliged for my Life, however he an⯑ſwered my Enquiries with Excuſes ſo polite, and with ſuch a graceful Sweetneſs, that I durſt not take the Liberty to preſs him any farther. I thought I ſhould have failed in Reſpect and Gratitude, if I had urged him to reveal a Secret which he doubtleſs had Reaſons for concealing from me.’

At theſe Words one of the old Marquis's Servants who waited at his Chair, ſtepping a little forward, ſaid, ‘Monſieur, the Gentle⯑man who came to your Aſſiſtance in the Wood, is called the Chevalier des Eſſars, his Valet de Chambre told it me Yeſterday, as we purſued our Journey after the Com⯑bat: and he added, that he had left this Caſtle the ſame Day, but hearing his Maſter make you Excuſes for not telling his Name, he earneſtly intreated me not to mention to you what he had told me. I likewiſe be⯑lieve that he is the ſame Perſon who fought this Morning with the Gentleman we met in the Foreſt, for I heard it ſaid that his Adverſary came to Fontainebleau but laſt Night.’

The young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur was the only Perſon preſent who could clear up a Myſtery which perplexed every one elſe. He accordingly declared that the valiant Man to whom both his Father and himſelf owed the [53] Preſervation of their Lives, was the Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars. A general Aſtoniſhment ſeiz⯑ed the Company: all were eager to give the Chevalier's Valour and Modeſty the Praiſes ſo juſtly due. The Satisfaction and Joy which the Counteſs of Berci felt at this News was ſilent, but not leſs ſincere. She was afraid of indulging herſelf in any Expreſſions of it, leſt ſhe ſhould give Cauſe of Suſpicion to her Bro⯑ther-in law. This young Man kept a pro⯑found Silence, and ſeemed unwilling to give the Chevalier's Virtues that Tribute of juſt Praiſe which every other Perſon allowed him. The Company obſerved his Uneaſineſs, the Effect of a mean and malicious Envy. It is the Quality of that unjuſt Paſſion, when it cannot blacken a ſuperiour and generally-ac⯑knowledged Merit, to give Pain and Grief to its Owner at the Applauſes with which it is honoured. The Counteſs in her Heart ſet a juſt Value upon the Services her Family had received from the Chevalier des Eſſars, ſhe praiſed him cautiouſly, but inwardly acknow⯑ledged that a Lover ſo brave and generous deſerved her moſt tender Eſteem.

The old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur remain⯑ed fifteen Days at Beauplan, after which he returned with his Son to Fontainebleau. He found his two Servants dead of their Wounds, which gave him a very ſenſible Grief. The Chevalier des Eſſars and Monſieur de Morigny being but ſlightly wounded, ſoon recovered their Health, as alſo the young Marquis de [54] Saint-Sauveur, and his Second. But Love, which raged with a cruel Violence in the Heart of the wretched Chevalier, poiſoned all his Joys, and made Glory itſelf taſteleſs to him.

Abſence, that Remedy ſo often ſucceſsful in Love, rendered the Chevalier's Paſſion more ardent. He was not able to taſte any Pleaſure while he remained baniſhed from Beauplan, the Idea of the Counteſs of Berci purſued him every where. A Lover leſs re⯑ſpectful than himſelf, after having been ſo happy as to render two ſuch ſignal Services to the Father and Brother of his Miſtreſs, would not have heſitated to have preſented himſelf before her: But awed by her Commands to the contrary, he rather choſe to pine in Ab⯑ſence, and fall a Victim to the Torments that conſumed him, than offend her. He was likewiſe apprehenſive that the two Mar⯑quiſes de Saint-Sauveur were ſtill at Beauplan, but it was the Preſence of young Berci which he dreaded more than that of any other. He knew he was acquainted with his Paſſion for the Counteſs his Siſter-in-law, he trembled at the Thoughts of ſuch an intereſted Obſer⯑ver, as he would prove, he could not hope for an Opportunity of entertaining the Counteſs, amidſt ſuch a crowd of Relations and Friends. So many Obſtacles were not capable of damp⯑ing one Moment the Ardour of his Paſſion. His Impatience to ſee the charming Counteſs increaſed with the Difficulties of gratifying it; [55] yet he determined to ſtay at Paris till he had by a Letter demanded her Permiſſion to wait on her at Beauplan, and he fixed upon one of his Servants, whoſe Fidelity he had often ex⯑perienced, to be the Bearer of it.

During the Time that the Chevalier had reſided with the Count, he became acquainted with a Woman who lived in a Village at a ſmall Diſtance from the Caſtle. He foreſaw that he might one Day have Occaſion for her Aſſiſtance in his Paſſion, and by rich Pre⯑ſents he had entirely ſecured her in his In⯑tereſt. He was too prudent, and had too much Reſpect for the Counteſs of Berci, to make her the Confidant of his Love for that Lady; therefore he told her that he was fond of one of her Women, whoſe Name was Marianne. This Girl was greatly beloved by the Coun⯑teſs, and entirely poſſeſſed her Confidence. The Chevalier had gained her by the ſame Methods as the Country-Woman, and ſhe had promiſed him to deliver his Letters to her Lady. The Chevalier wrote to the Counteſs with a trembling Hand, and a Heart agitated by a thouſand Fears. He gave the Letter to his Servant with full Inſtructions how to act, ordering him above all Things not to go to Beauplan till it was Night, and to ſet out again from thence at the firſt Dawn of Day.

This faithful Domeſtick executed his Maſ⯑ter's Orders with the utmoſt Exactneſs. He delivered the Letter to the Woman, it was [56] incloſed in a Cover directed to Marianne; he likewiſe gave her two Chains of Gold from his Maſter, one for Marianne, and the other for herſelf, in reward of her Fidelity. The next Day the Country-Woman after locking up the Chevalier's Servant in her Houſe, went to the Caſtle of Beauplan, and eaſily acquitted herſelf of her Commiſſion, no Perſon in the Houſe having the leaſt Suſpicion of the Cauſe of her coming. Marianne took an Opportu⯑nity to give the Letter to the Counteſs, when ſhe retired in the Evening to her Cloſet. Madam de Berci was at firſt ſurprized and angry at the Boldneſs of her Woman, ſhe reproved her ſeverely, and for a long Time refuſed to receive the Letter from her Hands. But this Girl, who had ſome Power over the Mind of her Miſtreſs, and who wanted nei⯑ther Wit nor Cunning, uſed ſo many Argu⯑ments to prove that ſhe might without Re⯑proach receive a Letter from a Man to whom ſhe owed ſuch extraordinary Obligations, that the Counteſs, overcame at length by her Rea⯑ſons, and ſecretly perſuaded by the Motions of her own Heart, took the Chevalier's Letter from her, and opening it with extreme Agi⯑tation, read theſe Words:

‘How ſhall a Lover, Madam, whom you have condemned to Silence, whom you have baniſhed from your Sight, make known the Violence of his Paſſion? Yet to be allowed to make you ſenſible that he loves you, is the only Conſolation he requires. Is it too [57] much Preſumption to wiſh to be pitied by you, when Pity is all he dares hope for or requeſt? But how can you pity unleſs you are a Witneſs of the Torments I endure: And how can you be a Witneſs of them while I remain baniſhed from your Sight? Conſider, Madam, I beſeech you, that this Exile which I have ſuffered is your own Work. At length relent, and permit me to approach you, again afford me the Bleſſing of beholding you, 'tis all I aſk, and it is the only Means of preſerving a Life which I would loſe with Pleaſure to do you Ser⯑vice. Your Anſwer will determine my Fate.’

The Counteſs of Berci was greatly affected with this Letter, ſome Sighs eſcaped her unknown to herſelf, the Chevalier's reſpect⯑ful Paſſion lulled all her Suſpicions aſleep, and the unhappy State of his Mind excited her Pity. Nevertheleſs ſhe was in Doubt whether ſhe ought to write him an Anſwer, Reaſon and Honour dictated to her that a virtuous Woman ought not to indulge herſelf in a Cor⯑reſpondence, however innocent, with a Man who is her profeſt Lover. But Gratitude and Compaſſion pleaded the Chevalier's Cauſe with ſuch inreſiſtable Force, that ſhe flattered herſelf ſhe might write to him and even ſee him, without wounding the Duty ſhe owed her Huſband. The Count of Berci deſigned the next Day to accompany his Father and Brother to Fontainebleau, ſhe therefore re⯑ſolved [58] not only to write an Anſwer to the Chevalier, but alſo to take Advantage of her Huſband's Abſence, to give him an Interview in private, and taking up the Pen ſhe wrote to him in theſe Words:

‘I anſwer your Letter, Monſieur, con⯑trary to the Rules my Duty impoſes upon me, to put you in Mind of yours, which is to ceaſe a Purſuit that will infallibly be fruitleſs, and may be fatal. Hope for nothing from me beyond Eſteem and Gratitude, the one I cannot refuſe your Merit, and I owe the other to the Services you have lately render⯑ed me, in the Perſons of my Father and Brother. I am willing to believe that you love me with Honour, and this Thought alone prevails with me to grant you Per⯑miſſion to ſee me. I ſhall be alone on Fri⯑day in the Afternoon, if this Letter reaches you ſoon enough, you may come to Beau⯑plan, and at eleven o'Clock at Night you will find the Garden Door open, and Marianne attending to conduct you to me. See, Mon⯑ſieur, what Hazards I run to expreſs my Acknowledgement for the Obligations you have conferred upon me. But again I warn you not to expect that you can ever inſpire me with any other Sentiments, than what the moſt rigid Virtue will permit a reaſona⯑ble Woman to entertain.’

The Counteſs, who was too innocent and unexperienced to reflect on the Conſequences [59] of ſuch a ſuſpicious Interview, was very well ſatisfied with the Terms in which ſhe had conceived her Letter. But this falſe Step, however guiltleſs ſhe was in Intention, was ſoon followed by the moſt dreadful Alarms, it expoſed her to the greateſt Danger ſhe had ever been in during her whole Life, and was the Source of all thoſe Misfortunes ſhe after⯑wards proved. The Country-Woman re⯑turned the next Morning to the Caſtle, and received the Anſwer which the Counteſs had written from the Hands of Marianne: that Girl pretended it was a Letter from her to the Chevalier des Eſſars. The Chevalier's Servant ſet out for Paris, as ſoon as it was dark, and mindful of his Maſter's Orders made ſuch haſte that he arrived there early the next Day. Although there was nothing in the Counteſs's Letter, which could flatter the Che⯑valier with a Hope, of being more happy than Compaſſion, reſtrained by Duty could make him; yet it filled him with inconceivable Tranſport, and he mounted on Horſeback that Inſtant, in order to be at Beauplan at the appointed Time.

The Count of Berci took Horſe to attend his Father and Brother-in-law to Fontainebleau, that very Day on which the Chevalier arrived at Beauplan. As he went only in complai⯑ſance to the Marquis and his Son, they would not ſuffer him to go farther than half way, and then obliged him to return back. The Counteſs who had not expected to ſee her [60] Huſband that Night, was greatly perplexed at his Return; ſhe now repented of the Aſſignation ſhe had made the Chevalier des Eſſars, and was in dreadful Uneaſineſs leſt it ſhould be diſcovered: Yet ſhe concealed her Agitations from her Huſband as well as ſhe poſſibly could, but ſhe was too much diſ⯑ordered to be able to eat any Supper. The Count was uneaſy, ſuppoſing ſhe was indiſ⯑poſed. Madam de Berci eagerly catched at that Expedient, and made it her Excuſe for retiring immediately after Supper to her Chamber. The Count attributing his Wife's Indiſpo⯑ſition to her Grief at parting with her Father and Brother, obligingly endeavoured to con⯑ſole her, and conducting her to her Apart⯑ment, withdrew to his own.

The Night was dark and cloudy, and ſa⯑voured the Deſires of the Chevalier des Eſſars, who was very ſolicitious to prevent being ſeen near the Caſtle of Beauplan, leſt it ſhould re⯑flect any Diſhonour upon the Character of his Miſtreſs. The whole Family was already enjoying the Sweets of a profound Repoſe, when Marianne going ſoftly out of her Lady's Apartment, went to the Gate; ſhe there found the paſſionate Chevalier, who lover-like had through Impatience come an Hour ſooner than he was directed, and had waited for her with great Anxiety. Marianne did not fail to ex⯑aggerate the Danger to which ſhe expoſed herſelf to do him Service, and proteſted her Zeal for his Intereſt ſo ſtrongly, that the Che⯑valier, [61] who thought the Moments too preci⯑ous to waſte in Thanks, took a fine Ring off his Finger, and gave it to the faithful Con⯑fidant in acknowledgement of her Kindneſs: ſhe then deſired him to follow her with the utmoſt Precaution, and brought him without being diſcovered, into the Apartment of the Counteſs. Madam de Berci looked ſo charm⯑ing in the elegant Undreſs ſhe was in, that the Chevalier, loſt in Admiration and Deſire, al⯑moſt forgot the Condition upon which he was permitted to ſee her. But the lovely Counteſs, who was capable of inſpiring at once Reſpect and Love, repreſt this firſt Tranſport by a modeſt Regard, full of mingled Sweet⯑neſs and Severity; then deſiring the Cheva⯑lier to be ſeated, ſhe ſpoke thus to him:

‘If you knew, Monſieur, the Danger to which I expoſe my Reputation, and per⯑haps my Life, by ſeeing you here, theſe ſlight Charms would take up leſs of your Attention. My Lord is not at Fontaine⯑bleau with my Father as I expected he would have been this Night, he is retired to his own Chamber in complaiſance to me: his unexpected Return to Beauplan perplex⯑ed me greatly, and in order to keep my Word with you, I have been obliged to feign myſelf indiſpoſed; do not then, Mon⯑ſieur, abuſe a Favour which I could not re⯑fuſe to your earneſt Intreaties, and to the In⯑tereſt I take in the Preſervation of your Life, which you have ſo lately ventured in [62] the Service of my Family. In your Fa⯑vour I have in ſome Degree tranſgreſſed the Laws of Decorum: the Conſideration I have had for you, ought to ſecure your Gra⯑titude, and to prevent your Forming any Hopes from a Condeſcenſion I cannot help condemning in myſelf: know this is the laſt Time you muſt ever expect to ſee me alone.’

The Counteſs had ſcarce uttered theſe laſt Words, when ſome body knocked haſtily at the Door of the Antichamber: the Cheva⯑lier did not doubt but it was the Count, and began to ſuſpect that Madam de Berci had laid this Snare to ruin him: when he was firſt told that a Man whom he had ſuppoſed to be at Fontainebleau, was in his own Chamber in that very Houſe, he entertained ſome Suſ⯑picions againſt the Counteſs, but had already rejected them as too injurious to that amiable Lady, when the Noiſe at the Door of her Antichamber awaked them again in his Mind; and now not doubting any longer that he was betrayed, ‘Madam, ſaid he to the Counteſs, you had many other Ways of freeing your⯑ſelf from a Paſſion which you doubtleſs thought too importunate, without ſacrifi⯑ſing me to your Huſband's Revenge. But be aſſured, Madam, I will not loſe my Life without putting that of your Lord's into Danger, into whoſe Hands you have deli⯑vered me.’

[63] ‘Ah, how you injure me by theſe Suſpi⯑cions, replied the Counteſs, half dead with fear! it is not now a Time to endeavour by Oaths to aſſure you of my Sincerity, but the Teſtimony you will ſoon have of it will make you know the Injuſtice you do me; but retire, I conjure you, behind the Tapiſtry, you will be abſolutely ſafe from a Diſcovery there, and if you are not con⯑vinced of my Innocence, ſacrifice my Life to your Revenge.’ She ſpoke theſe Words with a low Voice, and then called Marianne, who had heard the Knocking at the Door but like one that underſtood her Buſineſs well, made no Offers to ſtir, till ſhe had Di⯑rections from her Lady. The Chevalier a little reaſſured by his Miſtreſs Words, placed himſelf behind the Tapiſtry, holding it cloſe with his left Hand, but through a little Opening which he left that he might ſee who came into the Room, he held a Pocket-Piſtol which he reſolved in Caſe of Neceſſity, to uſe in his own Defence.

Marianne as if hardly awake, came into her Lady's Room with a looſe Gown on, and went to open the Door of the Antichamber to her Lord, for it was he that demanded Entrance. The Count, as he approached his Wife, paſſed ſo near the Place where the Chevalier was concealed, that he touched the End of the Piſtol: the Chevalier ac⯑knowledged afterwards that he was never ſo much alarmed in his Life; but the Count [64] went on without obſerving any Thing, and ſeeing that his Wife was not yet in Bed, he ſat down upon the Sopha which the Cheva⯑lier had quitted but a few Moments before, and with a Look of tender Anxiety, which relieved the Counteſs from ſome Part of her Fears, enquired how ſhe did.

Madam de Berci anſwered in a low Voice, that ſhe had been worſe ſince Supper, that ſhe was feveriſh and juſt going to Bed, to try if ſhe could get a little Reſt, which ſhe hoped would relieve her. The Count taking her Hand felt her Pulſe, which from the Terrors with which ſhe was agitated, beating a little unequally. ‘You are indeed diſordered, ſaid the tender Count, but I hope your Illneſs will not be dangerous, I could not be eaſy till I ſaw you, I have been but a few Mo⯑ments in Bed yet was terrified by a hor⯑rid Dream from which I awaked in Agonies. I dreamt a monſtrous Dragon was going to devour you: your Indiſpoſition which I had imagined was but ſlight, roſe to my thoughts, I began to be apprehenſive that this was the Dragon, and that you were grown much worſe ſince I ſaw you, I came eagerly to know the State of your Health, and thank Heaven I find it better than I expected; but why are you not in bed? Let me have the Satisfaction to ſee you en⯑joying a quiet Sleep before I return to my own Apartment.’

[65]The Chevalier's Suſpicions returned when he heard the Count relate his Dream, he was abſolutely perſuaded that he was diſcovered, and the Counteſs dreadfully alarmed knew not what to expect. The Count's Interpre⯑tation of his Dream, reaſſured them a little, but when they found he intended to ſtay ſome Time longer, and that he preſſed Madam de Berci to go to Bed, all again ſeemed loſt. The Chevalier was apprehenſive that he ſhould not be able to continue long in the Situation he was in, for it was extreamly uneaſy. Nevertheleſs as he had a great deal of Courage, and was very much in love, the Hope of the Count's retiring in an Hour, ſupported him under ſo diſagreeable a Reſtraint; but he indulged his ill Humour with ſecretly execrating this too tender Huſ⯑band, who after three Years Marriage came ſo unſeaſonably to give his Wife a Proof of his Fondneſs.

The Counteſs of Berci was obliged to go to Bed, and under pretence that the Taper which the Count had brought in with him glared too full in her Eyes, ſhe ordered Ma⯑rianne to draw the Curtain on that Side where the Chevalier ſtood concealed. Marianne obeying her Lady's Orders with too much Precipitation, diſingaged herſelf from a little Dog which had followed the Count into his Wife's Apartment: the Animal being free ran to the Place where the trembling Lover was concealed, and diſcovering inſtinctively [66] that a Stranger was in the Room, he began to bark ſo loud, that the Count was riſing from his Seat to endeavour to pacify him him⯑ſelf. But the Counteſs in great agitation held back her Huſband. And Marianne coaxing the little Creature into good Humour, at laſt catched him in her Arms, and carried him into her own Chamber, where ſhe did not fail to beat him ſeverely, for his unſeaſonable Fidelity to his Maſter.

The Counteſs of Ber [...]i finding her Huſband reſolved to ſtay ſtill ſhe was quite compoſed, was obliged to counterfeit herſelf aſleep, and the Count when he was aſſured ſhe was ſo, riſing ſoftly, went out of her Apartment and retired to his own. His Abſence relieved the Counteſs and the Chevalier from terrible Inquietude: the ardent Lover as ſoon as he was withdrawn, left the Place of his Con⯑cealment and went to the Counteſs's Bed-ſide, where he threw himſelf on his Knees, and im⯑plored her pardon, for the ungenerous Suſpi⯑cion he had entertained. The Counteſs ſweetly bluſhing at the Situation ſhe was in before her Lover, told him ſhe had already pardoned him, and hoped that for the future he would judge more candidly of her Sincerity and Honour. The Chevalier ſcarce liſtened to what ſhe ſaid, he had not only forgot his paſt Danger, but alſo the Conditions to which he had bound himſelf when he requeſted an in⯑terview with the Counteſs.

[67] ‘Inſolent Man, cried the Counteſs, darting a diſdainful Look at him, and puſhing him away with all her Force, is it thus that you abuſe the Credulity of an unhappy Woman, who has ſo lately expoſed, both her Honour, and her Life for you? Baſe and ungrate⯑ful as you are, was it to cover your impious Deſigns that theſe Appearances of Reſpect and Submiſſion were aſſumed? But go avoid my Sight, and thank my Clemency that I content myſelf with Depriving you for ever of my Eſteem, without making you feel the juſt Effects of my Indignation.’

‘Ah! Madam, replied the impetuous Che⯑valier, how can you imagine I ſhould be Maſter of myſelf, expoſed to the Aſſault of ſo many Charms? My Paſſion is ſtronger than my Reaſon, its Violence is my Ex⯑cuſe, and I ought leſs to excite your An⯑ger for my Preſumption, than your Com⯑paſſion for the Miſeries I have ſuffered.’ Theſe Words were not calculated to remove the Counteſs's Anger, any more than the Behaviour by which they were followed. That unfortunate Lady, now firſt perceiving the Danger to which ſhe had expoſed her Virtue, aſſumed more Courage and Reſolu⯑tion, ſhe called Marianne with loud Cries, the Terror ſhe was in not giving her Time to reflect that her Huſband might be alar⯑med: her Woman appearing, the Chevalier full of Repentance for his Attempt, retired from the Bed-ſide, the Counteſs no longer [68] obſerving any Terms with him, commanded him with a Look and Voice which made him tremble, to leave her Chamber, and fiercely threatened to ſend for her Lord, and ſhew him the real Dragon which he had ſeen only in his Dream, unleſs he obeyed her that Inſtant.

It was in vain that the unhappy Chevalier endeavoured by Tears and Prayers to ſoften the Anger of his incenſed Miſtreſs, ſhe was inexorable, and he was obliged to quit her, with the Grief of knowing that he had loſt her Eſteem by giving way to the Impe⯑tuoſity of his Deſires. Fatal Love, blind and ungovernable Paſſion, thy higheſt Fa⯑vours are too deerly purchaſed by the Dan⯑gers, the Inquietude, and the Remorſe thou cauſeſt.

The unfortunate Chevalier, full of Shame and Grief, was a hundred Times ready to run his Sword through his Heart, before the Eyes of Madam de Berci. ‘Adieu, Madam, ſaid he to her, my unfeigned Repentance and the miſerable Life I am going to drag on at a Diſtance from you, will I hope one Day procure me Pardon for an Attempt as fruitleſs as it was involuntary.’

The Counteſs did not deign to ſay a ſingle Word to him in Anſwer, and the Chevalier not daring to importune her any farther, made her a low Bow and followed Marianne, who [69] conducted him to the Door of the Anti-cham⯑ber without any Light for fear of being per⯑ceived. The Chevalier was in ſuch agitation of Mind, that he hardly knew what he was doing, and as he deſcended the Stairs, his Foot ſlipping he tumbled down, and the Piſtol which he held in his Hand for Fear of ſome Accident, went off, and alarmed the whole Houſe.

The Count, his Brother, and ſeveral of the Men Servants got up immediately, and made the Caſtle reſound with their Cries of Thieves, Aſſaſſins. The Counteſs at the Report of the Piſtol, was almoſt diſtracted with her Apprehenſions: ſhe heard her Lord's Voice, and knew not whether the Chevalier had fi [...]ed at him, or the Count at the Chevalier. Ma⯑rianne, who had quitted the Chevalier at the Door of the Anti-chamber, and who knew not any more than her Lady the true Cauſe of what had happened, trembled at the Puniſh⯑ment which ſhe expected, and bemoaned her⯑ſelf piteouſly; the whole Caſtle was full of Tumult and Diſorder.

In the mean Time the Chevalier who found himſelf at the Bottom of the Staircaſe by his Fall, miſſing his Hat and his Piſtol, reſolved not to leave them behind him, tho' by ſtay⯑ing to look for them, he run the Danger of being ſeized; but he was ſenſible if thoſe Things were found, it would be known that it was he who had been there, and that was [70] equal to a Diſcovery of his Perſon. The Moon gave Light enough through the Win⯑dows to direct his Search, and he was ſo for⯑tunate as to find both his Hat and Piſtol, and to reach the Garden Gate without being diſ⯑covered; ſome of the Count's Servants ran thither a few Moments after, and finding the Gate open, they ſuppoſed the Thieves had eſcaped that way; they had a Glimpſe of the Chevalier as he ran, but it was not light enough for them to diſtinguiſh his Perſon; however ſuppoſing him to be one of the Rogues, they purſued him, but the Cheva⯑lier made ſuch Speed that he joined his Ser⯑vant, who was waiting for him, before the Fellows could come up with him, and mount⯑ing his Horſe which his Man held ready, he gallopped acroſs the Country without keep⯑ing any direct Road, and at laſt got to a Vil⯑lage where he concealed himſelf for a few Hours, and then returned to Paris.

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

THE Count of Berci and his Brother, who had been among the firſt that were alarmed by the Report of the Piſtol, having, as has been already ſaid, riſen in haſte, they armed themſelves with their Swords and Piſ⯑tols, and followed by ſome of the Servants who carried Flambeaux in their Hands, they went to the Apartment of the Counteſs, whoſe Terror at ſeeing her Lord and his Bro⯑ther enter with ſuch a formidable Equipage was ſo great, that ſhe fainted away. The [72] The Count full of Grief at this Accident, ran eagerly to her, Remedies were applied, but her Huſband's tender Solicitude, and the af⯑fectionate Things he ſaid to her, had more Efficacy in recovering her Spirits, than all the other Endeavours which were uſed for that purpoſe.

It was her Fear that the Chevalier had been diſcovered, which reduced her to that Condi⯑tion, but her Lord's exceſſive Concern for it convinced her that the Chevalier had had the good Fortune to eſcape without being known. This Thought reſtored her Spirits, and the Count entirely diſſipated all her Suſpicions by telling her, that the Tumult and Noiſe there had been in the Houſe, was occaſioned by ſome Rogues who had attempted to rob it.

‘I beg, Madam, ſaid he embracing her tenderly, that you will not ſuffer yourſelf to be alarmed thus to the Prejudice of your Health: my Brother and myſelf will go and ſearch every Part of the Caſtle, that we may be aſſured none of theſe Villains are concealed in it. Baniſh your Fears then, and depend upon it, added he ſmiling, that if we find ſome of theſe Rogues lurking here ſtill, we will give you a good Account of them.’ He then ordered the Counteſs's Woman to be called, to ſtay in the Cham⯑ber, and leaving two of the Footmen to guard the Door of her Apartment, he went with his Brother and the others to ſearch the Caſtle.

[73]The Count after traverſing over the whole Houſe, went down into the Court Yard, where he met two of his Servants who had juſt returned from purſuing the Chevalier. They had run after him a long Time in the Fields, but, the Chevalier being well moun⯑ted, as were his Servants likewiſe, he was ſoon out of Sight; and the Count's Footmen thinking it was needleſs to follow them [...]ny farther at ſuch a Diſadvantage, came home no wiſer than they went.

As ſoon as they ſaw the Count, they related to him what they had done, and as in their terrified Imaginations, the Chevalier and his Servant, appeared to be five or ſix Men; ſo they did not fail to double the Number and confidently affirm that there were no leſs than a dozen Rogues whom their Preſence, un⯑armed as they were, put to Flight. Another who had a mind to have it ſaid that he alſo had a Share in this terrible Adventure, de⯑clared with great firmneſs of Countenance, that it was at him the Rogue who had got Entrance into the Houſe, fired the Piſtol, and that he heard the Whizzing of the Ball as it happily paſt by his Ear without hurting him.

The Count of Berci fully perſuaded that the Caſtle had been beſet by Robbers, went up to his Wife's Apartment. ‘I told you, Madam, ſaid he as he entred, that there was nothing to apprehend: my Servants have juſt now informed me, that the [74] Thieves, alarmed at the Noiſe we made, and by the Lights ſuppoſing the whole Fa⯑mily was up, are fled with the utmoſt Pre⯑cipitation; one of them had, it ſeems, got over the Garden Walls, in order to open the Gate to the others, but as ſoon as it is Day, I ſhall take Care to prevent ſuch At⯑tempts for the future, by making it im⯑poſſible for any one to climb over thoſe Walls again. Think no more then, I con⯑jure you, Madam, of what is paſt, all now is ſafe, try to calm your Mind, and get an Hour or two's Repoſe. I am extremely apprehenſive that the Alarms you have ſuf⯑fered this Night will diſorder you greatly.’

The Counteſs full of inward Remorſe, which her Lord's exceſſive Tenderneſs re⯑doubled, begged him to retire to his own Chamber, and ſhe would try to compoſe her⯑ſelf. She could ſcarce retrain her Tears as ſhe ſpoke, her Voice faltered, the Count ſaw her greatly diſordered, but far from gueſſing the Cauſe, he concluded all was owing to the Terrors ſhe had been in on Account of the Attempt he ſuppoſed had been made on the Caſtle: he deſired her Women to watch by their Lady, and then taking Leave of her with a tender Embrace and an ardent Ejaculation for her Health, he returned to his own Apart⯑ment.

The Counteſs, as ſoon as her Lord was withdrawn, commanded her Women to quit [75] her Chamber: ſhe longed to be alone to give free Vent to her Tears. A Woman who has juſt Notions of Honour, needs no other Tormentors, when ſhe has tranſgreſſed the ſtrict Laws of it, than the Stings of her own Conſcience. Madam de Berci had through Ignorance of the World, and by her too great Senſibility of the Services the Chevalier had done her Family, been betrayed to make a falſe Step, which ſhe too late acknowledged to be ſo. Her Eyes were opened by the Chevalier's Behaviour, ſhe was enabled to judge of the Irregularity of her Conduct, by the Advantage her unworthy Lover had en⯑deavoured to take of it. She trembled at the Remembrance of the Danger to which ſhe had expoſed her Virtue, ſhe accuſed herſelf, ſhe exclaimed againſt the Baſeneſs of the Che⯑valier. ‘Unhappy Wretch, cried ſhe burſt⯑ing into Tears, what haſt thou done? and what would have been thy Fate, if Heaven, reſpecting the Innocence of thy Intentions, had not had Compaſſion upon thee. Juſtly deteſted by a Huſband who now adores thee, thy leaſt Puniſhment, if he had ſpared thy Life, would have been to be confounded with Women of infamous Reputation, up⯑on whoſe Forehead is engraved in Charac⯑ters never to be effaced, the ſhameful Story of their Crimes. And, oh fatal Aggravation of my Folly, ſuch a Huſband—bluſh, bluſh, ungrateful Wretch, at the Remembrance of his Tenderneſs. What Return haſt thou [76] made for this unexampled Affection? Thou haſt not ſcrupled to endanger the Quiet of his whole Life, by ſubmitting to a private Interview with a Man, whoſe wild Paſſion thou waſt but too well acquainted with: thou haſt introduced into his Houſe at the dead of Night the premeditated Aſſaſſin of his Honour. Thou mayſt judge, unhappy Woman, by the Grief with which thou ſaweſt him overwhelmed for thy feigned Sickneſs, what would have been his Ago⯑nies if thy fatal Secret had been diſcovered. Oh mayſt thou be ever ignorant of it, my dear and injured Lord, and may my Re⯑pentance and my Tears blot out of my Heart the Image of that moſt inſolent and moſt baſe of Men.’

With ſuch Complaints, and in ſuch bitter Reflexions, did the unhappy Counteſs waſte the remaining Part of the Night. Quiet was baniſhed from her Mind, and Sleep from her Eyes: the Morning found her bathed in Tears, and ſeized with the firſt Symptoms of a Fever, which in a few Days increaſed to ſuch a Degree, that her Life was deſpaired of. Her Lord almoſt diſtracted at the Danger ſhe was in, never quitted her a Moment during eight Days, that the Phyſicians thought her Recovery doubtful. Her Youth at length, and her good Conſtitution, overcame the Violence of her Diſeaſe, ſhe began to recover tho' by ſlow Degrees, and in this State we ſhall leave [77] her, and ſee what paſſed at Fontainebleau, where we left the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur.

As ſoon as he arrived he went immediately to pay his Reſpects to his Majeſty, his gracious Maſter, under whom he had made his laſt Campaigns. His Deſign was to ſolicit a Pardon for his Son, as likewiſe for the Che⯑valier des Eſſars, to whom he was ſo greatly obliged. That great Monarch, who never forgot the Services of his faithful Subjects, gave the Marquis a moſt gracious Reception, and with that Affability, which was ſo natural to him, welcomed him to Court, and enquir⯑ed into the Motive which had induced him to quit his Retreat.

‘Sire, replied the old Man, the Deſire of ſeeing once more the greateſt and beſt of Kings, and of embracing my Children, has brought me again and probably for the laſt Time to Court. I find myſelf haſting for⯑ward to my Decay, and all that for the future I ſhall be able to do, will be to pray for your Majeſty's Glory, and Happineſs; but I would beg Leave to preſent a young Man to you in my Stead, who eagerly pants to follow you in your glorious Expe⯑ditions, and wiſhes for Life only to efface by his Courage and Loyalty ſhewn in your Service, the Shame and Diſgrace he has incurred by diſobeying your wiſe Laws. It is for my Son, moſt gracious Sovereign, [78] that I plead, and moſt humbly implore that your Majeſty will pardon him a Fault he has committed lately, and impute it to the wild Sallies of inconſiderate. Youth, and not to ſtubborn Will, and premeditated Diſobedience.’

‘Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur, ſaid that ge⯑nerous Prince, if your Son has failed in the Reſpect and Obedience he owes me by his laſt Combat, I have not forgot thoſe in which you have formerly ſhed your Blood for my Service; I therefore not only grant you his Pardon, which I cannot refuſe to your Services, but alſo that of the Chevalier des Eſſars, which probably you was afraid to aſk for. I have been informed of your Adventure in the Foreſt of Fontainebleau: the Aſſiſtance he ſo generouſly gave you, and his Valour in ſaving your Life, engages me to grant this, and to pardon him out of Conſideration to you.’

‘Sire, replied the old Man in a Rapture, throwing himſelf at the King's Feet, I have not Words to expreſs my grateful Senſe of your Majeſty's Goodneſs in thus granting me the Life of my Son: your Majeſty, who like a God has read thoſe Wiſhes in my Heart, which I did not dare to give Utterance to, beſt knows how much I am affected with your unmerited Indulgence. Yes, my gracious Lord, you have prevented my moſt ardent Deſires, and by granting [79] me the Life of the Chevalier des Eſſars, you have given me an Opportunity of returning in ſome Degree the Obligations I have to that valiant Man, to whoſe Generoſity I owe the Happineſs I now enjoy of embrace⯑ing the Knees of my indulgent Maſter.’

The old Marquis then ſtepping to his Son, who was ſtanding behind a Crowd of Cour⯑tiers: ‘Approach, my Son, ſaid he, and bleſs the Clemency of your Prince, who has been pleaſed, at my Interceſſion, to pardon you, and reſolve to prove to him one Day, that the Life you have received from me, and which his Goodneſs has preſerved, belongs wholly to him; and remember that you never more muſt hazard it, but in his Service.’

The young Marquis approaching with a graceful Modeſty, threw himſelf at the King's Feet, who raiſed him up inſtantly, and aſſured his Father, that he would take the Care of his Son's Fortune entirely upon himſelf.

In this Manner it was, that the great Henry tempered Majeſty with Sweetneſs, and accompanied thoſe Pardons he granted to his offending Subjects, with the moſt ſtriking Inſtances of Generoſity and Goodneſs. Great and magnanimous Prince! thy Memory will live forever in the Hearts of all true French⯑men, and thy gentle Virtues be as much their [80] Love and Veneration, as thy immortal Fame their Glory.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, as ſoon as he had quitted the King, retired to his Apart⯑ment, eager to enjoy the delicate Pleaſure of acquainting the Chevalier des Eſſars with what his Prince had juſt done for him. He told him in his Letter, that the Pardon he had ſolicited, was granted leſs to his weak Interceſſion, than to his own Merit, and the Fame of his great Actions, and particularly to the Valour and Generoſity he had ſhewn in expoſing his own Life in the Foreſt of Fontainebleau to ſave his. He added, that his modeſt Endeavours to conceal from him the Name of his Benefactor had all been fruitleſs, and that he had at length had the good Fortune to know a Man, from whom his Family were every Day receiving new Benefits; that the laſt Favour he had received from him in preſerving the Life of his Son, ſo greatly endeared the former to him, that he deſpaired of ever finding Opportunities ſuf⯑ficient to make known the Extent of his Gratitude.

The good old Man after having thus given Vent to the Overflowings of his grateful Heart, employed the few remaining Hours he ſtaid st Fontainebleau, in giving ſome Leſ⯑ſons of Wiſdom and Prudence to his Son, re⯑commending to him in the moſt earneſt Man⯑ner [81] to perſevere in his Loyalty to his Sove⯑reign, and never more to offend him by diſobeying his Commands.

He then ſet out for his Eſtate in Burgundy, where he arrived without meeting with any ill Accident. The Marchioneſs de Saint-Sau⯑veur his Wife had heard ſome Reports con⯑cerning his Adventure in the Foreſt, as like⯑wiſe of her Son's Duel with Monſieur de Morigny. She had ſuffered great Uneaſineſs, but the Recital her Lord made her of the happy Event of all, turned her Fears and Sorrows into tranſports of Joy. She admired the Valour of the Chevalier des Eſſars, whoſe Perſon ſhe was not acquainted with, but whoſe Name and Quality ſhe knew, and was extremely impatient to ſee and thank a Man to whom ſhe was obliged for the Lives of her Huſband and her Son.

But of what Uſe was it to this brave Man, that his Merit was acknowledged by his Prince, and applauded by the public Voice, ſince all was not able to comfort him for the Loſs of his Miſtreſs's Eſteem. We have al⯑ready related how he fortunately eſcaped be⯑ing known by the Servants of the Count of Berci. After having wandered ſeveral Days about the Country, he at laſt took the Road to Paris, and arrived there full of the deepeſt Deſpair. As he durſt not venture abroad on Account of his laſt Combat, he confined him⯑ſelf to his Houſe all Day, and went out ſome⯑times [82] at Night to viſit Monſieur de Morigny. It was not in his Power to conceal his Sadneſs from him, but all the Endeavours of this tender Friend to prevail upon him to diſcloſe the Cauſe were ineffectual: the Chevalier had too much Delicacy to make him the Confi⯑dent of his Paſſion for the Counteſs of Berci, and he rather choſe to ſhut up all his Sorrow in his Heart, and want the Conſolation of a faithful and ſympathiſing Friend, than fail in his Reſpect for her who was now dearer to him than ever.

He was in this cruel Situation, when he received the Letter from the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur; it gave him at firſt a tran⯑ſient Relief, and he taſted ſome Pleaſure in the Aſſurances it brought him of the Friend⯑ſhip and Eſteem of a Man who was become ſo dear to him. But a Letter which a few Days after he received from the Count of Berci, gave him far more Satisfaction. That tender Friend wrote, that he had too long deprived him of the Pleaſure of embracing a Man to whom the Counteſs and himſelf had ſuch great Obligations, that he could not bear his Abſence, and conjured him to ſet out imme⯑diately for the Caſtle of Beauplan, where he ſoon expected the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur; and he likewiſe earneſtly intreated him to bring Monſieur de Morigny with him, who, he ſaid, muſt be their Friend, ſince he was his.

[83]The Chevalier, firmly perſuaded that he had loſt for ever the Eſteem of his Miſtreſs, did not figure to himſelf any Happineſs at Beauplan, farther than that he ſhould enjoy the Sight of that inhuman Beauty. He could not flatter himſelf that he ſhould be able to obtain her Pardon for the Offence he had committed, but he hoped that his Repentance and his Grief would excite her Pity. He therefore reſolved to gratify the Count of Berci's obliging Impatience to ſee him, by an immediate Departure from Paris: he ſhew⯑ed the Count's Letter to Monſieur de Morigny, who, wearied with the Length of his Con⯑finement, accepted with Joy Monſieur de Berci's obliging Invitation. Beauplan being likewiſe but half a Day's Journey from Court, it gave him a better Opportunity of ſoliciting his Pardon there, than he could do at Paris. As he had ſeveral powerful Protectors about the King's Perſon, was not the firſt Aggreſ⯑ſor, and as his Majeſty had pardoned the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and the Chevalier des Eſſars, there was Room to hope he would not be the only one that was puniſhed. And accordingly his Friends exerted their Intereſt for him with ſuch Succeſs, that they obtained his Pardon, which was ſent to him eight Days after his Arrival at Beauplan with the Chevalier des Eſſars.

The Counteſs of Berci was in extreme Per⯑plexity, when her Lord ſent to inform her that the Chevalier was come: the Count had [84] not mentioned to her his Intention of writing to him at Paris, he did not doubt but ſhe would be rejoiced to ſee again a Man who had preſerved her Father and Brother. He took Pleaſure in giving her, what he thought, an agreable Surprize. He ſurprized her indeed more than he imagined, but ſhe was far from being pleaſed. The Chevalier entered her Apartment before ſhe had Time to anſwer her Lord, he advanced with a reſpectful Awe to ſalute her. A Bluſh cauſed at once by In⯑dignation and Shame, overſpread her Face, and gave her new Charms; but the Mortification ſhe felt at being obliged to conceal her juſt Rage from the Chevalier, gave her great Pain. However the Force ſhe put upon herſelf to behave with Complaiſance was not perceived, and ſhe acted her Part ſo artfully, that the Chevalier began to conceive Hopes ſhe might in Time be prevailed upon to forgive him. [...]he anſwered the Compliments he made her, with Freedom and Politeneſs, ſhe praiſed his Valour and Generoſity, ſhe returned him Thanks for the Services her Father and Bro⯑ther had received from him, but ſhe reſolved in her own Heart to make him pay dear for the Conſtraint ſhe had been obliged to lay up⯑on herſelf.

The young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Monſieur de Morigny, continued a long Time embraced, and fully perſuaded of each other's Merit and reciprocal Tenderneſs, they drew more ſtrait than ever the Knot of their an⯑cient [85] Friendſhip, which nothing after was able to looſe. Monſieur de Morigny was received with great Kindneſs by the Count of Berci, and his Brother, as likewiſe by the charming Counteſs, whom he greatly admired.

After the firſt Compliments were over, the Count of Berci related to the Chevalier des Eſſars, the Story of the Robbers, painting with great Vivacity the Alarms which the whole Family had been in, and gave a long Account of an Affair that the Chevalier knew better than himſelf. The Chevalier had oc⯑caſion for all his Prudence and Art to conceal from the Company the Embarraſſment this Recital threw him into: the Counteſs who was leſs able to repreſs or conceal her Emo⯑tions, ſhewed a Concern while the Count was ſpeaking, ſufficient to have betrayed her, if it had not been aſcribed by him to the Re⯑membrance of the Terror ſhe had ſuffered.

The Chevalier, who knew the Danger ſhe had been in, and ſaw by her Looks that her Health had ſuffered greatly, was ſenſibly afflicted at the Inconveniences he had brought upon her: he reproached himſelf a thouſand Times with his Raſhneſs and Preſumption, he curſed the fatal Effects of his impetuous Paſſion, and endeavoured to give her ſome Idea of his Grief and Repentance by his Looks, ſince he could not ſpeak to her: he was reſolved to try the firſt Opportunity that offered, and let her know how much he had ſuffered from his own [86] Remorſe for having offended her, but be ſought in vain for ſuch an Opportunity. Far from giving him one, ſhe avoided his Looks as much as poſſible, and if by Chance her Eyes incountered his, ſhe would haſtily withdraw them again, as if ſhe had ſeen a Baſiliſk.

The Chevalier again applied for Aſſiſtance to Marianne; he intreated this Woman to en⯑deavour to make his Peace for him: he gave her ſeveral Letters for the Counteſs, but ſhe would not receive them, and ſeverely re⯑proving her Woman for accepting of ſuch Commiſſions, forbad her ever to do the like again upon Pain of being diſmiſſed from her Service; and Marianne, tho' it would have been her Intereſt to have effected this Recon⯑ciliation, was ſo terrified at this Threat, that ſhe would not afterwards concern herſelf in the Chevalier's Affairs.

The unfortunate Chevalier had been al⯑ready fifteen Days at Beauplan, and had uſed every Artifice that Love and Wit could ſug⯑geſt, to procure an Interview with the Coun⯑teſs, but in vain; when one Day obſerving the Count to be employed in his Gardens, giving Directions to his Workmen for ſome new Embelliſhment, the Plan of which he had drawn himſelf, he quitted ſome Company that were walking with him, and ran to Madam de Berci's Apartment, reſolving to attempt every thing to gain her Pardon. But ſhe being always upon her Guard againſt ſuch [87] Surprizes; roſe up as ſoon as ſhe ſaw her Chamber Door open, and perceiving the Che⯑valier ſhe flew into her Cloſet, and faſtened the Door. Her Lover in Deſpair at this new Inſtance of: her Rigour, ſaid all that a Heart torn with Remorſe could dictate to move her, but his Complaints, his Proteſtations, and his Grief, were fruitleſs, ſhe carried her Severity ſo far, that ſhe would not deign even to anſwer him, and he was obliged to withdraw for fear of irritating her ſtill more.

Her obſtinate Reſentment could not break his Chains, he had merited it all, and his own Heart acknowledged that he did ſo: incapable of vanquiſhing his Paſſion for the Counteſs, and deſpairing of ever being able to gain her Pardon, he reſolved to retire from a Houſe where he was every day expoſed to new Torments, and ſeek a glorious Death in the Field.

Holland was then the Theatre of War, as it was likewiſe the School for the braveſt Men that ever diſtinguiſhed themſelves in Arms. The Arch-Duke threatned to attack Rhimberg, and the States were preparing to defend it. The Commanders on one ſide were the Mar⯑quis de Spinola, General of the Arch-duke's Army, and the valiant Count de Buguoy, the firſt of whom had already acquired immortal Glory before Oſtend with the Spaniards and Walloons. On the other was Prince Maurice of Orange, whoſe Name alone is an Eulogium, [88] he had with him a younger Brother who emu⯑lous of his Glory tread already in his Steps: he was indeed at the head of an Army leſs numerous than Spinola's, but it was chiefly compoſed of the two moſt gallant Nations in the World, I mean the French and the Engliſh; in the Troops of the former were many of the Nobility, commanded by the great Bethune, and the brave Chatillon, who were preparing to join the Forces of Prince Maurice.

Although the Chevalier des Eſſars had been treated leſs cruelly than he was by his Miſ⯑treſs, yet he loved Glory too much to remain an idle Spectator in France, of the Laurels his Countrymen were gaining: he mentioned his Deſign of making a Campaign in Holland, to the Count of Berci, who not only approved of it, but aſſured him he would go thither like⯑wiſe, and both of them declaring their Reſo⯑lution next Morning to Monſieur de Morigny, and the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, they would not be left behind.

The Count intreated his Brother to ſtay with Madam de Berci, during his Abſence, but this young Man full of a noble Ardour that could not be repreſſed, was ſenſible how ſhameful it would appear, to ſtay in the Caſtle of Beauplan, and be the Guardian of his Siſter-in-law, while his eldeſt Brother was expoſing his Life to the uncertain Chance of War, he reſolved therefore to partake his La⯑bours and his Dangers, and all being con⯑cluded [89] on, they gave Orders for their ſeveral Equipages to be prepared with the utmoſt Expedition.

The Counteſs was greatly afflicted when ſhe heard her Lord's Deſign, and that it was the Chevalier des Eſſars who had perſuaded him to it. It was not difficult for her to diſcover that it was her rigorous Treatment of this un⯑fortunate Lover, which had induced him to take ſuch a Reſolution. She now began to repent of the extreme Rigour ſhe had ſhewn, which was going to deprive her of a Huſband ſo dear to her, attributing all her Uneaſineſs to the Thoughts of being ſeparated from him, but it was in vain that ſhe endeavoured to con⯑ceal her Sentiments from herſelf. She could not without great Concern reflect on the Dangers to which her Lover was going to expoſe him⯑ſelf, and although he had offended her, yet ſhe was apprehenſive of the Effects of his Deſ⯑pair; and that Death, which he was going to ſeek, would doubtleſs deprive her of a Lover for whom in ſpite of all her Virtue and her Pride ſhe felt in her Heart ſomething more tender than Eſteem. But this was a Confeſ⯑ſion ſhe durſt not make to herſelf, and ſtudi⯑ouſly avoiding any Examination of her own Thoughts, ſhe endeavoured to perſuade her⯑ſelf that all her Fears were upon her Lord's Account, he whom it was her Duty to love, and by whom ſhe was loved with ſo much Tenderneſs. She reſolved therefore to prevail upon the Chevalier to lay aſide their Deſign, [90] ſhe thought ſhe could not have a better Motive for breaking through her Reſolution, never to have any private Diſcourſe with him, and did not in the leaſt Doubt, that by the Power ſhe had over him, ſhe could make him aban⯑don a Deſign which he had formed in Deſpair, and ſhe perſuaded herſelf that if ſhe ſucceeded on this ſide, the Count her Huſband would no longer think of leaving her.

Full of this Project, the Succeſs of which ſhe was ſure of in her own Imagination, ſhe fought for an Opportunity to ſpeak to the Chevalier, which however was not the leaſt difficult Part of her Undertaking, for he who deſpaired of ever gaining her Pardon, and fearful of offending her farther, took Care never to throw himſelf in her Way as uſual, ſo that the Counteſs finding herſelf diſapoint⯑ed in her Endeavours to meet him alone, was beginning to doubt whether ſhe ſhould ever ſucceed without making it her Requeſt to ſpeak to him, a Humiliation ſhe would fain have avoided, when Chance brought her one Day into a Room fronting the Garden where ſhe ſaw the Chevalier alone, ſtanding at a Window in an Attitude that ſhewed he was wholly abſorbed in Thought.

The Counteſs exceſſively pleaſed at this ac⯑cidental Meeting, approached the Window where he ſtood, with an Intention to ſpeak to him, that very Moment, when the Che⯑valier ſuppoſing ſhe had no other Deſign than [91] to amuſe herſelf with looking out of it, left it free to her with a reſpectful Bow, and went to the other End of the Room, where he ſtood looking at the Count of Berci and the Mar⯑quis de Saint Sauveur, and Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny, who were playing at Tennis.

It would not be eaſy to determine whether this Behaviour gave the Counteſs more Shame or Vexation, but it is certain that ſhe was ex⯑tremely diſappointed. She underſtood this Inſtance of Reſpect in the Chevalier to be a plain Avowal of Contempt. ‘How inſolent he is, ſaid ſhe to herſelf, but I will not give him Room to imagine, that I am weak enough to run after him; no, I will rather ſuffer the Loſs of all that is dear to me in the World.’ She now leaned upon the Window penſive in her Turn, full of Re⯑flections very mortifying to her Pride; and fain would ſhe have forced herſelf to believe that her Pride only was concerned; ſhe felt Emotions more painful than thoſe which ariſe from Confuſion and Anger, and the ſuppoſed Neglect of the Chevalier advanced his Affairs with the Counteſs more than all the Proofs he had hitherto given her of his Paſſion.

But he in the mean Time obſerving the Counteſs to be in a deep Revery, knew not what to think of her Behaviour. He ſoon began to repent he had left the Window; and after he had continued looking at the Players a few Moments, though his Attention [92] was wholly employed another Way, he ſtept forwards, with a Deſign to return to the Place he had quitted ſo unſeaſonably, but the Counteſs, who was extremely piqued by what he had done, ſeeing him approach, left the Window in her Turn, and went haſtily out of the Room, darting a Look at him as ſhe paſt, that upon any other Occaſion would have given him inexpreſſible Pain, but as he now interpreted it, filled him with a Joy he had never experienced before.

He comprehended in an Inſtant all that had paſſed in the Heart of his Miſtreſs. He was in Raptures at this new Mark of her Rigour, and thoroughly acquainted as he was with all the Motions of a Heart in Love, he ſaw with inconceivable Tranſport, that the Diſdain and Rage which the Counteſs had darted from her Eyes, were the Effects of affronted Ten⯑derneſs and neglected Advances. He bleſſed his good Fortune, and flattered himſelf with the ſweet Idea of being more loved than he had believed, he reſigned himſelf up entirely to the intoxicating Charms of Hope. But this Alteration in his Affairs with the Counteſs, far from inducing him to lay aſide his former Deſign, confirmed him in his Reſolution of purſuing it, the War in Holland, he did not doubt, would afford him Opportunities of ſhewing himſelf worthy of her Eſteem, and this Thought alone was ſufficient, had he been leſs brave than he was, to make him eagerly embrace them.

[93]The Count and his Gueſts having given over Play, went to Madam de Berci's Apart⯑ment. Her Vexation, which was viſible enough in her Eyes, made her Lord conclude, that ſhe was afflicting herſelf for his approach⯑ing Departure, which the had often endea⯑voured to prevent. He therefore applied him⯑ſelf to make her approve of it as a Thing ab⯑ſolutely neceſſary. He repreſented to her the Diſgrace he ſhould incur if he neglected ſo fa⯑vourable an Opportunity of acquiring Honour, and advancing his Fortune; aſſuring her, that although his Love for her would not permit him to wear out his Days in a ſhameful Indo⯑lence, yet it ſhould haſten his Return; be urged to her ſo many ſtrong Reaſons, and ſo well calculated to make an Impreſſion upon the Mind of a Woman born with juſt Notions of Honour, that ſhe could not help yielding to them, whatever Grief it might coſt her. It was then agreed upon by them both, that ſhe ſhould go into the Province of Burgundy, and ſtay with her Father and Mother, during his Abſence, they earneſtly preſſing for ſuch a Viſit, and that in two Days he ſhould take Leave of her to go to Paris, and finiſh the Preparations for his Journey.

The Counteſs, though greatly diſpleaſed with the Chevalier for his laſt Behaviour, was ſomewhat ſoftened after her Diſcourſe with her Lord. She thought no longer of his ſup⯑poſed Neglect, ſhe only conſidered the Dan⯑gers he was going to expoſe himſelf to. And [94] whenever ſhe met his Eyes, which now hap⯑pened more frequently than before, ſhe ſaw ſo much Grief and Tenderneſs painted in them, that ſhe conceived it would be inhu⯑man to deny him the Satisfaction of taking a particular Leave of her. She therefore no longer avoided him, as uſual: And theſe two Lovers having now agreed to ſpeak to each other, it was not difficult for them to find an Opportunity. The Chevalier, who watched her Steps, ſeeing her, the Evening before they were to ſet out for Paris, walking alone in a covered Alley, he joined her with a reſpect⯑ful Air, and a Timidity which the late Diſco⯑very he had made, could not repreſs.

‘I know not, Madam, (ſaid he to her trem⯑bling) whether you will condeſcend to hear for a few Moments the moſt unfortunate of Men; but I dare flatter myſelf, that if you knew the Sincerity of my Repentance for having diſpleaſed you, and all the Torments I have ſuffered from that Time, your Heart, inſenſible as it is, would be moved to pity me; but if you are ſevere enough to think my Crime not ſufficiently puniſhed by your Rigour and my own Grief, Death, I hope, will ſoon revenge you fully on a Wretch who has had the Audacity to offend you. I ſhall ſuffer it without repining, I ſhall meet it with Indifference; nay, to ſatisfy you, I will do more, and ſeek it eagerly; that I may at once deliver you from a Lover you deteſt, and myſelf from Torments I can [95] no longer ſupport. Happy ſtill, if the Sa⯑crifice I ſhall make you of my Life, will at length appeaſe your Rage, which I acknow⯑ledge to be juſt, and procure me that Com⯑paſſion I vainly hoped for while I lived.’ ‘Chevalier, (replied the Counteſs, looking on him with Eyes in which Anger and Diſdain were wholly extinguiſhed) let us ſpeak no more of what is paſt, I am willing to for⯑get your Crime, and remember only your Repentance, and the Services my Father and my Brother have received from you: Live then, ſince I am ſo far from wiſhing your Death, that I earneſtly conjure you to be careful of yourſelf, do not expoſe your Life to inevitable Dangers.— I recommend my Huſband and my Brother to your Care, be watchful over their Safety, and do not neglect your own. Yes, (continued ſhe in a Voice more tender) your Life is dear to me, I will not bluſh to own it.— I eſteem your Perſon, but do not imagine, that this Confeſſion can authorize you to entertain any Hopes to the Prejudice of my Honour; it is innocent, though it is frank and with⯑out Diſguiſe; do you then take care to re⯑gulate your Conduct by it, as the Sentiments I have for you are not inconſiſtent with my Duty, and will be always guided by the ſtrict Rules of Virtue; let me hope, that your Behaviour will be ſuch as ſhall not give me Cauſe to retract them.’

[96]The Counteſs of Berci ſtopped at theſe Words, expecting her Lover's Reply, but the Chevalier was not compoſed enough to make any for ſome Moments; he doubted whether what he had heard, was not an Illuſion of his Senſes. A Man who from extreme Miſery paſſes rapidly to an Exceſs of good Fortune, could not be more tranſported out of himſelf than the happy Chevalier in that ſweet Mo⯑ment.

'Ah! Madam, (ſaid he, with a Look, and Voice expreſſive of the higheſt Agi⯑tation) ‘your unmerited Goodneſs is almoſt as fatal to me as your Rigour, my Heart, ſo long tormented by Remorſe for having offended you, and Grief for having loſt your Eſteem, can with Difficulty bear the Tranſports with which you have filled it by this Aſſurance of your Pardon, and Pro⯑miſe of your returning Favour; this over⯑pays me for all the Torments I have ſuffer⯑ed, Torments that will ever be dear to me, ſince they have produced ſuch happy Effects. Yes, Madam, I will endeavour to preſerve my Life ſince you deſire I ſhould do ſo, I will ſubmiſſively obey your Commands, but will live only to love you with the moſt pure diſintereſted Affection, and to ſerve you with the moſt faithful Reſpect.’

‘Well, Monſieur, returned the charming Counteſs, begin then by giving me convin⯑cing Proofs of the Diſintereſtedneſs of your [97] Affection. I love my Huſband, and my Brother with the utmoſt Tenderneſs, again I tell you that I confide them to your ge⯑nerous Care, do not abandon them in the Danger to which their raſh Courage may lead them, moderate their ardor and hinder them from expoſing their Perſons unneceſ⯑ſarily, bring them back to me again in Safety, purſued ſhe, letting fall ſome Tears from her fine Eyes, and be aſſured that my conſtant Eſteem, will be the Price of ſuch a Service.’

The Chevalier was preparing to aſſure the Counteſs that he would pay the moſt exact Obedience to her Commands, when young Berci her Brother-in-law, appeared in the Walk, and interrupted the moſt pleaſing Converſation he had ever known. How difficult is it for a Lover who has lately ex⯑perienced any unlooked for good Fortune, to conceal his Joy. The Chevalier at that Moment was hardly to be known, he was no more the ſame Man, plunged in Grief and wholly abſorbed in Melancholy. The Satisfaction he felt, ſhone in his Eyes, and enlivened his whole Countenance. His Con⯑verſation, freed from that Reſtraint he had formerly laboured under, was now eaſy and chearful, and as they continued their Walk all three together, ſome lively Sallies eſcaped him, which gave the Counteſs as good an Opinion of his Wit, as ſhe had of his Valour and Generoſity.

[98]It was not difficult for the Count's Brother to gueſs the Cauſe of ſo extraordinary a Change. He ſuppoſed his Siſter-in-law had relaxed in her Severity to the Chevalier, and if he did not form Suſpicions injurious to her Virtue, he concluded at leaſt that their Farewel had been very tender, and that they were well aſſured of each other's Affection: how⯑ever he prudently diſſembled his Thoughts, and contented himſelf with obſerving them carefully all the reſt of the Evening; the Lovers perceived it, and were more circum⯑ſpect, but their Eyes often met, and to an intereſted Obſerver, could not fail, of betraying their ſecret Sentiments. The next Day was appointed for their Journey to Paris. The Parting between the Count and Counteſs, was extremely moving, they both ſhed Tears, and probably the Chevalier had ſome Part in thoſe of Madam de Berci. He was not permitted to indulge his Grief with any outward Ex⯑preſſions of it, but his Eyes looked a thouſand tender Farewels, which the Counteſs could not but underſtand.

They arrived at Paris the ſame Night, and ſtayed there ſome Days, to provide themſelves with Armour and all Things that were neceſ⯑ſary for their Expedition; and after they had furniſhed themſelves with Letters of Exchange for Holland, they took Poſt for that Place; leaving Orders that their Equipages ſhould follow them by eaſy Journies. They had the good Fortune to arrive eight Days before [99] Rhineburg was inveſted, which gave them Time to throw themſelves into the Town, that they might have Part in the glorious De⯑fence it made, during the three Months which the Siege of that important Place continued.

It does not enter into my Deſign, to deſcribe here, the Particulars of a Siege, which may be read at length, in the Hiſtories of Holland. I ſhall only relate, what properly belongs to the Subject I am treating. The Beſieged made ſeveral Sallies with great Advantage, in all which, our Voluntiers ſignaliſed themſelves, and were very much taken Notice of; but the Chevalier des Eſſars, gave ſo many Proofs of his Courage, that he was looked upon as a Prodigy of Strength and Valour. Notwith⯑ſtanding the Promiſes he made to his adored Counteſs, he was far from acting with Caution, he ruſhed into the thickeſt Dangers, and ex⯑poſed his Perſon in every Place, where moſt Glory was to be acquired. No Man under⯑ſtood the Art of War better than he did, he was particularly ſkillful in the Art of For⯑tification, and his Advice contributed great⯑ly to prolong the Defence of the Place. He might be ſeen upon the Ramparts like one of the Heroes of old, overturning all that made any Attempts to ſcale them, and fearleſsly receiving upon his Buckler, the innumerable Stokes that were aimed at him. He was only attentive to the Preſervation of his two Friends, the Count of Berci, and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, whoſe Lives were more [100] precious to him, than his own; he kept them always in his Sight, and never failed to bring them off in Safety, when their too great Ar⯑dour had carried them, in ſpite of his Re⯑monſtrances, into Places where their Lives were moſt expoſed.

The Siege of Rhineburg had already laſted two Months, by the uncommon Efforts of the Warriors who defended the Place, when it was reſolved that a new Sally ſhould be made, from which they hoped for great Ad⯑vantages; a dreadful Mine being ordered to be ſprung at the ſame Time to favour the Sally. Although our noble Frenchmen had been greatly fatigued with their paſt Labours, yet they were determined not to miſs this Op⯑portunity of gathering new Laurels. The Enemies, who did not expect this ſudden Sal⯑ly, were at firſt put into Diſorder, and fled, but ſoon rallying again, the Fight was re⯑newed with equal Fury, on both Sides: The Count of Berci's Brother raſhly engaging himſelf too far from his own Party, was taken by the Enemies, the Chevalier not being near enough to prevent his Misfortune; but being informed of it, he reſolved, coſt what it would, to recover him; he overthrew all that oppoſed his Paſſage; and the Enemy's Troops, amazed at a Courage and Strength, which appeared to them more than human, dreaded him more than half the Garriſon. He had already ſlain a great many with his own Hand, when he perceived that his dear Count was juſt thrown [101] on the Ground by a Grenadier with a Stroke of his Sword, which however had only ſtun⯑ned him. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, his Brother-in-law, was near him, but had enough to do to defend himſelf againſt the Blows that were aimed at him on all Sides. The Grenadier was juſt going to take away the Life of the Count de Berci, if the Cheva⯑lier, who never one Moment forgot the Commands of Madam de Berci, had not flown to his Relief; he ſtruck down with one Blow the Grenadier, who was going to murder the Count, and after he had helped him up, they both joined to diſengage the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who was defend⯑ing himſelf alone againſt three fierce Enemies. They ſoon got rid of them, and made a hor⯑rible Slaughter of ſeveral others, who met their Fury. The Signal for re-entering the Town being given, they obeyed with Regret, ſtill fighting as they retreated, and they were the laſt that entered, having brought off the Troops with great Glory and Succeſs. The Chevalier was more pleaſed with his good Fortune in having preſerved his dear Friends, than with all the Praiſes that were given him by thoſe who had been Witneſſes of his Ac⯑tions. To have had it in his Power to do ſome Service to his beloved Counteſs, in the Perſons of a Huſband and Brother ſo dear to her, gave him more Joy, than the Laurels he had gained with ſo many Dangers, and with ſuch loud Applauſe. However, they were all three greatly afflicted at the Misfortune [102] that had happened to young Berci. A Trum⯑pet was ſent next Day to the General to de⯑ſire he might be treated with the Reſpect due to his Quality. His Captivity laſted but a ſhort Time; for he was ſoon after exchanged for a Kinſman of the Marquis de Spinola's, who had been taken Priſoner by the Be⯑ſieged.

Rhineburg, had now heldout three Months, more through the Valour of the Beſieged, than the Strength of the Place. The Go⯑vernour deſpairing of Succours, and growing deſtitute of Proviſion and Ammunition, de⯑manded a Capitulation. The vigourous D [...] ⯑fence he had made, was alike glorious to him, and advantageous for his Party; for it effectually hindered the Enemies from un⯑dertaking any thing conſiderable during the Remainder of the Campaign. The Enemies, doing Juſtice to his Valour and good Con⯑duct, allowed him very honourable Condi⯑tions. Our Voluntiers finding that the Sea⯑ſon was far advanced, and that they were not likely to have any more Opportunities of ſignaliſing themſelves, took the Road back to Paris, making ſhort Journies. But it is now Time to ſee how the Counteſs of Berci employed herſelf during the Abſence of her Lord.

A few Days after his Departure from Beau⯑plan, ſhe ſet out for Burgundy, with two of her Women, and a Gentleman whom the [103] Count had left to attend her. She ſtopped at an Inn at Auxerre, and as ſhe entered the Houſe, ſaw a young Lady, who ſeemed to be juſt alighted alſo, ſtanding at the Window. Madam de Berci thought her extremely hand⯑ſome, and was deſirous of having the Pleaſure of her Company during the Time they ſtaid there, ſhe ſent to beg the Favour they might dine together. The young Lady gladly ac⯑cepted the Invitation, and entering the Coun⯑teſs's Apartment, both were pleaſingly ſur⯑priſed to ſee each other: for in effect, this young Lady, whom the Counteſs did not know at a Diſtance, was Mademoiſelle de Montmartin,— with whom the young Mar⯑quis de Saint-Sauveur was in Love.

They embraced with mutual Satisfaction; and, after the firſt Compliments, each aſked the other, where ſhe was travelling? and were infinitely pleaſed to find that great Part of their Journey they might be together. After Dinner they were informed, that their Coaches were ready, but the Counteſs inſiſted upon Mademoiſelle de Montmartin's coming into her's, their Women being all accommodated in the young Lady's Coach, Madam de Berci and ſhe had the Pleaſure of converſing toge⯑ther without Reſtraint.

As ſoon as they had left Auxerre, the Coun⯑teſs informed Mademoiſelle de Montmartin of the Occaſion of this Journey, ſhe told her, that in the Company of her Father and Mo⯑ther, [104] ſhe was going to ſeek ſome Conſolation, for the Grief which her Lord's and her Bro⯑ther's Abſence had given her, who, ſhe ad⯑ded, were gone to make a Campaign in Hol⯑land. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin knew this as well as the Counteſs; for the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Monſieur de Morigny, had both wrote to her before their Departure from Beauplan, to inform her of their intended Ex⯑pedition, and to take their Leaves of her. She was almoſt as much afflicted as the Counteſs, and was going into the Country to bewail her Lover's Abſence, and to conceal the In⯑tereſt ſhe took in it. However, ſhe affected to be ſurpriſed at the News, expreſſing a great Eſteem for the young Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur, had ſhe ſaid Love, ſhe would but have done Juſtice to thoſe Sentiments ſhe felt for him; but on ſuch Occaſions young Ladies generally ſhew, they can be very ſecret. And, indeed, ſhe had diſſembled her Thoughts with ſo much Art, that neither the Marquis, or Monſieur de Morigny, had ever Reaſon to flat⯑ter himſelf with being prefered. To this Conduct of her's was owing the Diſpute which terminated in their Duel at Fontainebleau; for each ſuppoſing the other more happy than himſelf, both were enraged, and thought themſelves injured.

However, Mademoiſelle de Montmartin was not quite ſo reſerved with the Siſter of her favourite Lover: for though ſhe would not confeſs, that ſhe loved the Marquis de [105] Saint-Sauveur, yet ſhe acknowledged, with a graceful Modeſty, that, notwithſtanding Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny had great Merit, yet he would never be her Choice. This was enough to aſſure the Counteſs, who did not want Pe⯑netration, that one Lover was rejected, in Fa⯑vour of the other: She knew her Sex too well, to expect a farther Explanation, from one ſo modeſt as Mademoiſelle de Montmar⯑tin; and ſenſible how obliging ſuch an Decla⯑mation was for her Brother, ſhe only anſwer⯑ed it by tender Careſſes, to ſhew that ſhe un⯑derſtood it ſo.

Mademoiſelle de Montmartin was abſolute⯑ly ignorant of the Chevalier des Eſſar's Paſſion for the Counteſs, as well as the great Eſteem ſhe had for him. They diſcourſed about the Duel between the Rivals; Mademoiſelle de Montmantin praiſed the Valour and Generoſity of the Chevalier, in very high Terms; and the Counteſs was not ſorry, that ſhe had an Op⯑portunity of talking of him, both of them had great Obligations to him. No Converſa⯑tion is ſo delightful as that on a beloved Ob⯑ject. Theſe Ladies ſufficiently proved the Truth of that Obſervation; for the Count, the Chevalier and the Marquis afforded them a Subject ſo copious, that, although they talked of nothing elſe during that Day's Journey, yet when they came to part at Night, they ſeemed to have a great deal more to ſay. The Counteſs and Mademoiſelle de Montmartin embraced each other tenderly, and vowed an [106] inviolable Friendſhip. Madam de Berci pro⯑miſed to be in Paris at the Expiration of two Months, from whence ſhe did not intend to remove till her Lord's Arrival: Mademoiſelle de Montmartin on her Side aſſured her, that ſhe would join her there about that Time, and intreated her to write to her frequently, promiſing to be as punctual as poſſible in her Anſwers.

The Counteſs of Berci continuing her Jour⯑ney, arrived three Days afterwards at her Father's Eſtate, where ſhe was received with the higheſt Teſtimonies of Joy. Her Mother, who had not ſeen her ſince her Marriage, held her a long Time embraced in her Arms, bedewing her fair Face, with Tears of Tender⯑neſs and Delight. Madame de Berci, as ſoon as theſe firſt Tranſports of their Meeting were ſubſided, acquainted her Parents with her Lord's and her Brother's Departure to Hol⯑land, and that it was the Chevalier des Eſſars who had perſuaded them to this Expedition, to which ſhe had been obliged to conſent.

‘God grant, ſaid the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, with lifted Eyes, that their ſafe Return may put an End to your Fears and ours. My Daughter, added the good old Man, you recal to my Remembrance a Man who will ever be dear to me, his Wel⯑fare, next to that of my Wife and Children, is what I take moſt Intereſt in. I dread leſt his immoderate Courage ſhould expoſe [107] him to Dangers no human Force can ſur⯑mount; for all that Man can do, he can, he ſaved my Life once by his Valour, and he ſaved it a ſecond time, by preſerving your Brother, it will never be in my Power to make him a ſufficient Return for Bene⯑fits of this Nature.’

The Counteſs durſt not truſt herſelf ſo far as to anſwer this Diſcourſe of her Father's, ſhe dreaded leſt ſhe ſhould ſay too much on ſo pleaſing a Subject, ſhe therefore artfully turned the Converſation upon her meeting with Mademoiſelle de Montmartin at Au⯑xerre. She extolled the Merit and Beauty of that young Lady, and expreſſed an ardent Wiſh, that ſhe might be ſo happy as to have her for a Siſter-in-law. The old Marquis, who knew her Family, as alſo that ſhe had a very large Fortune, a Quality which in thoſe Times, as well as our own, was of higher Eſtimation than all the Advantages of Wit, Birth, and Beauty, was extremely well ſatis⯑fied with his Son's Taſte, and approved of his Daughter's Propoſal, declaring that her Eſtate was a very good one, and ſhe was a very ami⯑able Lady.

In the mean time the Count of Berci, who took every Opportunity of writing to his Wife, and ſending her News of every Thing that concerned him, informed her of his Bro⯑ther's being taken Priſoner by the Enemies, and the Extremity to which he himſelf and [108] his Brother-in-law would have been reduced, but for the immediate Aſſiſtance they received from the Chevalier des Eſſars. He acknow⯑ledged, that he owed his Life to the Courage of that brave Man, and that he had alſo pre⯑ſerved the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur a ſecond time. The Count gave a very circumſtan⯑tial Account of the Danger they had been in, and of the Valour and Conduct of his Friend, who by a thouſand brave Exploits, had gained a never dying Reputation. He intreated his Wife to be at Paris in a few Days, where he hoped he ſhould ſoon meet her.

‘No, my dear Daughter, ſaid her Mother tranſported with Admiration and Gratitude, the Count muſt come and fetch you; write to him to bring with him this wonderful Man. This is the only Way we have to ſee him; he is ſo great a Friend of your Lord's, that he will not refuſe to accompany him to Burgundy. We will ſhew him by our Re⯑ception of him, that although it is not in our Power to repay the ineſtimable Benefits he has conferred upon us, yet that we can acknowledge them with the utmoſt Grati⯑tude.’ The Counteſs could not but be ve⯑ry much affected with this new Proof of the Chevalier's Paſſion for her, her Delicacy was not ſhocked at the grateful Tenderneſs ſhe felt for a Man who had preſerved her Huſband. His Generoſity, and the Diſintereſtedneſs of his Love, ſeemed to authoriſe thoſe favourable Sentiments ſhe had for him. The Praiſes her [109] Father and Mother beſtowed upon him, ſtrengthened thoſe Sentiments; and it was with Difficulty that ſhe forbore joining in their Eulogiums on this brave Man, with an Ardour that might have betrayed her Secret. She reflected with Aſtoniſhment on the ſtrange Effects of Fortune, which continually furniſh⯑ed him with new Arms, to take, as it were, her Heart by Force. She became ſenſible, at length, that ſhe loved the Chevalier.— A Crime, which, though involuntary, ſhe would not have pardoned in herſelf, had ſhe not re⯑ſolved to die, rather than do any thing that could wound her Duty, or throw a Blemiſh upon her Fame.

After ſhe had continued ſome Weeks at her Father's, ſhe had Affairs to ſolicit at Court, which required that ſhe ſhould be there, as ſoon as poſſible. The Marquis and his La⯑dy uſed a thouſand Efforts to detain her, with a Hope of having ſoon the Company of their Son-in-law, and the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars; but the Counteſs could not be prevail⯑ed upon. — Although the Care of her Affairs had indeed leſs Part in her Eagerneſs to be gone, than her Impatience to meet her Lord, and perhaps a ſecret Wiſh to ſee the Cheva⯑lier; beſides, ſhe had promiſed Mademoiſelle de Montmartin to be at Paris within two Months, and the Time drew very near, that young Lady was already there, and had wrote to the Counteſs to remind her of her Pro⯑miſe.

[110]Madam de Berci took a tender Farewel of her Parents, who believing they ſaw her for the laſt time, were diſſolved in Tears and Grief; the Counteſs was not leſs afflicted, and with Dif⯑ficulty diſengaging herſelf from their Arms, ſhe threw herſelf into her Coach in a ſilent Agony of Grief.

Having met with no Accidents or Delays in her Journey, ſhe arrived at Paris on the tenth of September.

She employed all the remaining Part of the Time her Lord continued at the Siege of Rhineburg, in ſoliciting the Affair ſhe had at Court. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin hardly ever left her, nothing could be more tender and ſincere, than the Friendſhip between theſe two Ladies. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin felt the Abſence of the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur leſs ſevere, when ſhe was in the Company of his charming Siſter, and Ma⯑dam de Berci could indulge her Tenderneſs by talking of the Chevalier des Eſſars to Made⯑moiſelle de Montmartin, who conſidering him as the Preſerver of her Lover's Life, was ne⯑ver tired of hearing his Praiſes.

The Ladies had Lodgings near the Arſenal, where the young Nobility diverted themſelves every Day with Tilting, and other martial Sports, and theſe bloodleſs Wars were often a pleaſing Amuſement to them. One Day they were informed, that ſome Foreigners, who [111] were juſt arrived at Paris, had challenged ſome of the Courtiers to break a Lance with them, as was the Cuſtom in the gallant Reign of Henry IV. The King, who ſuppoſed theſe Foreigners to be Engliſhmen, a Nation he had a high Eſteem for, reſolved to honour this Combat with his Preſence, the whole Court came to the Arſenal, and our two Friends did not fail likewiſe to be there. The Foreigners made good their Challenge a long Time againſt ſeveral Lords of the Court, but one amongſt them ſoon drew all the Attention of the Spectators. He gave ſo many Proofs of an uncommon Courage, and Addreſs, that one of the braveſt Men of the Court, and a great Favourite of the King's, flattering himſelf, that he could revenge the Defeat of the other Lords, by overcoming his Vanquiſher, ad⯑vanced fiercely againſt him, however, he had ſoon Cauſe to repent of his Preſumption, for after ſeveral vigourous Efforts to overthrow his Adverſary, the Stranger, weary of a Re⯑ſiſtance to which he had not been accuſtomed, collecting all his Strength, gave him ſo fu⯑rious a Blow that he fell groveling on the Ground.

The Courtier was ſlightly wounded by the Lance; and although the King was ſoon in⯑formed that his Hurt was not dangerous, yet he was ſo much concerned at an Accident ſo mortifying for his Favourite, that he com⯑manded the Sports ſhould ceaſe; and ſending for the Challengers, deſired they would make [112] themſelves known. They obeyed, with a profound Reverence to the King, and taking off their caſques, diſcovered to him that they were his own Subjects.

The King and the whole Court ſoon knew them to be the ſame brave Men who three Months before had left Paris, to go and ſhut themſelves up in Rhineburg, and indeed they were no other, than the Chevalier des Eſſars, and his two noble Friends; they had arrived that very Day from Holland, and had agreed to ſignalize their Entry into Paris, by ſome gallant Adventure.

The King was extremely pleaſed to ſee them again, and was better ſatisfied that his Favourite and his Courtiers ſhould be over⯑come by their own Countrymen, than Foreigners. He ſaid a great many obliging Things upon their Valour and Succeſs; and after conferring with them upon ſome Parti⯑culars relating to the Siege of Rhineburg, and declaring that he was highly pleaſed with their Conduct, he returned to the Louvre, and left them in the midſt of the Ladies.

In the mean time, the Praiſes that were given to the Chevalier des Eſſars, reſounded from every Part, and had Glory been the predominant Paſſion in his Soul, he might have been extremely happy; but he was wholly taken up with the Thoughts of his lovely Counteſs, whom he was every where [113] ſeeking with his Eyes. The Impatience that was viſible in his Countenance, and that Ab⯑ſence of Mind, which made him inſenſible to every thing that paſſed, had there been Lei⯑ſure for Obſervation, might have betrayed his Secret. At length he diſcovered the Place where Madam de Berci was, he pointed her out with a joyful Emotion to the Count, and they immediately advanced to ſalute her, while the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny flew eagerly to kiſs the Hands of Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, who was with her; that young Lady was in great Per⯑plexity how to behave in ſuch a manner to theſe Rivals, as might not excite the Jealouſy of either, by a Preference too remarkable. And though her Heart declared for the Mar⯑quis de Saint-Sauveur, yet ſhe received Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny with equal Appearance of Satisfaction.

The Count of Berci having embraced the Counteſs his Wife, preſented the Chevalier des Eſſars to her, and caſting a tender Regard upon him, ſaid, ‘Madam, it is to this brave Man, this truly generous Friend, that you owe the ſafe Return of your Huſband, and your Brother; to him we are obliged for the Happineſs of ſeeing you again. Pay your Acknowledgments here, and by your grateful Reception of our Preſerver, ſhew your Eſtimation of the Benefits he has con⯑ferred upon you.’

[114] ‘It is not the only time, replied the Coun⯑teſs, ſweetly bluſhing, that the Chevalier, by the Greatneſs of his Services to us, has made all Thanks poor, and infinitely below the Obligations we have to him; and if it is not in our Power to repay ſuch noble Acts, with any thing farther than ſuch Sen⯑timents as the higheſt Gratitude inſpires, he will, like Heaven, be contented with Thanks and Praiſe, ſince Virtue is always its own greateſt Reward.’

The Chevalier underſtood the full Force of this Anſwer, which probably the Count might think a little extravagant. ‘Madam, an⯑ſwered he, the Services I have been ſo hap⯑py as to render you, are only conſiderable with reſpect to their Motive, and their Ob⯑jects and to which Fortune has contributed more than any thing elſe: but were they much greater than they are, I ſhould think them too well rewarded, by the Honour you do me, of appearing ſenſible of them.’

The Count, during this Speech, had been making his Compliments to Mademoiſelle de Montmartin; and the Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur then found Time to ſalute his Siſter, and to preſent Monſieur de Morigny to her; after which the Count giving his Hand to the young Lady, while the Chevalier had the Happineſs of leading the charming Counteſs, they went altogether to Madam de Berci's Lodgings, [115] which were but a ſmall Diſtance from thence.

The Counteſs detained Mademoiſelle de Montmartin to Supper, as likewiſe ſome other Ladies, her Friends, who being informed of the Count's Return, came to take Part in her Joy. After Supper, ſeveral of the Count's Friends coming in, the Chevalier des Eſſars left him amongſt them, and joined the Ladies, who had formed a little Cabal by themſelves. The Diſcourſe now turned wholly upon Gal⯑lantry: One of the Ladies, who had a great deal of Vivacity, aſked the Chevalier, if In⯑ſenſibility was the neceſſary Conſequence of uncommon Courage; and whether Love and Glory were incompatible? ‘To tell you the Truth, added ſhe, we are all very unhappy, to find that our Charms have yet made no Impreſſion upon your Heart. And ſince, as we find by your Example, that Hero's are ſenſible to no other Paſſion but Ambi⯑tion, we are in Danger of having either no Adorers at all, or ſuch as will do us no Honour.’

The Counteſs and the Chevalier could not help ſmiling, at this Speech. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin finding the Chevalier ſilent, turned to the Lady, who had made the At⯑tack upon him. ‘We find, Madam, ſaid ſhe, that the Hero's of old were proud of ſurrendering their Arms to Love, and thoſe Laurels they had gained with ſuch Danger [116] in the Field, were generally offered to ſome Fair ones, at their Return; why then ſhould you imagine that the Chevalier would think Love a Blemiſh to his Glory, when they imagined it added Glory to theirs. As for me, I declare, I believe him to be as much in Love as any of thoſe great Men, but infinitely more diſcreet; and his great Care, to conceal his Flame, from all Eyes but thoſe which have kindled it, is a Proof with me, that it is ſo much the more vio⯑lent and laſting.’

Mademoiſelle de Montmartin would not have railled the Chevalier in this manner, had ſhe had the leaſt Suſpicion of his Paſ⯑ſion for the Counteſs; ſhe had no other Deſign in it, but to keep up the Mirth of the Converſation. The Counteſs knew not what to think, when the Chevalier recover⯑ing a little from the Perplexity into which this Diſcourſe had thrown him, ſaid, ‘If there is no Heart, Madam, but what ſome Time or other is ſenſible of the Force of Love, mine, if it had kept its Freedom hitherto, would certainly loſe it now, amidſt ſo many Charms; but grant I am in Love, what would it avail me to confeſs a Flame for which I cannot hope for any Re⯑medy?’

‘Perhaps, Monſieur, ſaid Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, the Beauty for whom you languiſh in ſecret, wants only ſuch a Con⯑feſſion, [117] to make her pity, and reward your Love.’

The Counteſs was now more alarmed than before, and apprehenſive that her Silence might make it ſuſpected that ſhe was too much intereſted in this Diſcourſe, addreſſed herſelf to the Chevalier, with an Air ſo un⯑reſerved and eaſy, as might have blinded the moſt penetrating View.'

‘If I was acquainted with this haughty Beauty, Monſieur, ſaid ſhe, and was aſ⯑ſured that I had any Influence over her, I would never ceaſe to importune her, till ſhe had rendered Juſtice to your Valour and Merit. I am perſuaded, the reſt of theſe Ladies are as much inclined to fa⯑vour you, and would readily join their Endeavours with mine to ſerve you. If then you would make uſe of our Aſſiſt⯑ance, you muſt tell us the Name of this powerful Beauty, who has had the Glo⯑ry to triumph over ſuch a Heart, that we may all plead your Cauſe, myſelf parti⯑cularly, in Acknowledgment for the Ser⯑vices I have received from you.’

It was plain, the Counteſs relied greatly on the Chevalier's Wit and Diſcretion, or ſhe could not have gone ſo far; he anſwer⯑ed her Expectations, and taking the Word, with a Grace that ſuffered not any Embar⯑raſsment to be perceived, ‘Madam, ſaid [118] he, there is ſo great a Diſproportion be⯑tween the Merit of the Lady I love, and my own, that I dare not hope for any Re⯑turn to my Paſſion. However, I am ſo highly obliged by the Offer you have gene⯑rouſly made me, and I owe you ſo much Reſpect and Obedience, that, although I had determined not to diſcloſe her Name, yet if you command me, I will reveal it to you, upon Condition, that you will pro⯑miſe me, Madam, never to diſcover the Secret.’

‘It is impoſſible to accept of your Condi⯑tion, interrupted the Counteſs ſmiling, how little do you underſtand our Sex, if you think we would not rather loſe the Pleaſure of hearing a Secret, than be under the hor⯑rible Reſtraint of keeping it; but I believe, continued ſhe, that we have really carried our Curioſity too far. — It would be inhu⯑man to rally you any more, and we will content ourſelves, with knowing that you are in Love, without deſiring you to name the Object.’

The Chevalier made no Reply, but taking up a Lute that lay upon a Table, he touched the Strings with ſuch Art, as ſhewed he was a perfect Maſter of that Inſtrument, and joining to it his Voice, he ſung a melting Air, which expreſſed all the Fervour of his Paſſion. The Company, drawn by the Sweet⯑neſs of his Voice, began to gather round [119] him. — The Ladies, who remarked the Pur⯑port of the Song, which lamented a hopeleſs Love, and ſaw his Eyes ſwimming in tender Languiſhment, ſighing at every Pauſe with ſympathetic Sorrow, were perſuaded that he was indeed a Lover, and that he was unfor⯑tunate.

The Counteſs was ſo affected with this muſical Complaint, which ſhe underſtood perfectly well, that it was with Difficulty ſhe reſtrained her Tears, and not daring to meet her Lover's Eyes with ſo much Softneſs in her own, ſhe turned them on her Lord, cal⯑ling up all her Virtue and her Fortitude to reſiſt the ſoft Emotions, that filled her Breaſt. The Chevalier had ſcarce ended his Song, when a Page entered the Room, and deſired to ſpeak with him. He roſe up, and Madam de Berci, who followed him with her Eyes, ſaw that the Page delivered a Meſſage to him in a Whiſper, after which the Chevalier, making an Excuſe to the Company for leaving them, followed the little Emiſſary down Stairs.

The Counteſs found ſomething in this myſterious Meſſage, ſufficient to alarm her, ſhe ſuſpected it was ſome Lady who had ſent for the Chevalier. That Love, which had lain hid even from herſelf at the Bottom of her Heart, flamed out in Jealouſy at this In⯑cident; ſhe felt Emotions which hitherto ſhe had been a Stranger to, a deadly Palenaſs [120] overſpread her Face, ſhe trembled, ſighed, and e'er ſhe was aware the Tears ſtarted [...]om her Eyes. Such extraordinary Agita⯑ſions muſt neceſſarily have awakened the Company's Suſpicions, had not the Accident that happened at that very Inſtant, given a Colour to it, by the general Terror and Grief with which all were ſeized.

The Chevalier having, as we have already ſaid, followed the Page down Stairs, he ruſh⯑ed ſuddenly out of the Door that led to the Street, and three Men advancing immediate⯑ly to the Chevalier, ſeized him, and plunged their Poignards into his Body. The Cheva⯑lier diſengaging himſelf from their hold, drew his Sword to defend himſelf, but e'er he could execute his Intentions, he received another Wound, which depriving him at once of Senſe and Motion, he fell to the Ground. The Aſſaſſins ſuppoſing him dead, endeavour⯑ed to eſcape by the Door through which the Page had run out, and which, as they ex⯑pected, he had left open for them; but the Boy in his Hurry and Confuſion flung the Door after him, ſo that the Murderers found themſelves encloſed on every Side. The Noiſe the Chevalier had made by ſtrugling with them, reached the Ears of ſome Servants, who waited in the Antichamber, near that the Company were in, they ran haſtily down Stairs, and came juſt Time enough to ſee the Chevalier fall all bloody upon the Ground. One of them running up Stairs again, entered [121] the Room where the Company was, and told them that the Chevalier des Eſſars had juſt been aſſaſſinated.

Inſtantly the Count of Berci, followed by his Brother, and Meſſieurs de Saint-Sauveur, and Morigny, ran with their Swords drawn to the Hall: they found their Friend bathed in his own Blood, and lying ſenſeleſs upon the Ground, and the three Murderers, who en⯑deavoured to conceal themſelves, ſtanding in a Corner of the Hall. Theſe Wretches, ſee⯑ing the imminent Danger they were in, and that they could hope for no Mercy, ſought like Madmen; the Count of Berci called to them to yield, but finding them obſtinate, he and his two Friends ſoon diſpatched them. Two of them died upon the Spot, and the third lived a few Moments after he fell, but could not be prevailed upon to declare who he was, and upon what Account he had joined in ſo villainous an Action.

The Houſe was full of Tumult and Diſor⯑der; the Count's Servants, having taken up the Chevalier, carried him without Reflexion into the Room where the Ladies were; they laid him on a Sopha, and ran to fetch Sur⯑geons. — What a ſad Spectacle was this for the Counteſs of Berci, her Lover pale, bloody, and disfigured with Wounds! She ſtood gazing for a Moment upon him, her Eyes ſeemed fixed, her Feet rooted to the Ground; then with a deep Groan ſhe fell ſenſeleſs into [122] the Arms of Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, who was near her, and was carried into an⯑other Room, where all the Remedies they applied to recover her, were for ſome Time ineffectual.

The Surgeons in the mean time examined the Chevalier's Wounds, they pronounced them very dangerous; they conferred toge⯑ther a few Moments in a Language unintel⯑ligible to any but themſelves, and then pro⯑ceeded to apply their Dreſſings, declaring, that if the Chevalier recovered, it would be little leſs than a Prodigy. His Friends liſten⯑ed to this as to the Sentence of his Death, and abandoned themſelves to exceſſive Grief. The Chevalier was put to Bed, and continued all the reſt of the Night in a Swoon. To⯑wards the Morning he began to recover his Senſes, but his Voice was ſo low that he could ſcarce be heard when he attempted to ſpeak. He had loſt a great Quantity of Blood, and with it all Remembrance of what had happened to him. The Surgeons, who viſited him as ſoon as it was light, ordered that he ſhould not be allowed to ſee any Per⯑ſon, or to ſpeak, but be kept as quiet as poſ⯑ſible. His Friends, amidſt their Anxiety for his Recovery, uſed their utmoſt Endeavours to find out the Authors of ſo horrid a Villany. After a ſtrict Enquiry, they diſcovered the Page, who had brought the Meſſage to the Chevalier, and delivered him up to his But⯑chers. He confeſſed, that he and thoſe Men [123] had been employed by a Kinſman of the King's Favourite, who had been unhorſed in the Liſts by the Chevalier the ſame Day he came to Paris.

The Friends of Monſieur des Eſſars, full of Indignation, and breathing Revenge, went to the Louvre, to complain of this Aſſaſſina⯑tion to the King, and to demand Juſtice on the Author of it. It was but too probable, that the Favourite himſelf, who was likewiſe vanquiſhed by the Chevalier, was concerned in this black Affair; however, he diſavowed it publicly, and ſhewed great Concern for the Condition to which the Chevalier was re⯑duced. His Grief, whether real or affected, had ſuch Marks of Sincerity in it, as perſuaded the King he was abſolutely ignorant of the horrid Deed, and being charmed at ſuch a Conviction of his Innocence, he obliged him, and the Friends of the Chevalier, to embrace in his Preſence, commanding them poſitively to take no other Meaſures to revenge him than thoſe the Law allows.

In the mean time the Favourite's Kinſman ſought to ſecure his own Safety by Flight: He went into another Country, and never more durſt venture to return to France. But although the Favourite was juſtified in the King's Opi⯑nion, yet the Public had not the ſame Indul⯑gence for him, nor equal Facility in believing his Profeſſions. The Chevalier had never had any declared Enemy, and it was the general [124] Diſcourſe, that the falſe Shame of being van⯑quiſhed, had induced him to commit an Ac⯑tion ſo infamous and ſo unworthy of a brave Man.

But let us now return to the unfortunate Counteſs of Berci: When ſhe had recovered her Senſes, and began to reflect on what had paſſed, ſhe found ſhe had given very remark⯑able Teſtimonies of her Grief and Tenderneſs before ſeveral Witneſſes, all of whom ſhe could not flatter herſelf were ſo taken up with their own Terror and Concern, as not to ob⯑ſerve them. She trembled at the Interpreta⯑tion her Lord might put upon her Behaviour; but the Count of Berci, who tenderly loved his Wife, and who had not the leaſt Suſpicion of her Virtue, attributed her ſudden Fainting to the Terrors with which ſhe was ſeized at the Sight of the Chevalier in that dreadful Condition; and it was natural for her to be extremely afflicted for the Danger of one from whom ſhe had received ſo many Ser⯑vices.

He was the firſt to tell her that the Sur⯑geons had ſome Hopes of his Recovery; ſhe was overjoyed at this News, but the Appre⯑henſions ſhe ſtill continued to be under, that her Regard for the Chevalier was diſcovered, embittered that Joy, and filled her with An⯑xiety. She dreaded leſt her Brother-in-law ſhould form Suſpicions injurious to her Vir⯑tue. He, indeed, was but too well acquainted [125] with the Chevalier's Paſſion for the Counteſs' and did not fail to obſerve the Conduct of them both. His Siſter-in-law's Fainting did not eſcape his Notice; but whatever were his Thoughts about it, he kept them ſhut up in his Heart, and never took any Step that might give her Uneaſineſs, or prejudice her in the Opinion of her Huſband, and notwithſtand⯑ing his ſecret Envy of the Chevalier, he al⯑ways governed himſelf by thoſe Principles of Generoſity which were natural to him.

As ſoon as the Chevalier was able to re⯑flect upon the Adventure which had happen⯑ed to him, he employed his Mind inceſſant⯑ly in conſidering who could be the Author of it: And as Lovers are ever torturing them⯑ſelves with imaginary Evils, he ſometimes fancied, that this ſecret Enemy, who ſought to take his Life, by ſuch ſhameful Methods, was a Rival, who flattered himſelf that it was he only who ſtood in his Way to Hap⯑pineſs. This Thought gave him inexpreſ⯑ſible Agonies; he burnt with Deſire to be revenged, and Impatience and the Inquietude of his Mind greatly retarded his Recovery.

The Count of Berci, who came into his Chamber, one Day, when he was moſt diſ⯑turbed with theſe Chimera's, finding his Fe⯑ver much higher, and hearing him ſigh, and diſcover great Agitation of Mind: ‘What is it that troubles you, my dear Chevalier? (ſaid this tender and faithful Friend) Why [126] do you give way to any anxious Thoughts in the Condition you are in? The Melan⯑choly that oppreſſes you, will be of dan⯑gerous Conſequence to your Health, and the Hopes the Surgeons have given us of your Life, will be all blaſted, if you do not, by calming your Mind, contribute to your Cure. Baniſh theſe Cares that diſturb your own Quiet, and afflict your Friends, and be aſſured that you are already re⯑venged of your Enemies, if that Thought can give you any Relief.’

The Count then informed him of the Fate of his three Aſſaſſins, but took Care not to own his Suſpicions concerning the King's Favourite, whom he had vanquiſhed in the Liſts the Day he arrived at Paris. He was afraid, that he would too ſoon be led, by common Diſcourſe, and his own Reflexions, to ſuſpect him himſelf, and knowing the Courage of his Friend, he did not doubt but as ſoon as he had recovered his Strength, he would take Vengeance on him for the baſe Attempt he had made upon his Life.

The Chevalier would have anſwered the Count, and expreſſed his Acknowledgment of the Friendſhip he diſcovered for him, but Monſieur de Berci, laying his Hand up⯑on his Mouth, conjured him to obey the Surgeons Directions, who had earneſtly re⯑commended to him not to ſpeak; and ten⯑derly urged him to contribute all in his [127] Power towards his Cure, which was earneſt⯑ly prayed for by his Friends. The Cheva⯑lier then contented himſelf with preſſing in an affectionate manner the Count's Hand, which he held between his, endeavouring, by this Action, to ſhew him how greatly he was affected with all thoſe Inſtances he gave him of his Friendſhip. He ardently wiſhed to ſee the Counteſs; — her Preſence would have been an effectual Relief to him, but ſhe was of a contrary Opinion: She was afraid that the Sight of her might produce ſome dangerous Alteration, ſhe therefore con⯑tented herſelf with ſending frequent Meſſages to know the State of his Health, and to aſ⯑ſure him of the great Intereſt ſhe took in it.

At the Expiration of fifteen Days, the Surgeons declared that he was out of Danger, and that they would anſwer for his Life. The Count, eager to communi⯑cate this good News to his Wife, went in⯑ſtantly to her Apartment, and congratulated his Brother and her, upon the hoped-for Recovery of a Friend ſo dear to them all. Madam de Berci could reſiſt no longer the earneſt Deſire ſhe had to ſee him, but ſtill fearful of ſurpriſing him, ſhe ſent to let him know that ſhe would viſit him the next Day. This Interval appeared an Age to the tranſported Chevalier, he counted the Hours with Impatience, and bleſſed every fleeting [128] Moment as it paſt, which brought him nearer to his Happineſs.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Ma⯑demoiſelle de Montmartin, accompanied the Counteſs in this Viſit; but they, glad of an Opportunity to diſcourſe together apart, re⯑tired to one End of the Room, as ſoon as they had paid their Compliments to the Che⯑valier, and left the Counteſs alone at his Bed⯑ſide. The Chevalier, at the Sight of her, whom he loved with ſuch Ardency, forgot his Wounds and his Pain; he attempted to raiſe himſelf in his Bed, that he might, in a leſs unbecoming Poſture, thank her for the Honour ſhe did him. Madam de Berci perceiving his Intention, made a Motion with her Hand to hinder him. The happy Chevalier immediately ſeized that charming Hand, and the Counteſs not having Reſolu⯑tion enough to withdraw it at firſt, he printed an ardent Kiſs upon it, but again offering to preſs it to his Lips, ſhe drew it back with Precipitation, though with no Marks of Anger; and this mute Converſation gave place to Acknowledgements on the Part of the Chevalier, and Proteſtations of eternal Gratitude and Reſpect for her unmerited Goodneſs; but all uttered with ſuch appa⯑rent Diſorder, and in Language ſo uncon⯑nected, as perſuaded the Counteſs of the Fervour of his Love, better than the moſt eloquent Diſcourſe could have done. She aſſured him, on her Side, that ſhe had been [129] really afflicted at the Misfortune which had happened to him; ſhe intreated him to take Care of himſelf, and not retard his Cure by any Impatience, or Anxiety; ſhe ſaid a thou⯑ſand obliging Things to him, and although ſhe was a little offended at the Freedom he had uſed in taking her Hand ſo unexpectedly, yet ſhe would not, in the weak Condition he was in, diſcover any Reſentment towards him, but ſecretly reſolved to avoid, as much as poſſible, all Opportunities of being alone with him, leſt a leſs pardonable Liberty ſhould eſcape him: And fearing he would endanger his Health, by ſpeaking too much, if ſhe protracted her Viſit any longer, ſhe [...]o [...]e from her Chair, and Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin, and her Lover, approaching, ſhe took Leave of him, promiſing to ſee him ſoon again. She kept her Word, and viſited him frequently, but took Care to be as ſeldom as poſſible left alone at his Bedſide; her Preſence advanced his Cure more than all the Surgeons Endeavours, he felt no Pain when he ſaw her, and even the Torments of his Mind were ſuſpended while ſhe was with him; he [...]ound ſo much Sweetneſs in that ſoft and obliging Solicitude ſhe expreſſed for his Re⯑covery, that he began to dread leſt his Wound [...] ſhould be cured too ſoon.

‘Would to Heaven, Madam, ſaid he to her, one Day, when ſhe aſked him how he was, that I might continue ſtill for Years in this Condition, the higheſt Health has [130] not half ſo many Charms for me as theſe Wounds, ſince they procure me the Bleſſing of ſeeing you, and of being aſſured that you take ſome Intereſt in my Health.’

Although he ſpoke theſe Words very low, ſo that they could only be heard by the Coun⯑teſs, the reſt of the Company, who came with her to viſit, ſtanding at ſome Diſtance in Diſcourſe, yet ſhe bluſhed, and was in great Confuſion. ‘You make an ill Uſe of my Condeſcenſion, ſaid ſhe ſoftly in Anſwer, and you will force me to forbear my Viſits, unleſs you treat me with more Reſpect.’ Theſe Words were ſevere enough to have given the Chevalier great Pain, for nothing is ſo timid as a true Lover; but a Smile, which immediately after beamed over the fair Face of Madam de Berci, and a parting Look ſhe gave him, which expreſſed more Compaſ⯑ſion than Anger, calmed his Fears, and not⯑withſtanding his Wiſhes to the contrary, his Cure was ſoon perfected, and he obliged, through Decency, to quit the Count of Berci's Houſe, and remove to his own.

He now thought himſelf in a frightful So⯑litude, Abſence increaſed his Deſpair, with⯑out diminiſhing his Love; he had been ſo uſed to the Sight of the charming Counteſs, every Day, that he could not live without it. When the Hour approached, in which ſhe and her Friends uſed to viſit him, he felt more ſenſibly, the Want of that charming [131] Preſence, which while enjoyed, annihilated his Torments. He ſought for Relief in Com⯑pany and Amuſements, but in Crouds he was alone, and in the midſt of Pleaſures abſorb⯑ed in Melancholy.— Love purſued him every where, but a Love without Hope; and Rea⯑ſon, which he ſometimes called to his Aid, when it repreſented to him that his Purſuit was fruitleſs, increaſed his Deſpair, but left his Paſſion more violent than before.

Nor was the Counteſs without her Inquie⯑tudes: Her Tenderneſs for the Chevalier, though innocent, was a perpetual Reproach to her in her own Mind; Reaſon and Du⯑ty dictated to her, that ſhe ought to combat ſuch Thoughts, as ſeemed to incroach upon the Love ſhe owed her Huſband; while, on the other hand, the Services ſhe had re⯑ceived from the Chevalier demanded her Gratitude. His unhappy Love excited her Compaſſion, and his Merit forced her Eſteem; fain would ſhe have perſuaded herſelf, that the Sentiments ſhe had for him were au⯑thoriſed by the Obligations he had conferred on her whole Family: but her Heart was pure, and the Voice of Reaſon, though not heard amidſt the Tumult of unreſtrained and lawleſs Paſſions, yet is readily liſtened to by doubting Virtue. Hence it followed, that the Counteſs eſcaped all thoſe Snares which the deluding Sophiſtry of Love laid for her. And although ſhe could not vanquiſh her Ten⯑derneſs for the Chevalier, yet looking upon [132] it as a Crime, ſhe lived in continual War with herſelf, and kept her Will in Subjec⯑tion, if ſhe could not her Thoughts. The Converſation of Mademoiſelle de Montmar⯑tin, as it was tender and ſenſible, and her Heart ſincere, was all the Comfort Madam de Berci had; but this Lady was likewiſe far from being happy.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny, ſtill continued their Ad⯑dreſſes to her; their Jealouſy, notwithſtand⯑ing their Endeavours to conceal it, as well from her as from each other, broke out in all their Looks and Actions. She dreaded the Effects of it; ſhe loved the Marquis, and ſhe felt nothing but Indifference for Monſieur de Morigny, nevertheleſs ſhe was obliged to conceal her real Sentiments, and treat them with equal Reſerve.

It is extremely difficult to act always in Oppoſition to our Inclinations: and to a Mind naturally ſincere and artleſs, all Diſſimulation is painful. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin ſuf⯑fered great Uneaſineſs from the continual Reſtraint ſhe laid upon herſelf, but ſhe trem⯑bled, leſt ſhe ſhould be the Cauſe of a ſecond Rupture between theſe friendly Rivals. They haunted her perpetually, they viſited her to⯑gether, they followed her to all public Places; and if, to get rid of the Importunity of Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny, ſhe ſometimes refuſed to ſee him, it was neceſſary likewiſe, that ſhe [133] ſhould deprive herſelf of the Pleaſure of ſee⯑ing her beloved Marquis, whoſe Deſtiny, by the peculiar Unhappineſs of her Situation, was not more fortunate than that of his Rival. It is true, ſhe might have freed herſelf from ſo cruel a Tyranny, by declaring at once her Choice; but terrified at what had lately hap⯑pened, ſhe trembled leſt the Rivals ſhould again diſpute the Poſſeſſion of her, with their Swords, and the Loſs of her beloved Marquis would then be unavoidable; for if he did not periſh by his Rival's Hand, he could not a ſecond time hope for a Pardon: She reſolved, therefore, to ſee neither of them, till Time had produced ſome Alteration in their Minds; and Abſence from the Marquis ſeem⯑ed leſs painful to endure, than the cruel Alter⯑native of treating both with equal Indifference, where one was ſo greatly preferred.

Having taken her Reſolution, ſhe told them, when they came as uſual to viſit her, that, for very important Reaſons, which ſhe could not, at that Time, explain to them, ſhe muſt deſire they would forbear their Viſits.

The Lovers, thunder-ſtruck at ſo ſevere a Decree, gazed on her ſome Moments in Si⯑lence. The Marquis, at length, recovering from his firſt Conſternation, began to expoſ⯑tulate with her upon the Cruelty of her Pro⯑ceeding. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin was greatly affected, ſcarce could ſhe reſtrain her [134] Tears, and ſome Sighs in ſpite of her made their Way as ſhe ſpoke to her Lover, to whom ſhe confirmed, tho' with a faltering Voice, his Sentence. Her Emotion did not eſcape his Obſervation, it gave Riſe to vari⯑ous Reflexions in his Mind, he turned from her and went to a Window, where he ſtood ruminating upon what had paſſed.

In the mean Time Monſieur de Morigny, who had been ſo ſhocked with her cruel Pro⯑hibition, that he had not been able to attend to what ſhe ſaid to his Rival, began to urge her with the moſt vehement Intreaties to change her Reſolution. Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin found no Reluctance in herſelf to deny him, ſhe aſſured him with great Steadineſs, that ſhe had taken it upon mature Delibera⯑tion, and that nothing he could ſay, would have Power to alter it. The Marquis ap⯑proaching her as ſhe pronounced theſe Words, told her that he would give her a convincing Proof of his Paſſion, by paying an implicit Obedience to her Commands. He bowed low as he finiſhed theſe Words, which Mon⯑ſieur de Morigny looking upon as the Signal for going away, only conjured her not to make the Time of their Baniſhment too long, ſince it would be difficult for them to obey her and live, and then taking a reſpectful Leave, he followed the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and they both went out of the Houſe together.

[135]The Chevalier des Eſſars ſaw them, and perceiving an unuſual Diſcompoſure on their Countenances, aſked them the Reaſon of it. They acquainted him with what had happen⯑ed, and intreated him to adviſe them how to act in ſuch a perplexing Situation.

The Chevalier very frankly told them, it was their Part to obey: he repreſented to them, that the Extremities to which their Jealouſy had formerly carried them, was without Doubt the Cauſe which had induced Mademoiſelle de Montmartin to baniſh them from her Preſence; and that it was that very Jealouſy, the Effects of which ſhe dreaded now, which had made them commit a Fault, that to repeat, would render them wholly in⯑excuſable; and at the ſame Time that it de⯑prived them of the Eſteem of their Miſtreſs, would infallibly draw upon them the Anger of their Prince, who would not be again prevailed upon to pardon them. He added, that if they truly loved Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin, they would leave her to the Freedom of making her Choice, and not expoſe her to the Hatred of the Public, by making her the Subject of new Quarrels and more Blood⯑ſhed: and laſtly he conjured them to remem⯑ber their old Friendſhip, which they had ſo lately renewed with mutual Oaths, and not to reſign themſelves to the wild Rage of Jea⯑louſy, which had already produced ſuch dread⯑ful Effects.

[136]They both aſſured him, that although they could not renounce their Love for Mademoi⯑ſelle de Montmartin, yet they would obey her Orders whatever it coſt them. The Cheva⯑lier then obliging them to promiſe that neither of them would take any Meaſures to produce an Alteration in the Mind of Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, without acquainting each other, they parted with a full Reſolution to keep their Word.

Accordingly for ſome Days, they religiouſly obſerved the Promiſe by which they had bound themſelves. They were equally afraid of of⯑fending their Miſtreſs, and of giving each other any Occaſion of Diſguſt. They flat⯑tered themſelves that in the variety of Amuſe⯑ments which are to be found in Paris, they ſhould meet with ſome Aleviation of their Grief. But the Diſſipation in which they lived, could not baniſh the Idea of Mademoi⯑ſelle de Montmartin from their Thoughts; all Objects became diſagreeable, but that which they were forbidden to behold, and which was nevertheleſs always preſent to their Imaginations.

Monſieur de Morigny, leſs politic or more impatient than the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, was the firſt who reſolved to get rid of this tormenting Reſtraint. He hired an Apart⯑ment oppoſite to the Houſe where Mademoi⯑ſelle de Montmartin lived, believing it would be ſome Relief to him, to be in a Place where [137] he might ſometimes behold her at a Window, or ſee her get in and out of her Coach. He did not reflect upon the Conſequences of this raſh Step, and falſely imagined that there was nothing in it contrary to the Obedience he had vowed to pay to the Orders of his Miſ⯑treſs, nor to the Promiſe he had made to his Rival.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who had placed Spies upon Monſieur de Morigny which gave him an exact Information of his Con⯑duct, ſoon learned by one of them, that his Rival was never to be found in his own Houſe, nor ſeen in any Place of public Diverſion, but ſpent all his Hours in an Apartment oppoſite to the Houſe of the Lady they both loved, which he had hired for the Conveniency of ſeeing her. The Marquis eaſily ſaw that Monſieur de Morigny had no Intention to for⯑get her, and thinking himſelf diſpenſed with, from keeping his Word with a Man who had firſt broke through his Engagements, he re⯑ſolved to derive ſome Advantages from this Breach of Faith in his Rival, and endeavour to prevail upon Mademoiſelle de Montmartin to repeal his Baniſhment. Being informed the next Day, that Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin was gone to the Thuilleries with ano⯑ther Lady, he ordered his Coach in an In⯑ſtant and drove thither, determined to com⯑plain to her of Monſieur de Morigny's ungene⯑rous Behaviour, and intreat her to do him Juſtice. He found it was the Counteſs of [138] Berci his Siſter who was with her: which gave him more Courage to approach her, after having paid his Compliments to her with great Reſpect, he intreated her not to con⯑demn him till ſhe had heard him. He told her it was true that by coming into her Pre⯑ſence, contrary to her expreſs Prohibition, he appeared a Rebel to her Orders, but he had ſuch Reaſons to urge in his Excuſe, as would, he hoped, juſtify him in her Opinion. He then informed her of what Monſieur de Morigny had done, he repreſented to her, that it was not juſt his Rival ſhould every Hour enjoy the Pleaſure of ſeeing her, while he languiſhed in a cruel Baniſhment. He hinted, that if ſhe did not admit the Juſtice of his Plea, he ſhould have Room to ſuſpect that Monſieur de Morigny was more favoured than himſelf; and perceiving that this Inſinua⯑tion gave her ſome Emotion, he purſued it with ſuch Art, and painted the Torments he endured, during the Abſence ſhe had con⯑demned him to, in Colours ſo lively, that Mademoiſelle de Montmartin was moved, ſhe looked upon Monſieur de Morigny's Behavi⯑our as an Inſtance of Diſreſpect to her, and as a Breach of Honour to his Friend. She thought herſelf affronted by his taking an Apartment ſo near her, and as one is eaſily perſuaded of the Guilt of thoſe whom one diſ⯑likes, Monſieur de Morigny's Conduct, how⯑ever innocent in itſelf, to her prejudiced Mind appeared a Crime worthy of her ut⯑moſt Rigor. Nothing could have happened [139] more agreable to her Inclinations, ſhe loved the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and wanted a ſpecious Pretence for recalling him. She had now found ſuch an Occaſion as ſhe had wiſh⯑ed for, the abſent Lover was treated as a preſumptuous Man who had diſobeyed her Or⯑ders, and was therefore condemned to per⯑petual Baniſhment, while the happy Marquis was liſtened to favourably, his Complaints acknowledged to be juſt, and the Means he purſued to procure Satisfaction lawful. It is not difficult to find Favour with a partial Judge. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur ſoon gained his Cauſe before this Tribunal, at the Expence of the unfortunate de Morigny.

The Counteſs of Berci joined in her Bro⯑ther's Requeſt, that he might be permitted to ſee her. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin at laſt conſented to receive his Viſits, but with great Caution; ſhe flattered herſelf that their Meet⯑ings might be carried on ſo privately, that Monſieur de Morigny, notwithſtanding he was ſo near a Neighbour, might not be in⯑formed of them. It was agreed that the Marquis ſhould never come to her Houſe till it was Night, ſhe was aſſured that his Paſſion was honourable, and having the Sanction of his Siſter's Concurrence to theſe private In⯑terviews, they thought there was nothing to apprehend on the Score of Scandal.

Mademoiſelle de Montmartin uſed to re⯑tire early to her Apartment, and when her [140] Servants were in Bed, her Woman, who was well paid by the Marquis for her Secreſy, al⯑ways introduced him into the Houſe, where he generally ſtaid an Hour or two with his Miſtreſs. For ſome Time theſe happy Lovers continued undiſturbed in the Poſſeſſion of that Liberty, they had ſo long wiſhed for, of ſeeing and declaring to each other their mutual Tenderneſs. But it is a difficult thing to deceive a jealous Man long: he is the Argos of the Fable, his hundred Eyes are continually open, and no Charms are able to cloſe one of them for a Moment.

It happened that the Marquis, coming one Morning at three o'Clock out of the Houſe of Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, that young Lady, that ſhe might have the Pleaſure of ſeeing him a Moment longer, looked out of the Window after her Lover, who was then in the Street. The Moon ſhone bright, and the unhappy de Morigny, who was too much in Love to ſleep ſoundly, hearing ſome little Noiſe in the Street, ran to his Window, and ſoftly opening it, he had the Mortification to ſee his Rival taking Leave of his Miſtreſs with Expreſſions which ſhewed he was in a Situa⯑tion very different from his, and to hear Ma⯑demoiſelle de Montmartin anſwer him with great Tenderneſs. But as if this was not enough to torment the unfortunate Morigny, and that nothing ſhould be wanting to com⯑pleat his Deſpair, the Marquis took it into his Head to intreat Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin, [141] to throw him ſome Trifle out of the Window, that he might have the Pleaſure to have ſomething in his Poſſeſſion that Night which belonged to her.

Mademoiſelle de Montmartin refuſed to grant this Requeſt at firſt, and turned it into Ridicule, but the Marquis preſt her ſo ear⯑neſtly, that at laſt ſhe toſſed him a white Handkerchief ſhe had in her Hand; however it was leſs in compliance with what ſhe thought a ſilly Requeſt, than her Deſire to get him away, leaſt by ſtaying longer in the Street, ſome unlucky Chance might diſcover him to his Rival. The Marquis catched the Handkerchief ſhe threw him, and kiſſing it, made a profound Bow to his Miſtreſs, wiſh⯑ing her as happy as he ſhould be that Night with ſuch a Favour in his Poſſeſſion, and then departed.

Monſieur de Morigny heard and ſaw all that paſt. Rage and Deſpair had almoſt deprived him of his Senſes, he was ſeveral Times upon the Point to ruſh out upon his happy Rival, and ſacrifice him to his juſt Revenge, before the Eyes of his Miſtreſs, and by one laſt Combat decide the Fate of his Life and Love. But he was withheld, almoſt in Spite of himſelf, by his eager Deſire to ſee and hear all; but when he ſaw the Marquis go away, he curſed his Imprudence and his Folly, for ſuffering him to eſcape without taking a ſevere Revenge upon him, for the Injury he [142] had done him. He then comforted himſelf with the Thought of demanding Satisfaction of his falſe Friend the next Day, and threw himſelf upon his Bed, full of the hoped for Vengeance. But when this firſt Fury gave way to calmer Reflexions, he found that he was miſerable, that he had nothing to hope for from Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, and that the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur was be⯑loved. Grief now took the Place of Fury, and a Thirſt of Vengeance. He could not think of loſing Mademoiſelle de Montmartin for ever, without Agonies not to be deſcribed: he gave way a while to theſe firſt Tranſports of Deſpair, and Death ſeemed to be his only Reſource. But the Mind, amidſt the moſt violent Pangs of Sorrow, naturally turns it⯑ſelf towards any poſſibility of Relief: he began to reflect upon the extreme Indiffe⯑rence Mademoiſelle de Montmartin had al⯑ways ſhewn him, he blamed himſelf for en⯑tertaining Hopes unjuſtly founded, and con⯑cluded that if he had not blinded himſelf by thoſe intoxicating Expectations, his Paſſion would not have gained ſuch Strength. He conſidered whether an Attempt to ſubdue it, might not ſtill be ſucceſsful, and if the De⯑ſpair to which he was reduced, might not, by a proper Exertion of his Reaſon, be pro⯑ductive of his Cure. The firſt Fruit of theſe Thoughts was a ſalutary Shame for his own Weakneſs, he bluſhed for having given way to Tranſports unworthy of a Man of Senſe and Courage. The Marquis's Behaviour [143] ſeemed now not quite ſo unjuſtifiable as he had at firſt conceived it to be, ſince he was capable of acknowledging to himſelf, that he had deſerved ſuch an Advantage ſhould be taken of him, by breaking his Word to him ſolemnly given in Preſence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, not to take any Meaſures to ſee Mademoiſelle de Montmartin. Her Behaviour to the Marquis ſhewed that ſhe had always loved him, and convinced him that his own Addreſſes had been always diſagreeable to her, and that any farther Purſuit would not only be fruitleſs, but add to his Rival's Triumph, and his own Diſgrace.

‘What ſignifies my Sighs, ſaid he to him⯑ſelf, they are deſpiſed, while my Rival's are heard with a tender Sympathy; and while I paſs my Nights in Miſery and Complaints, he is happy in the Sight and Converſation of his Miſtreſs, who uſes no Precaution in thoſe Teſtimonies ſhe gives him of her Love. Is it not more conſiſtent with my Ho⯑nour, and my Quiet, to ſacrifice a Paſſion ſo odious and deſpiſed, to Reaſon and to Friendſhip, than proſecute an unjuſt Re⯑venge, and ſolicit a hopeleſs Love? Can I expect to ſnatch her Heart by Violence? The Marquis and ſhe are united by the moſt tender Ties; will my Rage, and my Complaints break them? Were it in my Power to render them miſerable, ſhould I be more happy? or rather, ſhould I not be [144] far more wretched, by the Conſciouſneſs of the Injury I did them?’

Monſieur de Morigny found Tranquility ſteal upon his Soul, as he purſued theſe Re⯑flexions; his Paſſion loſt its Force, in Pro⯑portion as he exerciſed his Reaſon, and he reſolved at length to renounce thoſe Hopes, which had hitherto made up all his Happineſs, and conquer that Paſſion which was always his Misfortune, and would now under ſuch Convictions be his Crime.

A Change ſo ſudden, although not frequent, is nevertheleſs not impoſſible, and would be oftener effected, if the ſtill Voice of Reaſon be liſtened to: the baſe Subjection we live in to our own Deſires, is the Effect of our Puſillanimity. We need only to fight to be acquainted with our Strength; if Love ſo often engages us with Succeſs, it is becauſe we find him Arms againſt ourſelves, and he is ſtrong only in our Weakneſs. Love is an Enemy whom it is no Diſgrace to ſhun; againſt him Flight is Victory: his firſt Ap⯑proaches are always dangerous, Diſtance only can ſecure our Safety, and make our Triumph glorious.

Monſieur de Morigny was convinced of this Truth, he took Care not to expoſe himſelf again to the Danger of ſeeing Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, he knew his own Weakneſs and her Power. He was perſuaded that all [145] the wiſe Reſolutions he had taken would vaniſh in her Preſence. He therefore returned to his own Houſe, and avoided Company and public Places as much as poſſible, that he might have no Opportunity of ſeeing or bearing of that fatal Beauty, whom it was now his Buſineſs to forget. Monſieur de Morigny had always a pious Turn: Diſappointments in worldly Affairs have often contributed greatly to⯑wards making a devout Chriſtian; he applied himſelf to religious Books for Conſolation in his Misfortunes. In this Study he found not only what he ſought, Reſignation and Peace, but they alſo inſpired him with a Zeal ſuitable to his Years and Condition, an active Zeal which laid the Foundation of a Deſign, to which the brighteſt Actions of his Life were owing. He reſolved to conſecrate his future Days to the Service of Religion, by fighting againſt its moſt redoutable Enemy, who by his own Strength and the vaſt Extent of Do⯑minion which he had uſurped, was ſtill leſs dreadful to Chriſtendom, than by the Diſ⯑union and different Intereſts of Chriſtian Princes. The barbarous Othoman infeſted at that Time the Seas by his Pirates, the moſt inhuman Outrages were every Day commit⯑ted by them with impunity, the Cities of Algiers and Tunis were filled with the un⯑happy Victims of their Cruelty and Rapine, who groaned in Chains and languiſhed out their Lives in the utmoſt Miſery.

[146]Monſieur de Morigny felt a generous Com⯑paſſion for theſe unhappy Sufferers, he was deſirous of aſſociating himſelf with thoſe brave and pious Knights, who bound themſelves by ſolemn Vows to conſecrate their Labours to the Service of Religion, and who ſwore upon the Altar an eternal Hatred to the Infidels, and to maintain a continual War againſt them. The Order of the Religious of Saint John of Jeruſalem was then a Nurſery fruit⯑ful in great Men, and valiant Warriors. An End ſo noble, and a Vocation ſo eminent, were conformable to the martial Inclinations of Monſieur de Morigny, his Zeal increaſed every Day, and he reſolved not to defer any longer his Entrance into that Order, which was both a military and religious one. He prepared therefore for a ſpeedy Departure for Malta, in order to take the Croſs; and hav⯑ing ſettled his Affairs, he reſerved only a ſmall Penſion for himſelf, deſtining all the reſt of his Eſtate, which was very large, to the Re⯑demption of Chriſtian Slaves, as the nobleſt Uſe he could make of his Riches.

When all was finiſhed, he ſent Invitations to his Friends, to require they would meet at his Houſe: he then, in few Words, acquain⯑ted them with his Deſign, which he was ready to put into Execution immediately, and ad⯑dreſſing himſelf particularly to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur,

[147] ‘I render Thanks to Heaven, ſaid he, for having conducted me ſafely to a happy Port, from whence I may contemplate ſe⯑curely the Shipwrecks of Love. May you, my dear Marquis, be happy with Made⯑moiſelle de Montmartin, I no longer envy your good Fortune, you are more worthy of her than I am, I have now ceaſed to be your Rival, but ſhall always be your Friend.’

This Speech greatly moved the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and the Chevalier des Eſſars, they made ſome Efforts to retain him in Paris, and to prevail upon him to quit a Reſolution which they attributed to Deſpair, but he ſteadi⯑ly reſiſted all their Intreaties, and having ten⯑derly embraced them, he took Leave of them, and after a proſperous Voyage, arrived ſafely af Malta. He performed his Caravanes, for ſo they call the firſt Sea Expeditions of the new Knights of Malta, in which he gave to the new Order he had embraced, and to all Chriſtendom, ſeveral glorious Teſtimonies of his Zeal and of his Valour againſt the com⯑mon Enemy.

Mademoiſelle de Montmartin could not hear of his Departure without being moved, and gave ſome Tears to the Memory of a Man, who by her Rigour had been forced to em⯑brace a Life ſo dangerous and auſtere. No⯑thing now ſeemed to oppoſe the good Fortune of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, he had [148] wholly reſigned himſelf to the moſt flattering Hopes, when that young Lady, by a Conduct as capricious as it was cruel, forbid him all on a ſudden to viſit her.

The Marquis in the utmoſt Uneaſineſs and Surpriſe at ſuch an unexpected Stroke, uſed every Argument that Love could ſuggeſt, to prevail upon her to revoke ſo unjuſt and cruel a Command, but all was in vain, he was forced to ſubmit. And ſuch was his Sub⯑miſſion to her Will, that although in his Heart he could not but condemn the fair Tyrant for her unreaſonable Conduct, yet he did not complain nor make any Attempts to break a Chain which ſhe was reſolved to render ſo heavy.

Mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars being perfectly recovered of his Wounds, made fre⯑quent Viſits to the Count of Berci, ſtill fancy⯑ing that the Sight of his lovely Miſtreſs would alleviate his Pains, while in reality that Sight only ſtrengthened his Diſeaſe: when Chance afforded him an Opportunity of ſpeaking to her in private, the Violence of his Paſſion would ſometimes force him to make Com⯑plaints of her Rigor, and his own Unhappi⯑neſs; but theſe Complaints always drew up⯑on him ſevere Reproaches from the Counteſs, whoſe only Conſolation it was, amidſt the Uneaſineſs in which ſhe was plunged, that ſhe religiouſly adhered to the Duty ſhe owed her Lord.

[149] ‘Are you not, ſhe would ſay, the moſt unjuſt Man in the World, when you ac⯑cuſe me of Ingratitude and Cruelty? How can I liſten to you without being cruel to myſelf, and without being ungrateful and baſe to a Huſband who loves me with the tendereſt Affection? Ah, Monſieur, you loſe all the Glory of the great Benefits I have received from you, by expecting a Reward, which my Duty forbids me to give. If you have ſaved the Lives of my Father, my Huſband, and my Brother, is it juſt that I ſhould load them with Infamy, and diſhonour myſelf, in Return for thoſe Obligations? Do not imag [...]ne that all your Services can make me think myſelf autho⯑riſed to grant you Favours, inconſiſtent with the Fidelity I owe my Lord. Alas! my own Conſcience condemns me, for having heard the Declarations you have made me, but much more for being too ſenſible of your Misfortune in loving me. Hope not in Spite of this Confeſſion of my Weakneſs to triumph over me: my Virtue and my Duty will always furniſh me with Arms againſt you. Make then a generous Effort yourſelf, and reſtrain your Paſſion within ſuch Bounds, that you may not for the fu⯑ture indulge a Wiſh, which may alarm my Virtue, and make me bluſh for my own Weakneſs, if not for my Guilt.’

The Chevalier could not help acknowledg⯑ing the Reaſonableneſs of her Arguments, and [150] theſe Converſations always ended by Repen⯑tance on his Side, and new Aſſurances of never offending her with ſuch preſumptuous Complaints for the future.

But he did not long enjoy the Happineſs of ſeeing his Miſtreſs, and declaring to her the Exceſs of his Paſſion: new Misfortunes tore him ſoon after from the Preſence of her who was ſo dear to him, and then it was that a fatal Experience ſhewed him that a hopeleſs Abſence was a Torment greater than any he had yet felt.

In effect whatever Precautions his Friends uſed to prevent his entertaining any Suſpici⯑ons of the Perſon who had attempted to get him aſſaſſinated, he was at length brought to his Knowledge, and at a Time when he had loſt all Remembrance of the Injury as well as the Deſire of Revenge.

One of thoſe buſy Sycophants, who ſwarm in Courts, meeting the Chevalier one Day, told him with great Appearance of Friend⯑ſhip, and Regard for his Honour, that the Public were aſtoniſhed at the Patience with which he bore the Injury offered him by the Count of Polan, for ſo I ſhall call the King's Favorite, who was indeed the real Author of that deteſtable Attempt to aſſaſſinate the Che⯑valier des Eſſars. He added, that although he was convinced it was owing to his Gene⯑roſity and Greatneſs of Soul, that he did not [151] take a Revenge ſuitable to the Wrong that had been done him, yet that the Court judged otherwiſe, and attributed the extreme Indif⯑ference he ſhewed in an Affair which ſo near⯑ly concerned his Honour, to his Fear of of⯑fending the King, whoſe Fondneſs for the Count was well known: but that no Conſi⯑deration whatever ought to oblige him to paſs over quietly ſuch a glaring Injury, and that it was neceſſary he ſhould take ſome Reſolution immediately to ſilence Reports ſo injurious to his Reputation.

The Chevalier des Eſſars, who at firſt could not comprehend what the Man meant by talking to him of the Count of Polan, and the Revenge it was expected he ſhould take of him, made him repeat what he had ſaid. The buſy Courtier then gave him a long Account of all what had paſſed: He exaggerated many Circumſtances, and added many more; and finally aſſured him, that it was the Count of Polan who had em⯑ployed Aſſaſſins to murder him, in Revenge for having defeated him in the Tourna⯑ment.

The Chevalier had Wiſdom and Diſcre⯑tion, he was not willing to be precipitated into an Affair of ſuch Conſequence, and was reſolved, before he proceeded any far⯑ther, to examine into it more carefully. He went immediately to the Houſe of Monſieur de Berci, and, taking him aſide, reproached [152] him for his Secreſy and Reſerve, which had had Conſequences that could not but be prejudicial to his Character; he then recount⯑ed to him all that he had juſt heard, and conjured him earneſtly to tell him all he knew, without Diſguiſe, or Palliation.

The Count of Berci was thrown into great Perplexity by this Demand, he endeavoured to remove his Suſpicions of the Count of Po⯑lan, but he could not deny that the Public had the ſame. The Chevalier, perſuaded that they were but too well founded, both by the Flight of the Count of Polan's Kinſman, with whom he never had any Quarrel, and like⯑wiſe by the Favourite's cool Behaviour to⯑wards him, which argued a ſecret Diſguſt, reſolved to be revenged; but in the mean Time he carefully concealed his Intentions, and ſeeming to be quite convinced that the Informations he had received, were falſe, the Count of Berci thought the Affair entirely over, and did not apprehend any fatal Conſe⯑quence from his Reſentment. But he was miſtaken; the Chevalier, under the Appear⯑ance of great Compoſure, breathed nothing but Fury and Revenge. Nevertheleſs, the Reſolution he had taken to challenge the Count of Polan, occaſioned ſome diſagree⯑able Reflexions. Whatever Way it was ter⯑minated, he was ſure to loſe the Sight of his beloved Counteſs, and draw upon himſelf the Anger of his King, who would conſider him as doubly criminal, by tranſgreſſing the Law [153] againſt Duelling, for which he had once been pardoned, and by outraging him in the Per⯑ſon of a Man whom he greatly eſteemed; but the Chevalier, eager for Revenge, could nei⯑ther be influenced by the Voice of Love or Ambition. As ſoon as he returned home, he wrote the following Billet to the Count of Polan, charging his Gentleman, whom he ſent with it, to deliver it into the Count's own Hand.

The Count of Polan was ſtill in Bed when the Chevalier's Gentleman deſired Admit⯑tance to him: he was told that the Count was not up, but he intreated that he might [154] be waked immediately, becauſe he had an Affair to communicate to him of the utmoſt Conſequence. The Count's Servant, being thus preſſed, informed his Maſter immediate⯑ly, who ordered the Gentleman to be admit⯑ted, and receiving the Billet he brought, read it in his Bed, without betraying the leaſt Emo⯑tion; then deſiring the Chevalier's Gentle⯑man to wait a Moment, he took a Pen, and wrote this Anſwer:

The Chevalier's Gentleman having deli⯑vered this Anſwer to his Maſter, who felt a new Acceſſion to his Fury, he mounted his Horſe, and, attended only by his Gentle⯑man, rode inſtantly to the Back of le Bois de Boulogne, where he had ſoon the Satisfaction to ſee his Adverſary arrive, followed only by [155] his Gentleman likewiſe. They both diſmount⯑ed immediately, the two Gentlemen received their Horſes, and were Spectators of a long and obſtinate Combat. The Count and the Chevalier ſtript themſelves to their Shirts, as was the Cuſtom at that Time, and with a gloomy Silence, and Eyes ſparkling with Fury, ruſhed upon each other; for above a Quarter of an Hour they fought with equal Ardor, and equal Succeſs. The Chevalier des Eſſars, by ſo long a Reſiſtance, found that he had to do with one of the moſt valiant Men in the World; he had never before met with an Enemy worthy of his Courage and Strength. Fortune, always favourable to him, would not abandon him on an Occaſion ſo preſſing, the Count ſtumbling over a Stone that lay in his Way, was put into ſome Diſorder, the Chevalier cloſing with him, inſtantly gave him a mortal Wound, he fell to the Earth, and a few Moments afterwards, expired in the Arms of his Gentleman.

The Chevalier des Eſſars mounted his Horſe the Moment he ſaw his Antagoniſt fall, and rode to Paris with the utmoſt Haſte, that he might get there before the Count's Death could be known. He alighted at his own Houſe, and after he had taken what Money he thought he ſhould have Occaſion for, he went immediately to that of the Count of Berci; he related to him in brief what had happened, and his Deſign of retiring imme⯑diately into Flanders. The Count of Berci [156] oppoſed this Scheme, and adviſed him to go immediately to an Eſtate which he had in the Heart of Anjou, where it was not probable he would be ſearched for, he aſſured him he might remain there in Security, till the King, informed of the Juſtice of his Cauſe, and the Reaſonableneſs of his Reſentment, might be prevailed on to grant him a Pardon. The Chevalier approving of this Expedient, the Count wrote a Letter to the Steward of his Caſtle, in which he commanded him to ac⯑commodate the Chevalier in the beſt manner he could, and charged him, upon Pain of loſing his Place, not to diſcover to any one that he was concealed there.

The Chevalier embraced his dear Count with the utmoſt Tenderneſs, and thanked him for his friendly Solicitude for his Safety; he left in his Hands a Copy of his Letter to the Count of Polan, with that unhappy No⯑bleman's Anſwer to it, that they might, if neceſſary, be ſhewn to the King. He then re⯑commended to him the Care of his private Affairs in Paris, and took Leave of him with another ardent Embrace. The Counteſs ad⯑vancing to bid him Farewel, he could only by his Eyes, and a heart breaking Sigh, as he kiſſed her Hand, expreſs the Grief he felt at being thus torn from her. Madam de Berci ſaw his Emotion, and after ſhe had, with a faltering Voice, wiſhed him Health and Safe⯑ty, ſhe retired to her Chamber, to give free vent to her Tears.

[157]Mean time the Count of Polan's Gentle⯑man, having diſpatched a Man, who acci⯑dentally paſſed by, to Paris for a Coach, he placed the Body of his Lord in it, and carried him thither. The whole Court was ſoon in⯑formed of the Count's Death, but very few Perſons were concerned for it, as it was not doubted but he was the Contriver of the Chevalier des Eſſar's deſigned Aſſaſſination; on the contrary, the brave Revenge which the Chevalier had taken, was highly approved, and the more, as he was entitled by the Count's Baſeneſs towards him, to have at⯑tempted his Life, without endangering his own. But the King, who had loved the Count with great Tenderneſs, and who had never entertained the ſlighteſt Suſpicion of his Guilt, was exceſſively enraged againſt the Chevalier des Eſſars; he ordered the moſt di⯑ligent Search to be made for him, and proteſt⯑ed his Life ſhould pay the Forfeit due to his violated Laws.

The Counteſs of Berci was greatly afflicted at this Inflexibility of the King's, ſhe fore⯑ſaw that the unhappy Chevalier would be obliged to undergo a long and perhaps perpe⯑tual Baniſhment from his native Country, her Compaſſion for the ſad Fate of a Man who ſo well deſerved to be happy, augmented her Tenderneſs, and her Mind, as if it had a Foreboding of her approaching Misfortunes, fell inſenſibly into a Melancholy that made all Company and Diverſions irkſome to her. [158] Mademoiſelle de Montmartin was the only Perſon ſhe ſaw with Pleaſure, their Friend⯑ſhip continued always tender and ſincere, notwithſtanding the Counteſs would ſome⯑times reproach her with her Rigour to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, her Brother, at a Time when nothing ſeemed to oppoſe his Happineſs.

Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, in Excuſe for herſelf, alledged, that the Noiſe Mon⯑ſieur Morigny's Reſolution had made, gave Occaſion for very free Diſcourſes upon her Conduct, and had determined her to act in the manner ſhe had done by the Marquis; ſhe added, that if her Brother truly loved her, he would not be diſcouraged by a Reſerve which was but in Appearance cruel, and which, in her Situation, was abſolutely neceſſary; that the Marquis could not but be ſenſible of her Regard for him, and that his Perſeverance would convince her of the Sincerity and Ar⯑dor of his Paſſion.

The Counteſs was forced to yield to theſe ſpecious Reaſons; ſhe repeated to her Brother what Mademoiſelle de Montmartin had ſaid, and conſoled him under the Prohibition ſhe had laid upon him, by Aſſurances that it would not be long before ſhe made him hap⯑py. Theſe two lovely Friends lived from that Time in the moſt perfect Union. Al⯑though the Counteſs and ſhe did not mix with the great World, their manner of [159] Life had not fewer Charms for them. Read⯑ing, Walking, and ſometimes the Theatre, agreeably varied their Amuſements, and in theſe they found more true Pleaſure, than in brilliant and numerous Circles, of which they were formed to be very diſtinguiſhing Orna⯑ments. The Count of Berci always made one in their Parties, the Tenderneſs which the Counteſs his Wife felt for the Chevalier des Eſſars, having nothing criminal in it, it did not leſſen the Affection ſhe had for the Count; the Preſence of a Huſband deſerved⯑ly beloved, always gave her Delight, becauſe ſhe had no Cauſe to bluſh for her own Con⯑duct with reſpect to him: but this Calm in the Counteſs's Fortunes did not laſt long, ſhe was deſtined to prove ſtill greater Miſe⯑ries than that of hopeleſs Love.

Her Unhappineſs was firſt begun by the irregular Conduct of Marianne, her favourite Woman, who ſhared all the Secrets of her Heart, and who, as has been related before, introduced the Chevalier des Eſſars into her Apartment at Beauplan. This Girl was far from imitating the virtuous Examples ſet her by her Lady: ſhe conceived a violent Paſſion for a young Gentleman, named Verague, who was intimately acquainted with Monſieur de Berci, the Count's Brother. The Counteſs, although not naturally ſuſpicious, yet ſoon diſcovered this miſplaced Love, which could not but be productive of Diſhonour to her Woman, if not timely ſuppreſſed: but ſhe [160] ſaw with Pain, that Marianne was ſo far from endeavouring to conquer her Inclina⯑tions in Favour of Monſieur Verague, that ſhe gave full Scope to them, and was not even at the Pains to conceal them from her.

The Advances this indiſcrete Girl made to Verague, ſoon attracted his Notice. She was young and handſome: he purſued his Con⯑queſt, and a regular Intrigue commenced be⯑tween them; the Counteſs often ſurpriſed them together at very undue Hours. She expoſtulated with her Woman upon the Danger to which ſhe expoſed her Virtue, by permitting the Addreſſes of one too much her ſuperior, to give her Hopes of being his Wife. Marianne was ſo far from profiting by the prudent Remonſtrances of her Lady, that her Paſſion ſeemed to gather Strength from the Obſtacles which oppoſed it. She was no longer ſolicitous to conceal her Commerce with Verague, from her Lady; ſhe threw aſide all Caution, and admitted him into her Cham⯑ber, at all Hours, without the leaſt Re⯑ſerve.

The Counteſs was in great Affliction at this ſcandalous Behaviour: ſhe contented her⯑ſelf at firſt with reproving her for it in her uſual gentle manner, but ſhe did not dare to exert the Authority of a Miſtreſs, that has nothing to apprehend from a Servant's Re⯑ſentment; ſhe had unfortunately confided to [161] this Girl her Affection for the Chevalier des Eſſars, and however irreproachable her Con⯑duct with reſpect to him might be, yet ſhe was apprehenſive that if ſhe drove her to Ex⯑tremity, ſhe might prejudice her Brother-in-law againſt her, whoſe Suſpicions would ſoon infect her Lord likewiſe. The Counteſs's Caſe was not abſolutely ſingular, and it ought to warn the gentle Sex to be cautious how they make Confidents of their Domeſtics; and to make thoſe who are unhappy enough to have Intrigues, tremble at the Danger to which they expoſe themſelves by accepting of their Aſſiſtance.

Marianne, inſolent upon her being the De⯑poſitory of her Lady's Secret, and fancying herſelf in full Security, ſoon threw off the Maſque entirely. Reſerve and Conſtraint ſuited not with that Taſte of Libertiniſm which ſhe had imbibed, and ſhe carried her Immodeſty to ſuch Exceſs, that Ve⯑rague was almoſt every Night brought in⯑to her Chamber, when her Lady was re⯑tired into her Apartment, and they ſeldom parted till the next Morning. The Coun⯑teſs loſt all Patience at ſuch infamous Be⯑haviour, her whole Soul was filled with a juſt Indignation, and left no room for pru⯑dential Conſiderations; ſhe became all on a ſudden intrepid to the laſt Degree, and was reſolved, at the Hazard of whatever might happen, to turn the vile Marianne [162] out of her Family, and gave her but three Days to procure another Eſtabliſhment.

But this Girl, full of Grief for being diſ⯑miſſed on an Occaſion ſo ſhameful for her, for ſhe did not doubt but her Lady would diſcloſe her Reaſons for acting in the man⯑ner ſhe did, by her; and ſtill more afflicted that ſhe ſhould be deprived of the Oppor⯑tunities ſhe had hitherto enjoyed of ſeeing her Lover, uſed her utmoſt Endeavours to prevent her being obliged to leave her Ser⯑vice; but finding her Lady firmly reſolved to diſmiſs her, ſhe inſtantly conceived the blackeſt and moſt deteſtable Project that a wicked Woman could be capable of. This was, to prevent the Effects of the Coun⯑teſs's Indignation, and accuſe her of Un⯑chaſtity and Diſloyalty to her Lord.

When her Imagination had preſented her with this diabolical Scheme, ſhe endeavour⯑ed to ſtrengthen herſelf in her Reſolution to ruin her Lady, and to ſtifle all Remorſe. And having ſettled her Plan, ſhe threw herſelf in young Berci's Way, and earneſt⯑ly entreated him to give her a few Mo⯑ments Audience in his own Apartment.

Monſieur de Berci, ſurpriſed at her Re⯑queſt, but more at the ſeeming Emotion with which it was made, deſired her to at⯑tend him immediately. As ſoon as they had entered his Chamber, Marianne burſt into [163] Tears: he eagerly aſked her the Cauſe of her Affliction. She firſt anſwered only by Sighs, and a feigned Confuſion, which ſti⯑mulated his Curioſity, and made him re⯑peatedly urge his Requeſt. — At length, with interrupting Sobs, ſhe told him, that her Lady had, with the utmoſt Cruelty and Injuſtice, diſmiſſed her from her Ser⯑vice.

Monſieur de Berci finding this was all, replied calmly that his Siſter-in-law would not have acted thus without ſome Cauſe, that if ſhe would confeſs her Fault inge⯑nuouſly, he would engage to make her Peace with her Lady. Marianne ſmiled ſcornfully at that Promiſe, and, ſhaking her Head, gave him to underſtand that the Thing was impoſſible. Monſieur de Berci, a little alarmed, and anxious to know more, gave her his Word, that if ſhe would diſ⯑cloſe the Reaſons which had induced her Lady to diſmiſs her, he would not only keep her Secret faithfully, but uſe his ut⯑moſt Endeavours to ſerve her.

The perfidious and wicked Marianne, having already ſettled in her Thoughts what ſhe ſhould ſay, began in this Manner:

‘I am extremely concerned, Monſieur, at the Neceſſity I am under to unfold a Myſ⯑tery to you, which will equally ſurprize and grieve you; but I am ſtill more afflict⯑ed [164] at the Part I have unwillingly acted in it. I conjure you to believe, that if I break the Silence I have ſo long held, it is only to prove my Penitence and my Submiſſion, and in full Reliance upon the Promiſe you have given me, that the Secret ſhall never eſcape you. I have been long tortured with the Stings of my own Conſcience for the Treachery I have been forced to be guilty of to my Lord, by ſerving his Lady in a criminal Paſſion, which you are not wholly unacquainted with yourſelf: but it is Time that I ſhould re⯑ſtore Peace and Tranquility to my Mind, ſo long diſtracted with Remorſe, and which my Lady, by her imprudent Rage againſt me, has made it neceſſary I ſhould diſcover to clear, my own Innocence.’

‘Know then, Monſieur, purſued this Monſter, that the ſame Day which made my Lady acquainted with the Paſſion of the Chevalier des Eſſars for her, whoſe Complaints in the Foreſt of Beauplan you heard as well as ſhe, gave Riſe to a flame in her heart for him; the Alarm ſome Nights afterwards in the Caſtle ſuppoſed to be oc⯑caſioned by an attempt of ſome Thieves to ro [...] it, was wholly owing to my Lady's Imprudence, in admitting the Chevalier pri⯑vately into her Apartment: unhappy that I am in the Recollection, it was I who in⯑troduced him, but I durſt not withſtand her peremptory Orders . . . I did all that a Ser⯑vant [165] could do in ſuch a Caſe, I repreſent⯑ed to her reſpectfully the Dangers to which ſhe expoſed herſelf, and ſhe had ſoon Reaſon to be convinced that I had not exaggerated them. The Count your Bro⯑ther coming unexpectedly into my Lady's Chamber, the Chevalier was obliged to con⯑ceal himſelf behind the Tapiſtry, and it was wonderful that he was not ſeen for he had ſcarce a Moment to effect his Eſcape: but a ſtill greater danger followed, for when he left my Lady, ſhe ordered me to conduct him down Stairs without any other Light than that of the Moon, which ſhone in through the Windows, leſt a Taper might alarm ſome of the Servants: the Che⯑valier as he deſcended the Stairs made a falſe Step, he fell down and his Piſtol went off, the Report of which put the whole Houſe into Confuſion and Diſmay. From that Time the Counteſs and the Chevalier have carried on a ſtrict Cor⯑reſpondence. You may now, Monſieur, added ſhe, account for that violent Grief my Lady diſcovered ſome Time ago, when the Sight of her Lover, pale, bloody and in Appearance dead, took from her the Power of diſſembling. You may now know the Cauſe of that Melancholy in which ſhe is continually plunged, ſince the Cheva⯑lier's Duel with the Count of Polan, which has forced him to abſent himſelf from her, and you know likewiſe the Cauſe of my Diſmiſſion from her ſervice. I am be⯑come [166] a troubleſome and importunate In⯑mate, whoſe Preſence ſhe can no longer ſupport, becauſe, taking Advantage of the Chevalier's Abſence, I endeavour to bring her back to her Duty, and becauſe I am tor⯑tured with Remorſe for the Part I have had in her Infidelity to my Lord.’

The Wretch ended her Speech with ano⯑ther Shower of Tears, and with dreadful Inprecations on herſelf, if what ſhe had related was not ſtrictly true.

Monſieur de Berci, although he had a high Opinion of his Siſter-in-law's Virtue, yet could not help being ſtaggered at this Re⯑lation: he knew for a Certainty, that the Chevalier des Eſſars was in Love with her, his own Ears had heard him declare it in the Foreſt of Beauplan, and more than once his Eyes, in obſerving thoſe of the Cheva⯑lier and Madame de Berci, diſcovered that his Siſter-in-law was not inſenſible; yet he could not imagine her capable of a Crime ſo hor⯑rid, as to diſhonour his Brother in the Man⯑ner the vile Marianne accuſed her of; after giving a few Moments to his reflexions on what he had heard, he took a reſolution full of Prudence and Generoſity. As he would not condemn his Siſter-in-law upon the Re⯑ports of her Servant, ſo neither could he hold her abſolutely innocent in his own Opinion, ſince there were ſome Circumſtances in her Conduct that bore a doubtful Appearance. [167] He thought it juſt to wait till he had more Certainty of her Guilt, before he made her Infamy publick, and ſuppoſing that if the Lovers were realy guilty, it would not be impoſſible for him by the Aſſiſtance of Mari⯑anne to ſurprize them together, as ſoon as the Chevalier was again permitted to return to Paris, he determined to engage this Girl in his Intereſt. But if it happened that the Chevalier ſhould be unable to procure his Pardon, and remain in perpetual Baniſhment, he judged it beſt to bury all he had heard in Oblivion, ſince the honour of his Brother would be preſerved by the Chevalier's Ab⯑ſence, and having then nothing to fear from his Siſter-in-law's indiſcreet Paſſion, there would be no Neceſſity to wound the Peace of the Count, and introduce Diſorder and In⯑famy into his Family.

He therefore ſtrictly charged Marianne not to impart to any other Perſon in the World what ſhe had ſaid to him: he pro⯑miſed to reſtore her to her Lady's Favour upon Condition that ſhe would give him a faithful Account of her whole Conduct, par⯑ticularly in every Thing that related to the Chevalier des Eſſars. Marianne joyfully ſwore to obey him, and he inſtantly went to the Apartment of the Counteſs to perform his promiſe: he praiſed the affection and fide⯑lity of that wicked Girl, he exaggerated her Grief for being obliged to quit her Service, and begged the Counteſs to take compaſſion [168] on her, and if her fault was not very great to admit her to her uſual attendance upon her Perſon.

Madam de Berci was ſoftened at this Ac⯑count of her Woman's Contrition. She was not ſorry that ſhe had a lawful Excuſe for taking her again; for ſhe had been under dreadful Apprehenſions of her Malice: ſhe ſent for her into her Apartment, and be⯑fore her Brother, told her, that through his Interpoſition, ſhe had conſented to receive her again but as ſoon as Monſieur de Berci; withdrew, ſhe told her, with a very ſevere Air, that ſhe expected to ſee a thorough Reformation in her Conduct, and that it was upon that Condition alone ſhe reſtored her to her former Place. The diſſembling Marianne, with tears in her eyes, thanked her Lady for her Goodneſs, and promiſed Amendment, but in her Heart ſhe deeply vowed to make her pay dear for the Mortifications ſhe had ſuffered.

The Counteſs of Berci was ſcarce relieved from the Anxiety this Affair had given her, when ſhe was aſſaulted by new Diſquiets. The Count her Huſband had a Kinſman, who having formerly given ſome Diſguſt to the Court, had been baniſhed from France: af⯑ter he had ſpent ſome Years in travelling over all Europe, he reſolved to ſettle in Venice for the Remainder of his Life. This City, which is one of the moſt celebrated in all Italy, had peculiar Charms for him on Ac⯑count [169] of the Freedom that reigned there. His Quality and Merit ſoon procured him the Reſ⯑pect and Eſteem of the Nobility of that powerful Republic, who, tho' naturally haughty and not eaſy of acceſs to Foreigners, yet were ſolici⯑tous to make his Reſidence amongſt them pleaſing to him. He lived there thirty Years, and dying ſuddenly in a very advanced Age, the Count of Berci, who was his neareſt Relation, ſucceeded to all his vaſt Riches, and as ſoon as he was informed of his Death, prepared for a Journey to Venice to take Poſ⯑ſeſſion of them.

The young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur hav⯑ing a Deſire to viſit Italy again, where he had formerly ſpent ſome Months with his Friend Monſieur de Morigny, intreated the Count's Leave to accompany him in this Voyage. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin had not yet taken off her Interdiction, and he was willing to try if a greater Diſtance from what he loved, would not weaken his continual Regret, at being deprived of her Preſence. Beſides he was not without Hope, that an Abſence which no longer depended upon her Will to revoke, would give his capricious Miſtreſs herſelf ſome little Anxiety.

The Count readily agreed to the Marquis's Propoſal, and thanked him for offering ſo frankly what he would have ſolicited, had he not thought it too great a Favour. They ſet out immediately for their Voyage to Venice, [170] where they arrived happily the Beginning of Spring. They ſtaid there a Month, during which Time the Count ſettled all his Affairs; and having a fine Seaſon before them, they determined to viſit Rome, and ſome other of the celebrated Cities in Italy. In their Return they paſſed by Leghorn, where they found a Felucca, which was only waiting for a fa⯑vourable Wind to ſet Sail for Marſeilles. The Count and the Marquis eager to ſee again the dear Objects of their Affection, reſolved to embark in this Felucca, as being the moſt expeditious Way of returning; beſides the great Heat of the Weather made travelling by Land very diſagreeable; but they had no ſooner reached the Coaſt of Genoa, when they had Reaſon to repent of their Deſign: they were encountered by a Corſair of Algiers, whom they found it impoſſible to eſcape from.

The two French Lords, although as brave as Men could be, yet plainly ſaw that any Reſiſtance they could make, would not pre⯑ſerve their Liberty, but would inevitably ex⯑poſe them to Death, and perhaps to the moſt cruel Tortures; the Algerine was manned with a great Number of valiant and deſperate Turks, who preſented themſelves to the At⯑tack, while they had very few Sailors and only ſome Paſſengers aboard, who were de⯑ſtitute of all manner of Defence; with ſuch Inequality it would have been Madneſs to fight: it was reſolved therefore that they [171] ſhould uſe their utmoſt Endeavours to eſcape, and if they proved unſucceſsful, to ſurrender peaceably, that they might not, to no Pur⯑poſe, irritate thoſe who were likely to be their Maſters.

The Turks, however, having grappled their ſmall Veſſel, boarded it with their Cymetars in their Hands; they ſtript the Paſſengers and the Crew to their Shirts, and tying them all to the Oar, ſet Sail for Africa. As they were purſuing their Voyage, full of an inſolent and barbarous Joy for the Prize they had taken, their Veſſel was driven by a Storm into the Gulf of Barcelona, where it was attacked by a Malteſe Galley, commanded by a Spaniſh Knight of the Order. The miſerable Captives on board the Algerine, beholding this unhoped-for Aſſiſtance, offered up the moſt ardent Prayers to Heaven for the Succeſs of their Friends. Their Joy and their Hopes were but ſhort-lived; the Wind, which at firſt was fa⯑vourable for the Malteſe Galley, changed ſud⯑denly, as it was attempting to grapple that of Algiers; and the Corſair doubting his Strength, endeavoured to eſcape by the Force of row⯑ing, which he effected.

What a dreadful Reverſe of Fortune was this for the two French Lords, and the reſt of the unhappy Captives? But the Surpriſe, the Grief, which ſeized one of thoſe brave Knights in the Malteſe Galley, when he be⯑held the two noble Slaves, are not to be de⯑ſcribed. [172] The Chevalier de Morigny, for it was he himſelf, could ſcarce believe the Evi⯑dence of his own Eyes, when they diſtin⯑guiſhed the Count of Berci, and the Marquis de Saint Sauveur, chained, like a great Num⯑ber of other Wretches, to the Oar. But theſe illuſtrious Captives, ſtretching out their Arms loaden with Fetters, and calling him by his Name, convinced him he was not miſtaken. They had not Time to conjure him to ſave them from the Cruelties of their Enemies: for at that Inſtant, the Wind ſeconding the Efforts of the Rowers to eſcape, the Algerine Veſſel was at once carried away from his Eyes, and his Vengeance.

Monſieur de Morigny was inconſolable at this ſad Sight. Notwithſtanding all his Virtue, and his Reſignation to Providence, he ſuf⯑fered, with ſome Kind of Impatience and Re⯑pining, the Effects of an Event ſo favourable to thoſe Barbarians, which deprived him of an Opportunity of ſuccouring two Friends whom he loved with the tendereſt Affec⯑tion. The more he reflected on this ſtrange Adventure, the leſs he was able to compre⯑hend how the Count of Berci and his Brother-in-law ſhould happen to be on Seas ſo diſtant from their native Country, and chained to an Oar in an Algerine Veſſel. The more he re⯑flected upon this amazing Accident, the more his Mind was perplexed. The only Thing that now remained for him to do, was to ſend Notice to France of the Captivity of his noble [173] Friends: he wrote to the Counteſs of Berci, and gave her an affecting Relation of the ſad Spectacle his Eyes had ſeen and wept, her noble Huſband and her Brother mingled with Slaves, and labouring at an Oar; he aſſured her, that he would himſelf have made a Voyage to Africa, to procure their Deliver⯑ance, but that his Duty obliged him to cruize the Remainder of the Summer upon the Seas: he recommended it to her to ſend inſtantly ſome Perſon, whoſe Prudence and Fidelity ſhe could rely upon, to Africa, to treat with the Infidels for the Ranſom of her Lord and her Brother.

The Counteſs was ſeized with Horror and Diſmay at the Contents of this Letter: ſhe fell fainting into the Arms of her Woman, upon reading the firſt Lines, which acquaint⯑ed her with the miſerable Condition of two Perſons ſo dear to her; and when ſhe reco⯑vered, it was only to a painful Senſe of ago⯑niſing Sorrow: but her Grief, violent as it was, did not prevent her from contriving inſtant Means for their Reſcue. Her Lord's Brother was the Perſon on whom ſhe caſt her Eyes to manage their Redemption. Monſieur de Berci met her Requeſt with a Zeal that ſhewed the Greatneſs of his Af⯑fection for his Brother; no Dangers could hinder him from undertaking the Voyage to ſerve him; he preſſed for a ſpeedy Depar⯑ture, and the Counteſs, without waiting for an Application to her Father, gave her Brother-in-law [174] all the ready Money ſhe had, and her richeſt Jewels, to make up the Sum for the Ranſom of her Huſband and her Brother. Monſieur de Berci being thus furniſhed with every thing that was neceſſary, took Leave of the afflicted Counteſs, and ſet out for Marſeilles, in order to embark there for Africa.

The Captivity of theſe two illuſtrious Frenchmen made a great Noiſe at the Court of France. A Friend of the Chevalier des Eſſars, to whom he had confided the Place of his Retreat, ſent him this News into An⯑jou, almoſt as ſoon as it was known at Court. The Chevalier, after giving ſome Tears to the Misfortunes of his Friends, felt a ſecret Satisfaction in his Mind, at the Thoughts of being able to give the Counteſs of Berci a new Inſtance of the Purity and Diſintereſted⯑neſs of his Paſſion: he determined to make a Voyage inſtantly to Africa, and to expoſe his Life, his Fortunes, and perhaps his Liber⯑ty, to free the Count of Berci and the Mar⯑quis de Saint-Sauveur from the Slavery they groaned under.

A Lover of equal Delicacy can only feel the Force of this Action, and nothing leſs than a Hero can be capable of approving a Deſign which ſo many almoſt invincible Ob⯑ſtacles ſeemed to oppoſe; but true Love thinks every thing eaſy to be done, when the Intereſt of the beloved Object is in Queſtion. [175] The Chevalier des Eſſars liſtened to nothing but the Dictates of his Paſſion, and his Cou⯑rage; already he taſted the tranſporting De⯑light of doing his Miſtreſs a conſiderable Ser⯑vice, and of giving her a new Proof of his Tenderneſs. He ſet out immediately for Pa⯑ris in a Diſguiſe, and ſecurely reached the Houſe of an intimate Friend, where he ſtaid a few Days, to provide himſelf with Money neceſſary for his Voyage, and the Redemption of the two noble Captives. As ſoon as every thing was prepared for his Departure, he wrote a Letter to the Counteſs, informing her of the Occaſion of his Arrival at Paris, and the Reſolution he had taken to ſet out imme⯑diately for Marſeilles: he intreated his Friend not to ſend this Letter to the Counteſs, till two Hours after his Departure from Paris. He thought it neceſſary to uſe this Precau⯑tion, leſt ſhe ſhould imagine, that he wanted to pay his purpoſed Service by the Pleaſure of ſeeing her, or to draw from her ſome Marks of Acknowledgment; and full of the pleaſing Hope of ſoon reſtoring to her two Perſons who were ſo deſervedly dear to her, he left Paris, and took the Road to Provence, at⯑tended by the ſame Gentleman whom he had taken with him to Anjou.

The Counteſs of Berci, although ſhe had been accuſtomed to receive very extraordina⯑ry Proofs of Love from the Chevalier, yet was extremely ſurpriſed at this laſt: ſhe ad⯑mired the Generoſity and unbounded Courage [176] of this faithful Lover, who ſeemed born to render her new Services. Her Gratitude ſo ſtrongly engaged her Heart for the firſt time, that it delivered itſelf up to a Tenderneſs ſhe had hitherto ſuppreſſed. A Service of ſuch Importance to be ſo eagerly undertaken, without being requeſted, to make a Voyage to a barbarous Region, from whence he might poſſibly never return, with a Cou⯑rage ſo heroic; ſuch perfect Diſintereſted⯑neſs, to expect no other Reward than what he found in the Pleaſure of ſerving her; and the great Delicacy he had ſhewn in renouncing even the Satisfaction of ſeeing her before his Departure; in a Word, ſuch ſtriking Inſtances of the moſt pure and con⯑ſtant Paſſion that ever Man was capable of, excited, during ſome Moments, Sentiments more ſoft than Friendſhip, and Acknow⯑ledgments more tender than Gratitude; a while ſhe indulged the ſweetly painful Emo⯑tions; but her Duty and her Honour, thoſe lawful Tyrants of her Soul, ſoon united their Forces to deliver her from the Aſſaults of Love.

‘Oh, Prudence too rigid! Oh Virtue too ſevere, cried ſhe, burſting into Tears, ſuffer me to have ſome Reſpite: you have no⯑thing till this Day to reproach me with, I will inviolably obſerve your Dictates to the laſt Moment of my Life. But alas, how cruel is my Deſtiny! what Torments muſt a tender and grateful Heart expe⯑rience, [177] who can no other ways requite ſuch Benefits, but by new Severities.’

The Counteſs was reſigning herſelf to theſe melancholly Reflexions, when Mademoiſelle de Montmartin came into her Chamber: their Friendſhip and Intimacy had long ago ba⯑niſhed all Reſerve; and entering without ſend⯑ing Notice of her Arrival, ſhe found Madam de Berci bathed in Tears, and ſo loſt in Grief, that ſhe did not perceive her. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin ran to her afflicted Friend, and with a tender Anxiety begged to know if any new Misfortune had happened to her: the Counteſs raiſing her Head and looking on her with Eyes which, tho' ſwimming in Tears, expreſſed a kind Compaſſion for her who was but too much concerned in the News ſhe had to tell her. At the Mention of her Lover's Captivity, Mademoiſelle de Montmartin threw herſelf upon a Sopha, with a Sigh that ſeemed to rend her Heart in Pieces: a deadly Pale⯑neſs overſpread her face, ſhe lifted up her fine Eyes in ſpeechleſs Agony to Heaven; a while ſhe abandoned herſelf to the Bitterneſs of her Reflexions, then turning to the Counteſs who was ſat weeping by her,

‘Ah! Madam, ſaid ſhe, it is for me to weep, who by the fooliſh extravagance of my Conduct, have loſt, perhaps for ever, the moſt faithful Lover in the World; you have only Fortune to complain of, I have Fortune and Myſelf: if your Lord groans [178] in Fetters, you have the Conſolation of knowing that you are not the Author of his Miſeries: but it is my Injuſtice that has thrown my Lover into a horrid Dungeon, my Cruelty has reduced him to Slavery, but for my Caprice and Folly this dear Brother had now been with you, comforting you under your Misfortunes and endea⯑vouring to redreſs them, without feeling any other himſelf but what aroſe from his ſympathiſing Tenderneſs. Alas, my dear Counteſs, added ſhe embracing her ten⯑derly, ought I to hope that you will pardon my Injuſtice to your Brother; and then my dear and injured Lover, purſued ſhe burſting again into Tears, canſt thou forget my injurious Treatment of thee; ah, if Fate ever reſtores thee to me, will my Tenderneſs and Fidelity repay thee for all the Torments thou haſt ſuffered through me?’

The Counteſs of Berci was greatly moved at the Affliction of Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin, her Heart ſoftened by her own Woes, made her more ſenſible of thoſe of another. Theſe tender and afflicted Friends paſt all their Time together, the compaſſion they mutually afforded each other ſoothed their Griefs, but the Counteſs had ſome which ſhe was obliged to ſmother in her own breaſt. Mademoiſelle de Montmartin was far leſs to be pitied, ſhe might, without Guilt or Reſ⯑traint, reſign herſelf up to the Tenderneſs of [179] a lawful Paſſion, and had no Vows to make, but for the Deliverance of her Lover, but the Counteſs beſides her Grief for the Captivity of a Huſband and a Brother, whom ſhe loved, trembled for the Life of a Hero who was dear to her, yet whom her Duty forbid her to love.

The Ladies in their calmer Moments often talked of the Generoſity of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and when their Minds were not weakened by dreadful Apprehenſions con⯑cerning the Deſtiny of Friends ſo deſervedly dear to them, they hoped for every Thing favourable from his Zeal, his Courage, and his good Fortune.

Mean Time Monſieur de Berci arrived at Marſeilles, and embarked immediately in a Veſſel that was ready to ſail for Africa, but they ſuffered a great deal by Storms, and wandered for more than a Month upon the Spaniſh Coaſts. The Chevalier des Eſſars was more fortunate; he found at Marſeilles two Religious of the Order for the Re⯑demption of Captives, who were waiting only for a favourable Wind to ſet ſail for Oran, a fortified Town, ſituated in the Kingdom of Algiers they were to land firſt at this Capital, and afterwards to proceed to Tunis, to free a great Number of Slaves, ac⯑cording to the Engagements of their pious Inſtitution. The Chevalier was rejoiced at an opportunity of joining Perſons, who by [180] the frequent Voyages they had made, with a Zeal ſo holy, into thoſe barbarous Countries, were received and treated with Reſpect by the Infidels themſelves; he flattered himſelf that with the aſſiſtance of their charitable Diligence, they would eaſily diſcover the Place where his two Friends were confined, and might more ſucceſsfully treat for their Ranſom.

He was not deceived in theſe agreeable Expectations, the two Religious promiſed him their utmoſt Aſſiſtance, and the Wind be⯑coming fair, they embarked and ſet ſail for Africa. They had a favourable Voyage, and after ſome ſlight Storms, that were fol⯑lowed by no dangerous Accidents, they landed ſafe at Oran, where they propoſed to reſt a few Days before, they executed their Com⯑miſſion, but the Chevalier des Eſſars, whoſe Impatience to ſee his Friends at Liberty would not ſuffer him to conſult his own Health, ſet out inſtantly for Algiers, tra⯑velling the Reſt of the Way by Land. As he ſpoke the Spaniſh Tongue perfectly well, he eaſily paſt for a Merchant of that Nation who traded in Jewels. He avoided with great Care every thing that might give the In⯑fidels the leaſt Suſpicion of his Quality, or the Occaſion of his Voyage. But let us now re⯑turn to thoſe illuſtrious Victims of their Bar⯑barity.

[181]When the Count of Berci and the Mar⯑quis de Saint-Sauveur, ſaw that the Malteſe Galley was prevented by the Wind which be⯑came directly contrary to them, from getting up to the Corſair, and that there was no Pro⯑bability of their being delivered from their Slavery, they abandoned themſelves to the moſt frightful Deſpair. Their Grief was en⯑creaſed even by the ſight of Monſieur de Mo⯑rigny, that Friend ſo dear to them both, upon whoſe Valour they depended more than upon that of all the other brave Knights that accompanied him. This cruel event filled them with the moſt melancholy Reflections, all the Horrors of that deſtiny which waited for them at Algiers, roſe to their Imaginations; their Minds being weakened by the terrible apprehenſions they laboured under, they ſoon became incapable of performing the la⯑borious exerciſe to which they were deſ⯑tined, and this incapacity drew upon them an encreaſe of Severity from their cruel Maſters. At length they reſigned themſelves with ſub⯑miſſion to the decrees of that Providence which orders all human Events, they relied with a pious Confidence upon it, and indulged a hope that the Chevalier Morigny would not forget them in their Misfortunes. This laſt Thought gave them great Conſolation, and flattering themſelves that the Corſair would not ſeparate them in their Priſon, they determined to wait with patience for the happy Moment of their Deliverance.

[182]But this Barbarian had no Intention to grant them ſuch a Favour; the noble Air, and the rich Dreſs they were in when he took them, made him conclude that they were Men of high Quality; he determined therefore not to ſell them, but to make their Slavery ſo inſupportable by his haſh Treatment, as to make them glad to purchaſe their Liberty at any Price he ſhould demand for it.

As ſoon as they landed at Algiers, he order⯑ed them to be thrown into ſeparate Dungeons, where they had not the leaſt Glimmering of Light, he would not allow them to take Leave of each other, they begged only for a parting Embrace, and the Requeſt was puniſhed with Stripes, which they ſuffered with ſuch a noble Patience, and ſuch Dignity of ſilent Grief, as would have moved any other Heart, but that of a Corſair, accuſtom⯑ed to treat Chriſtians with the moſt ſavage Cruelty.

On the fourth Day of their miſerable Con⯑finement, the Doors of their Dungeons were opened, but it was only to expoſe the Count of Berci to a Treatment ſtill more humbling and rigorous, than what he had yet endured. As he was of a Conſtitution more ſtrong and robuſt than the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, the inhuman Corſair deſtined him to labour in his Lands in the Country; he cauſed him to be conducted thither with five other Slaves, tied two and two together like the vileſt Ani⯑mals. [183] He placed a Wretch as cruel as him⯑ſelf over them, who gave them no Intermiſſion from their Labour, and who puniſhed every Symptom of Wearineſs with Stripes and abu⯑ſive Language. They were allowed no other Nouriſhment than Bread and Water, and at Night when their Labour was ended, they were thrown covered with Sweat and Duſt into a dark damp Dungeon where a little Straw was all that compoſed their Bed.

What a dreadful Situation for a Man of the firſt Quality, brought up in Luxury, and ſurrounded with pleaſures. The Marquis de Saint Sauveur was treated with leſs Barbarity, but he owed his indulgence to the Avarice of the Corſair; the great delicacy of his Make made the Wretch apprehenſive that he ſhould loſe him, if he put him to Labours beyond his Strength. He was therefore em⯑ployed in his Gardens, but his Grief at being ſeparated from the Count, joined to his other diſquiets, of which Love was the moſt poignant, made his misfortunes not leſs unſupportable.

The Count of Berci could not long ſup⯑port the Weight of ſo many miſeries, he ſunk under them at length, and fell dan⯑gerouſly ill. His Maſter beginning to fear that he ſhould loſe him, ordered proper Nouriſhment to be given him, and allowed him ſome intermiſſion from his labour, but as ſoon as he had recovered Strength, [184] he was again obliged to reſume his firſt Employment.

The Chevalier des Eſſars had been four Days in Algiers without being able to do any thing for his Friends; the Pirate had been abſent three Weeks, but at his Return the Chevalier immediately ſent the two Religious to him who had been the Companions of his Voyage; they offered him a very conſide⯑rable Sum for the Ranſom of ſeveral Cap⯑tives among whom they comprehended the two French Lords; they diſcovered no par⯑ticular Solicitude concerning them leſt the Terms of their Redemption ſhould be made more difficult; this Artifice did not ſucceed. The Corſair made a great Difference between them and his other Slaves, and demanded ſuch an extravagant Sum for their Freedom, that the two Religious thought proper to ſpeak to him no more on the Subject for ſome Days that they might not confirm him in the notion he had conceived of their Qua⯑lity.

The Chevalier, whoſe Impatience to ſee his Friends at Liberty could not bear any Delay, thought every Moment an Age till he had purchaſed their releaſe, and ordered the two Friars to give the Pirate whatever he demanded; but they prudently repreſented to him that if they proceeded in that manner with the avaricious Corſair, he would inſiſt upon ſtill harder Conditions, and would ad⯑vance [185] his Price, in Proportion as he ſaw them eager for their Deliverance. The Chevalier was at length prevailed upon to truſt their Experience and Zeal, with the Concluſion of a Bargain, which he deſired ſo ardently. Ac⯑cordingly theſe holy Men went three Days afterwards to the Pirate's Houſe, and without taking any Notice of the two noble Slaves, offered to ranſom twelve others, for which they immediately agreed upon the Price. The Pirate ſeeing them preparing to go without mentioning the Priſoners he had taken in his laſt Prize, was the firſt to pro⯑poſe a Sum for their Ranſom; the Religious affecting great Indifference, agreed at laſt to give ten thouſand Livres, which the Corſair accepted, and they promiſed him, to bring the Money the next Morning.

That Moment ſo earneſtly deſired by the Chevalier, at laſt came: the Religious paid the Sum agreed on, and flew to open thoſe dreadful Priſons, the eternal Abode of Horror and of Grief. After telling the unhappy Suf⯑ferers, with proper Caution, that they were now at Liberty, their Fetters were ſtruck off, and they were led into the open Air. The unexpected News of his Freedom had ſuch an Effect upon the Count of Berci, whoſe Mind and Body were greatly weakened, that he fainted away in the Arms of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who had been firſt taken out of his miſerable Confinement, and had eager⯑ly advanced to embrace him. The Religious, [186] finding all Endeavours to recover the Count from his Swoon ineffectual, they carried him in that Condition to the Lodgings of the Che⯑valier des Eſſars.

That faithful Friend was expecting them with an anxious Impatience: he ran to ſtrain them in his Arms, and welcome them to Freedom and Happineſs, when ſeeing the Count brought in motionleſs, he ſtopt ſhort, Grief and Amazement uſurped the Place of Joy; he thought he was dead, for a livid Paleneſs overſpread his Face, and he was ſo emaciated, that he was hardly to be known. He was beginning to give Vent to his Grief and his Complaints for this new Misfortune, when the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who know not of the Chevalier's Arrival at Algiers, threw himſelf ſuddenly into his Arms, with Exclamations of Sur⯑priſe and Joy. For ſome Moments, they held each other in a ſtrict Embrace, with⯑out the Power of expreſſing their Senti⯑ments, any otherwiſe than by Tears; their Solicitude for their Friend, at length, drew them out of this Rapture, they both ſprung in one Inſtant to him, and by proper Ap⯑plications he was, at length, brought out of his Swoon, he opened his Eyes, but it was only to turn them wildly about on the Ob⯑jects around him; in a few Moments his Speech and Underſtanding returned, and the Marquis and the Chevalier meeting his Eyes, [187] his Surpriſe at this View had like to have brought on a Relapſe.

‘All-powerful Heaven! cried he, with a Voice ſeeble and languiſhing, but expreſſive of the Emotions his Heart laboured with, what do I ſee? Is it a Dream, or am I really awake? — What Wonders have I beheld this Day! Oh gracious and all wiſe Providence! I adore thy infinite Goodneſs, in bringing to me again theſe Friends ſo dear to my Soul. — Finiſh, Oh! finiſh thy Work, almighty Power, purſued he with Eyes and Hands raiſed towards Heaven, and reſtore me likewiſe to the Sight of her, with⯑out whom I cannot live.’

Then holding out his Hand to the Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars, who ſtood regarding his Ac⯑tion with Eyes ſwimming in Tears of Tender⯑neſs and Joy, ‘Dear and faithful Friend, purſued he, ceaſe to load us thus with Be⯑nefits, or teach us how to acknowledge them, in a manner worthy of thee; but is it poſſible to make ſuitable Returns to this laſt Proof of your generous Friendſhip? Oh! Brother, added he, turning to the Marquis, our Lives have long ſince been his Gift under God, can either of us refuſe to ſacrifice them for his Service?’

The Chevalier, unable to bear theſe Tranſports of his Gratitude, ran into his [188] Arms, and embracing him tenderly, congra⯑tulated him on his Liberty. He then quitted him to the Marquis, who claimed a Share in the Endearments of the beloved Huſband of his Siſter.

When theſe mutual Raptures were a little ſubſided, they gave each other an Account of what had happened to them during their Se⯑paration. The Chevalier was greatly affected at the Recital of what his Friends had ſuffer⯑ed; the Count in particular, whom the Cor⯑ſairs had treated ſo cruelly that not even the Joy of his recovered Liberty, nor the tender Cares of his Friends could hinder him from feeling the Effects of it. He was ſeized with a violent Fever, which held him fourteen Days: during the whole Time that his Reco⯑very was doubtful, the Chevalier and the Marquis were in the utmoſt Affliction; but the natural Strength of his Conſtitution, at length, overcame the Diſeaſe, and his Health reſtored Tranquility and Joy to his ſympa⯑thiſing Friends, who now thought of nothing but haſtening their Departure.

Mean time young Berci, who had been toſſed about by contrary Winds, and in great Danger from ſeveral Storms, arrived, at length, ſafe at Algiers; the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur were walking upon the Port of that City, whither they were drawn by the Beauty of the [189] Place, and the Neceſſity they had for ſome freſh Air, when the Veſſel, that brought Monſieur de Berci, entered the Harbour with full Sails: the Chevalier and the Marquis were upon the Point of returning Home, to the Count, who, on account of ſome Remainder of Weakneſs, could not accom⯑pany them in their Walk, when their Cu⯑rioſity to ſee the Paſſengers, who were pre⯑paring to land, detained them a few Mo⯑ments longer: but their Surprize was ex⯑treme to ſee the Count's Brother among them; they ran eagerly to embrace him, nor was he leſs aſtoniſhed at the Sight of the Marquis and the Chevalier, one of whom he believed in Fetters, and the other in the Heart of Anjou. He immediately concluded, that the Chevalier had prevented him in his Deſign, nor could he guard his Mind from a little Emotion of Jealouſy; he regretted that his Brother and the Marquis ſhould owe their Deliverance from Slavery to any other than himſelf, after the Fatigue and Dangers he had endured to have the Satis⯑faction of doing them that Service. But theſe Thoughts ſoon gave way to his An⯑xiety for his Brother; he enquired with a tender Impatience for him; they ſoon re⯑leaſed him from his Apprehenſions at not ſeeing him with them, and carried him im⯑mediately to their Lodgings.

The Count of Berci was not leſs aſto⯑niſhed than they had been, at the Sight of [190] his Brother; he embraced him tenderly, and expreſſed the higheſt Acknowledgment for this Proof of his Affection; with a trembling Eagerneſs he enquired after the Health of his Wife, and when Monſieur de Berci ſhewed him her Jewels which ſhe had given him to purchaſe his Freedom, he burſt into Tears of Joy, Gratitude, and Love. His Impatience to ſee again that dear Object of his fondeſt Wiſhes, gave him new Strength, and he declared that he was able to embark immediately for France.

His Friends, however impatient them⯑ſelves to return to their native Country, which was ſtill more endeared to them by the Remembrance of thoſe beloved Perſons they had left in it, inſiſted upon the Count's ſtaying till his Health was perfectly re⯑eſtabliſhed. The Count of Berci had a Mo⯑tive more ſtrong for his Delay: he could not think of leaving his Servants, that had been taken with him in the Felucca, Vic⯑tims to the Cruelty of the Algerines; he judged of their Sufferings by his own, and his Compaſſion for them being heightened by that painful Remembrance, he was re⯑ſolved not to leave Algiers, till he had ef⯑fected their Deliverance. It was not with⯑out great Difficulty that they were found; they had been all ſold by the Corſairs, and had more than once changed their Maſters, during the Continuance of their Slavery. [191] The Count of Berci thought himſelf under an indiſpenſible Obligation to ranſom them: thoſe unhappy Men had been ſo barbarous⯑ly treated, that they were the more ſen⯑ſible of the generous Kindneſs of their Lord, in giving them Freedom.

Nothing now oppoſed their ſpeedy De⯑parture: the Count and the Marquis expreſ⯑ſed their Gratitude to the two Religious, who had treated ſo prudently for their Ranſom, by making them ſeveral noble Preſents; but they did not ſtop there, they left very conſiderable Sums in their Hands, to open the Dungeons of a great Number of Chriſtians, who had long ſuffered all the Rigors of Slavery. They thought they could not better expreſs their Gratitude to their Maker, for their own De⯑liverance, than by freeing their Fellow-Crea⯑tures, and their Brethren in the ſame Com⯑munion, out of the Hands of Infidels, who blaſphemed his holy Name, by this pious Uſe of Part of their great Riches, they hoped to draw a Bleſſing upon the Remainder; and this Act of Charity performed, they all em⯑barked on board a Veſſel that was preparing to ſail for Provence, and le [...]t for ever that bar⯑barous Region where they had ſuffered ſuch cruel Torments. At length, that God, whom they had invoked in their Affliction, and whom they had rendered propitious by their Alms, who commands the Winds and the Waves, who bids Tempeſts be ſtill, and [192] ſmooths the Face of the Deep, that God protected them throughout their Voyage, and gave them to land ſafely at Marſeilles, three Months and ſome odd Days after the Departure of the Chevalier des Eſſars for Africa.

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

THE Count of Berci and his noble Friends, as ſoon as they landed at Mar⯑ſeilles, offered up a ſolemn Thankſgiving to God for the Mercies they had received. They ſtayed ſome Days there, not ſo much to take a View of all the Beauties of that celebrated City, which, for its Strength, its Extent, and the Security of its Commerce, was in ſuch high Eſteem, and drew to it continually Mer⯑chants from every Nation in the Univerſe, but to reſt themſelves, after the Fatigues of a long Voyage. Their Impatience to ſee the Counteſs of Berci and Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin, [194] prompted the Count and the Marquis to a ſpeedy Departure. The Chevalier, though he was not at Liberty to own his Motive, was no leſs eager to get to Paris: Accordingly they purſued their Journey with all poſſible Haſte, and reached that great Ca⯑pital towards Aut [...].

They alighted all together at the Count of Berci's Hotel: he would not ſuffer the Che⯑valier to ſeek any other Aſylum than one which he, by his friendly Solicitude, could render moſt ſecure to him. He told him, that he would not part with him till the King had ſigned his Pardon, which he hoped he would not refuſe to his Solicitations, and that of his Friends, all of whom would intereſt themſelves in his Behalf. The Chevalier ex⯑preſſed the higheſt Gratitude to the Count for his friendly Offers, which too agreably flat⯑tered his ſecret Wiſhes, not to be accepted with Joy.

It is not eaſy to give an Idea of that Mix⯑ture of Surpriſe, Joy, Tenderneſs, and grate⯑ful Rapture, which filled the Souls of the Counteſs of Berci and Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin at the Sight of Perſons ſo dear to them. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur threw himſelf at the Feet of his charming Miſtreſs, whoſe Eyes welcomed him with ſtreaming Tenderneſs, while the Count ran into the Arms of his Wife, and in the moſt endearing Lan⯑guage expreſſed his Joy, at ſeeing her again. [195] It was with Difficulty he tore himſelf from her ſoft Embrace, to preſent the Chevalier des Eſſars to her.

‘See, Madam, ſaid he to her, that tender and generous Friend, who makes it the Buſineſs of his Life to ſerve us; who, not ſatisfied with having more than once deli⯑vered us from impending Death, has now freed us from the Horrors of a Slavery far more to be dreaded.’ The Counteſs ad⯑vanced immediately to ſalute him, pleaſed that her Duty and her Inclinations this once co-incided, ſhe gave free Vent to the grate⯑ful Sentiments that filled her Soul; ſhe praiſed his generous Friendſhip, ſhe acknow⯑ledged the great Obligations ſhe owed him, and aſſured him, ſhe ſhould ever preſerve the moſt grateful Remembrance of them.

‘I have done nothing, Madam, ſaid the Chevalier, interrupting the Counteſs, than what any other, in the ſame Circumſtances, and with the ſame Incitements, would have done; but were the Services I have been ſo happy to render your Lord and your Bro⯑ther, far more conſiderable, they would be overpaid by the Senſibility you are pleaſed to expreſs for them; and am I not doubly rewarded, purſued he ſmiling, and direct⯑ing the Eyes of the Count and Counteſs to the young Marquis, who was pouring out his Soul in grateful Tranſports at the Feet of his Miſtreſs, by the Pleaſure I feel my⯑ſelf, [196] at reſtoring a faithful Lover to the Ob⯑ject of his Wiſhes?’

The Marquis and Mademoiſelle de Mont⯑martin finding they were obſerved, joined the reſt of the Company, and the Conver⯑ſation became more general: that lovely Girl thought it would be no Violation of the Laws of Modeſty and Decorum, to join her Thanks for the Delivery of the noble Captives, to thoſe of the Counteſs of Berci; ſhe could no longer diſguiſe her real Senti⯑ments, her Joy to ſee again the Marquis, after a cruel Captivity, which had appeared ſo tedious to her, broke out in every Look and Action; — the happy Lover, on his Side, aſſured her, that his Abſence from her was a Torment far greater than all the Hardſhips he had ſuffered from his barbarous Maſters in Africa. A calm and ſettled Joy ſucceeded their firſt Tranſports at this happy Meeting, and in the preſent Satisfaction all Remem⯑brance of paſt Evils was forgot.

Some Days afterwards, the Count of Berci and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur went to the Louvre, to pay their Duty to his Majeſty, and both reſolved to uſe their utmoſt Endea⯑vours to obtain a Pardon for the Chevalier des Eſſars. That Prince, who had been in⯑formed of their Captivity, had the Goodneſs to aſſure them of his Concern for the Mi⯑ſeries they had ſuffered in Algiers; he com⯑manded the Count to give him a particular [197] Relation of their Slavery, and the Treatment which they had received from the Infidels: the Count obeyed; and the great Heart of Henry was ſenſibly affected with the me⯑lancholy Detail. The Count of Berci ſeeing his Majeſty ſo much moved, thought this a favourable Moment for the Chevalier; and continuing his Relation, he informed the King in what manner they were delivered from their Chains, and how greatly they had been obliged to the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars, who had generouſly undertaken a Voyage to Africa for their Service, and by his wiſe and prudent Conduct obtained their Liberty. Obſerving the King ſtruck with ſuch a noble Inſtance of Friendſhip and Generoſity, the Count of Berci entered in⯑to a Juſtification of his Friend's Conduct with reſpect to his laſt Combat with the Count of Polan; he explained to his Ma⯑jeſty the Neceſſity the Chevalier was under to take Notice of the Injury he received, which was publicly charged to the Count of Polan; he produced the Count's Anſwer to the Challenge ſent him by the Chevalier, as a Proof of what he advanced. Then the Marquis and he throwing themſelves at the King's Feet, beſought him to pardon the Che⯑valier des Eſſars, in Conſideration of his great Valour, his inviolable Fidelity to his So⯑vereign, — his aimable Character, and the Wrong he had ſuffered, by which he was provoked to take Revenge.

[198]The King was a little ſhook by their Intreaties, and the Arguments urged in Fa⯑vour of the Chevalier; but when he reflect⯑ed, that a Man whom all the Kingdom knew to be particularly dear to him, was killed by the Chevalier, in Defiance of his Edicts, and at the Hazard of mortally of⯑fending him, all the Solicitations of the Count and the Marquis could not prevail with him to pardon their Friend; they re⯑turned Home full of Grief for their bad Succeſs, and this Cloud that hung over the Chevalier's Fortune, embittered their Joys for their happy Return to France.

The Counteſs of Berci and Mademoiſelle de Montmartin were greatly afflicted at this Rigor of his Majeſty, as they thought un⯑juſtly exerted in the Caſe of the Chevalier; but although their Affliction aroſe from Mo⯑tives very different in each, yet it was pretty near equal; for in a generous Heart Grati⯑tude produces Sentiments as tender as thoſe of Love. Mean time the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur purſued his good Fortune with Ma⯑demoiſelle de Montmartin: his Sufferings on her account, had augmented her Tenderneſs. She had made too full a Diſcovery of her Sen⯑timents to the Counteſs, and even to her Lover himſelf, to indulge any farther female Parade, without incurring the Cenſure of Af⯑fectation and Caprice. The Marquis, with a Lover's Ardor, preſſed for an early Day,— Mademoiſelle de Montmartin but faintly de⯑nied. [199] As ſhe was entirely Miſtreſs of herſelf and Fortune, ſhe could form no Excuſe for a longer Delay, ſhe therefore yielded to give the Marquis her Hand, as ſoon as the ne⯑ceſſary Preparations for their Marriage were made. The Counteſs was charmed with her ready Compliance; and Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, obligingly aſſured her, that the Happineſs ſhe propoſed to herſelf in acquiring ſuch a Siſter, was not one of her leaſt Motives for ſo ſudden a Conſent, though ſhe allowed to her Brother's faithful Paſſion, and her own Inclinations in his Fa⯑vour, their full Force.

Letters were immediately diſpatched to Burgundy, to the old Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur and his Lady, acquainting them with Mademoiſelle de Montmartin's Conſent to give her Hand to their Son, which was an Event they had both earneſtly wiſhed for. In the expected Happineſs of ſuch a Union, they buried all Remembrance of their paſt Sor⯑rows for the Captivity of their only Son, and, although weakened with Age and Infirmities, they reſolved to take a Journey to Paris, and honour with their Preſence the Solemnity of his Nuptials.

The old Nobleman and his Lady were in⯑finitely delighted to find the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars at their Son-in-law's Hotel. The Count of Berci preſented him to them with his uſual Tenderneſs: the old Marquis embraced him [200] with Tranſport, calling him the Preſerver of himſelf and his Family; the Marchioneſs re⯑ceived his Compliments with the Tenderneſs of a Mother to a worthy Son. The Chevalier politely begged, that he might be allowed to offer them his Hotel for their Reſidence, during their Stay in Paris. ‘Since, added he, ſmiling, the Count of Berci's Hoſpita⯑lity has obliged me to become an Inmate here.’ The old Marquis and his Lady grate⯑fully accepted his Offer: they were conduct⯑ed thither in the Evening, by their Son, and the Count and Counteſs of Berci; and the next Morning Mademoiſelle de Montmartin went to pay her Reſpects to them.

The old Marquis and his Lady were charmed with the Beauty, good Senſe, and Politeneſs of their deſigned Daughter-in-law; they applauded their Son for his Choice, and not the leſs for having conſulted, as they ſup⯑poſed, Fortune as well as external Qualities in that Choice. The young Marquis ſuffered his Parents to attribute as much Prudence to him as they pleaſed, though his Heart told him, that Mademoiſelle de Montmartin's For⯑tune, great as it was, was nevertheleſs one of his leaſt Inducements for making his Addreſſes to her.

The Nuptials of the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and Mademoiſelle de Montmar⯑tin were celebrated with a Magnificence ſuit⯑able to their Quality and Riches; but, alas, [201] how was the Pomp of that Day's Ceremony darkened! What bitter Grief ſucceeded to their Joys! That Day was at once to the new married Couple and their Friends the happieſt and moſt miſerable of their Lives.

The Ceremony of the Marriage performed, the Bride and Bridegroom, with their Rela⯑tions and Friends, went to the Hotel of the Chevalier des Eſſars, where Monſieur and Madam de Saint-Sauveur had cauſed a ſplen⯑did Entertainment to be prepared. At One o'Clock in the Morning the new married Pair retired; the reſt of the Company conti⯑nued dancing: but the Count and Counteſs of Berci, after they had attended the Bride and Bridegroom to their Apartment, returned Home without taking Leave of the Com⯑pany, that they might not oblige them to break up.

The Chevalier des Eſſars, on account of the Diſgrace he was in with the King, was not able to aſſiſt at this Day's Ceremony: he went early to Bed, but an unuſual Inquietude, for which he could aſſign no Cauſe, hindered him from Sleeping; he roſe, and walked about his Chamber, and when he thought he had fatigued himſelf with that Exerciſe, he went again to Bed, but Sleep ſtill ſled his Eyes, his Imagination was tortured with ſad and diſmal Images that would not leave him a Moment's Repoſe; he ſtarted at every little Noiſe, without knowing why; his Heart beat [202] in an unuſual meaſure; and he was preparing again to riſe, when he heard the Count's Coach at the Gate.

The Arrival of the Count and Counteſs ſeemed to ſuſpend his Uneaſineſs; he heard them paſs by his Antichamber, and he again endeavoured to take ſome Reſt. Monſieur and Madam de Berci, after enquiring of the Che⯑valier's Health, retired to their own Chamber. Marianne, whoſe Conduct had been ſtrictly obſerved by her Lady ever ſince the Diſcovery ſhe had made of her Amour, took Advantage of that Day's Solemnity, which ſhe concluded would keep the Count and Counteſs very late from Home, to admit her Lover once more into her Chamber; ſhe could not imagine they would return ſo ſoon as they did, but hearing the Coach, ſhe cauſed Verague to dreſs himſelf haſtily, and having concealed him in her Cloſet, ſhe preſented herſelf before her Lady with an aſſured Countenance, and aſſiſted in undreſſing her as uſual.

As ſoon as ſhe was diſmiſſed, ſhe returned immediately to Verague, but would not ſuffer him to attempt to go away till ſhe thought the Count and her Lady were aſleep. The Door of this Woman's Room opened into the Counteſs's Antichamber: Verague muſt neceſſarily paſs through it to get to the back Stairs. When Marianne thought he might venture ſafely, ſhe conducted him with as little Noiſe as poſſible to the Door; however, [203] the Count, who was not aſleep, heard his Steps; a fatal Curioſity to know who it was paſſing ſo late through his Lady's Apartment, made him riſe, and, throwing his Night-gown over him, he went into the Antichamber. Verague had ſtopt there a Moment, to liſten whether none of the Domeſtics were ſtill up: hearing the Count's Chamber-door open, he attempted to gain the Stair-caſe, but with ſo much Precipitation and Fear, that he made a falſe Step upon the firſt Stair, which gave the Count of Berci an Opportunity to lay hold on him. Verague, made deſperate by his Fears for his own Life, and the Diſhonour of his Miſtreſs, took a Poignard he wore in his Bo⯑ſom when he went upon ſuch Adventures, and endeavoured to diſengage himſelf from the Count by wounding him in the Arm, but the Count, by a ſudden Motion, received the Stroke full in his Side. Verague now eaſily breaking from his Hold, ran down Stairs, and climbing over the Walls of the Court-yard, which were very low, he got in⯑to a little Garden, of the Door of which Ma⯑rianne had given him a Key, and eſcaped without Diſcovery.

The unhappy Count of Berci fell to the Ground with the Stroke he had received, and feeling his Blood flowing faſt from his Wound, he called for Help with a loud Voice, His Gentleman, whoſe Chamber was very near, and who happened to be up and read⯑ing, took up a Candle, and ran to the Place [204] where his Lord's Voice had directed him. At the Sight of the Count extended upon the Ground, and covered with Blood, he made the Houſe reſound with his Cries: the Coun⯑teſs awaking in great Terrors, and not find⯑ing her Lord beſide her, haſtily aroſe, threw on a looſe Robe, and calling Marianne, flew out of her Apartment, the Chevalier met her at the Head of the Stair-caſe. What a Spectacle for the Wife and the Friend! the Count wel⯑tering in his Blood, ſupported againſt the Wall, while his Gentleman was endeavour⯑ing to bind up his Wound with his Cravat.

Madam de Berci uttered a piercing Groan, and ſunk down by her almoſt expiring Lord; the Chevalier, for ſome Moments, ſtood mo⯑tionleſs with Grief and Amazement; the Ser⯑vants running from every Part of the Houſe, were preparing to take up their bleeding Maſter, when the Chevalier, rouſed from his ſilent Agony, eagerly lent his trembling Arm, and, with the Aſſiſtance of his Gentleman, carried the Count into his Chamber, and laid him upon his Bed. Surgeons were immediate⯑ly ſent for, but he, feeling his Strength almoſt exhauſted, turned his dying Eyes towards the Counteſs, who, ſupported by her Women, ſtood at his Bedſide in Anguiſh unutterable.

‘Ceaſe, Madam, ſaid he to her, ceaſe, to reſign yourſelf to a fruitleſs Grief, your Tears and your Deſpair cannot reſtore me to your Love, but will embitter my laſt [205] Moments. 'Tis done, I have finiſhed my Courſe, parting with you is all the Grief I feel in Death, but I return Thanks to Heaven for calling me away firſt, and ſpare⯑ing me the Affliction of ſurviving you; we have lived happy in each other's Affection, I die contented, and I conjure you with my laſt Breath, not to revenge my Death.— I pardon the Authors of it, continued he, looking at Marianne, who was in viſible Agitations, nor muſt you, my dear Coun⯑teſs, refuſe me another Requeſt, it is, ſaid he taking the Chevalier's Hand, who ſtood by him in an Agony of Grief, that after my Death, you will transfer the Affection you have borne me, to this dear, this faith⯑ful Friend, let him poſſeſs my Place in your Heart, bleſs him with your Hand, and both of you cheriſh my Remembrance.—May the God of all Mercies, purſued the dying Count, with Eyes fervently raiſed to Heaven, pour down his choiceſt Bleſſings upon you, and grant me an Aſylum in the Boſom of my—’ He was not able to utter more, his Hand loſt its Hold of the Chevalier, his Eyes for ever ſhut out the Light, and faintly groaning he expired.

The Chevalier ordered the Counteſs's At⯑tendants to convey her inſtantly into another Chamber, that ſhe might not behold a Spec⯑tacle capable of ſhocking her Reaſon. The Effects of her Grief were ſo much the more to be apprehended, as it neither vented it⯑ſelf [206] in Tears or Complaint: her Eyes remain⯑ed always fixed on one Object, like a Per⯑ſon in the laſt Agonies of Death; a mortal Paleneſs overſpread her Face; for a while ſhe ſeemed to have neither Senſe or Motion; at length ſhe was ſeized with Convulſions, which held her ſo long, that her Life was de⯑ſpaired of. It would have been happy for her had Fate then put a Period to her miſerable Days; but ſhe was reſerved to ſuffer greater Woes. By the Force of Medicines, ſhe re⯑covered to a Senſe of Grief. Painful Return to Life! She now felt and deplored her Loſs. The Chevalier ſtaid by her till the Convul⯑ſions had left her, and her Reaſon was a little reſtored; he neither could nor would attempt to conſole her, that, he judged, muſt be the Work of Time, and his Heart was too much oppreſſed by his own Sorrows, to make him capable of adminiſtring Comfort to another.

Mean time the News of this tragical Acci⯑dent was carried to the Hotel of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and changed the Mirth and Plea⯑ſures of the Ball into Tears and Lamentations: every one ran with diſtracted Haſte to the Count's Hotel; an Aſſaſſination committed upon his Perſon in his own Houſe, at the dead of Night, and by an unknown Hand, filled all who heard it with Horror and Amazement; a ſtrict Search was ordered to be made, but the Murderer could not be diſcovered, all the Doors of the Houſe were found faſtened, nor was it poſſible by any Circumſtance that ap⯑peared, [207] to form any certain Judgment. All that could admit of no Doubt, was, that the Murder had been committed by one who had been all Night concealed in the Houſe.

During all this Time, a thouſand gloomy Reflexions rolled in the Mind of Monſieur de Berci, the deceaſed Count's Brother. He was reſolved to ſpend all the rich Poſſeſſions he was left Heir to, in diſcovering the Authors of the Aſſaſſination and revenging it, he cauſed all the Men Servants to be carried to Priſon, and upon the Recital that was made him of his Brother's laſt words (for he was not preſent having ſtaid behind the Count and Counteſs at the Chevalier des Eſſars) of the meaning look he had caſt upon Marianne, and the trouble and confuſion it occaſioned in her, he made her be taken up likewiſe and con⯑ducted to Priſon, the Counts Servants went through the interrogatory, and the inno⯑cence was no leſs apparent by the ſincere Grief they ſhewed for the Loſs of their Maſter, than their clear and unvarying an⯑ſwers to the queſtions that were put to them.

When Marianne was examined, ſhe abſo⯑lutely diſavowed having any Concern in the Murder, and to remove any Suſpicions that might be entertained againſt herſelf or her Lover, ſhe declared to the Lieutenant cri⯑minel with an amazing Confidence that it was from the Counteſs of Berci herſelf that they ought to ſeek an Explanation of that [208] dark affair; ſhe aſſerted that her Lady's paſſion for the Chevalier des Eſſars who had lain for ſome Time concealed in the Houſe, was doubtleſs the true Cauſe of the Count's Aſſaſſination, to ſupport this Charge ſhe re⯑lated all that had paſſed in the Caſtle of Beau⯑plan, the ſecret Interview between the Che⯑valier and Madam de Berci by Night; her free Remonſtrances to her Lady upon ſo ſhameful a Conduct, which were ſo ill re⯑ceived, that ſhe diſmiſſed her from her Ser⯑vice; but at the Interceſſion of the Count's Brother, to whom ſhe had diſcloſed the Amour between the Chevalier and her Lady, ſhe had been pardoned by her, and continued in her Place. Hereupon the Lieutenant Cri⯑minal thought proper to have Monſieur de Berci examined: his Anſwers agreed with Marianne's Depoſition, as far as it related to the Account ſhe had given him of his Siſter-in-law's Amour, with the Chevalier; but he obſerved to that Magiſtrate that he had made Marianne's Peace with her Lady, upon Condition that ſhe ſhould give him Notice of all her ſteps with Regard to the Chevalier, that ſince that, the Counteſs of Berci, might have had many Opportunities of ſeeing the Chevalier in private, if ever ſhe had admitted of ſuch a Freedom, and Ma⯑rianne could not have been unacquainted with it, and would conſequently have given him Notice of thoſe ſtolen Interviews, in Per⯑formance of her Promiſe, but ſhe had never done it, therefore he concluded it was not in [209] her Power to give any ſuch Proof of her Lady's Diſhonour, for it was not to be imagined that ſhe who new accuſed Madam de Berci of being concerned in the Murder of her Lord, would have neglected to diſcover a ſlighter Fault, if ſhe had been able. The Lieutenant Criminel, although he found ſome Reaſon in what Monſieur de Berci had urged in Favour of the Counteſs, and that in the Depoſition of Marianne, only very light Preſumptions could he formed againſt Madam de Berci and the Chevalier des Eſſars, yet thought it neceſſary ta iſſue out an order for taking the Counteſs into cuſtody. Moſieur de Berci foreſaw this, he was fully perſuaded of his Siſter-in-law's Innocence, the Obſervations he had made to the Lieutenant Civil was, the reſult of deep Reflexion on her Conduct, her Grief for her Lord's Captivity, the generous Sacrifice ſhe had of her Jewels to procure his Releaſe, fearing that a much larger Sum would be demanded for his Ran⯑ſom than they could immediat [...]ly Raiſe, her unfeigned affliction for his Death, which had brought her to the laſt Extremity, the uncommon Friendſhip ſhewn by the Che⯑valier in making a Voyage to Africk to de⯑liver the Count, was all this conſiſtent with a criminal Amour between them, and ſuch complicated Wickedneſs as the Aſſaſſination of the Count, apparently the beloved Huſ⯑band and the valued Friend of them who were accuſed to be the Authors of it? Mon⯑ſieur de Berci rejected the Thought with [210] Horror, his Eſteem and Affection for his Siſter-in-law increaſed in Proportion as he thought ſhe ſuffered unjuſtly in her character, he flew to inform her of the Order iſſued for ſeizing her and exhorted her with Tears to ſeek ſome Aſylum where ſhe might be ſecured againſt ſo cruel an Affront. The Counteſs trembled with Horror at the news of her being ſuſpected to be an Accomplice in ſo dreadful a Crime; a generous Indig⯑nation took Place of thoſe firſt Emotions and overſpread her fair Face which, ever ſince the Death of her Lord had loſt all its Freſhneſs, with a tranſient Bluſh.

‘Oh, Woman (cried ſhe, when her Brother-in-law repeated to her the Depo⯑ſition of Marianne) Oh, Woman unworthy of the Light, deteſted Monſter, ſent from Hell to be my deſtruction! What reward doſt thou promiſe thyſelf for thy infamous falſhood? Is it my Life thy wicked Ma⯑lice aims at? Alas, it is now grown in⯑different to me, Grief would probably have done thy Work, but that does not content thee? I muſt dye upon a Scaffold, and my Fame muſt be murdered as well as my Per⯑ſon? Proſecute, Wretch, thy cruel Scheme, the ſilent Teſtimony of a clear Conſcience ſhall be my Comfort, and the Review of a Life free from Reproach my Defence.’

Monſieur de Berci could not hear this af⯑fecting Apoſtrophe to that infamous Slan⯑derer, [211] without Tears, and Execrations. The Counteſs expreſſed a grateful Acknowledg⯑ment for the Intereſt he took in her Mis⯑fortunes. She then deſired him to ſend the Chevalier des Eſſars to her, and as ſoon as he entered her Apartment, ſhe related to him all that her Brother-in-law had told her, concerning the wicked Marianne and her own impending Danger.

The Chevalier was in Agonies at the Re⯑cital of ſo horrid a Calumny. His Rage at the Aſperſions caſt upon the Counteſs, and his Terrors at what might be the Conſequence of them, made him appear like one diſtracted, he traverſed the Chamber with a furious Pace, forgetting that ſhe was preſent, and caſting up his Eyes to Heaven, ſeemed to upbraid it for permitting ſuch Virtue to ſuffer. But recollecting himſelf at length, he approached the Counteſs with a calmer air, and aſked her what in the preſent Exigence ſhe reſolved to do, begging her to command him freely whoſe Life was wholly devoted to her Service.

The Counteſs who had taken her Reſo⯑lution, replied with great compoſure, that her Innocence was her Security, and that ſhe would ſtand her Trial.

The Chevalier who had not expected ſuch Firmneſs, was at firſt loſt in Aſtoniſhment and Admiration; but anxious for her Safety, [212] and judging that there was no Time to loſe, he repreſented to her, that ſhe ought not to abandon, a Life ſo precious, to the precarious Judgments of Men often unjuſt, and cruel. Madam de Berci alledged that her Flight would give her the Appearance of Guilt, that ſhe would rely entirely upon her Innocence, and the Interpoſition of Providence, and wait patiently for the Event of ſuch an un⯑deſerved Accuſation.

The Chevalier finding her determined to expoſe herſelf to all the Dangers that threat⯑ened her, was almoſt diſtracted, he threw himſelf at her Feet and with Tears conjured her to take Meaſures for preſerving herſelf; but ſhe, unmoved with all he could ſay, ob⯑ſtinately perſiſted in her Reſolution to ſuffer the horrors of Confinement in a dreadful Priſon, the infamy of a publick Trial, and the Agony of a ſhameful Death, if ſuch was her Lot, and with abſolute Reſignation to the will of Heaven drink the bitter Cup that was prepared for her.

But at the ſame Time that the Counteſs thus fearleſly braved her own Fate, ſhe trembled at the Danger of a Man ſo deſer⯑vedly dear to her, ſhe conjured him to fly and leave her to the Protection of Heaven, the Chevalier declared that he would ſhare her Fate, whatever that might be; Madam de Berci intreated, wept, all was in vain. She then aſſumed an Appearance of Rage, and [213] threatened never to pardon him, if he refuſed to give her this laſt Proof of his obedience to her Will: even this was ineffectual. At laſt ſhe told him that her Intereſt required he ſhould be ſafe and at liberty, that he might be able to aſſiſt her, if her Enemies ſhould bring Things to Extremity.

This laſt Thought made ſome Impreſſion upon the Chevalier, he conſidered that if he ſhould ſuffer himſelf to be taken, the Count of Polan's friends would not fail to urge the King to have the Sentence he had pro⯑nounced executed upon him, ſo that the Counteſs would be effectually deprived of all the Aſſiſtance he was able to give her, he had many great and powerful Friends, all of whom he could engage in the Intereſts of Madam de Berci, while he continued free, but when he was once in cuſtody would have enough to do to procure his Pardon for the Death of the King's Favourite. He there⯑fore agreed to the Counteſs's Propoſal, de⯑termining within himſelf to die with her if he failed in his endeavours to ſave her.

‘I go, Madam, ſaid he, with Tears in his Eyes, in Obedience to your Commands: as long as I can be uſeful to you my Life will be worth my Care, and when it ceaſes to be ſo, I know how to die;’ he kiſed her Hand as he pronounced theſe words, and hur⯑rying out of her Apartment, met the two Marquiſſes de Saint-Sauveur, who were come [214] haſtily to ſee the Counteſs; the Chevalier em⯑braced them affectionately, and recommend⯑ing Madam de Berci to their tender Cares, retired to the Houſe of a faithful Friend, where he determined to wait the Effect of her Reſo⯑lution.

He had ſcarce been gone two Hours, when he was informed that the Counteſs had been arreſted, and, notwithſtanding the vigorous Efforts of her Relations to ſave her from ſuch an Ignominy, was conducted to the little Cha⯑telet; ſhe had been torn out of the Arms of her Father and the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur, who hung upon her, while her unhappy Mother ſunk upon the Ground in a fainting Fit, at the Sight of the dreadful Officers of Juſtice, who came to convey her to Priſon.

Oh! blind and cruel Fortune, ſhall Virtue ever be perſecuted by thee, and thy ſevereſt Malice be exerciſed upon thoſe who moſt de⯑ſerve thy Smiles?

When the Counteſs entered the fatal Place which was henceforward to be her Habitation, the melancholy Gloom, the wretched Furni⯑ture, the grated Windows, the frightful So⯑litude, filled her Mind with Horrors, till then unfelt; all that Fortitude, the Pride of ſuffer⯑ing Virtue, the ſecret Calm of conſcious In⯑nocence, upon which ſhe had depended, were too little to ſupport her under ſuch dreadful [215] Circumſtances. She had now none of that boaſted Courage left, which had leſſened every Trial ſhe could be called to, and made her imagine herſelf more than equal to them all. Filled with Horror and Deſpair, ſhe threw her ſtreaming Eyes around the miſerable Room, ſurveying it with diſtracted Eagerneſs, then ſinking upon a Chair, and giving a looſe to the Anguiſh that oppreſſed her, ſhe wrung her Hands, and ſtruck her groaning Breaſt. ‘Where art thou now, unhappy Wretch? cried ſhe; is thy once ſplendid Fortune re⯑duced to this; an Inmate of a horrid Priſon, confounded with the vileſt Criminals, branded with horrid Crimes, and threaten⯑ed with a ſhameful Death? Ah, my deareſt Lord, purſued ſhe, was not the Remem⯑brance of thy unhappy Fate ſufficient to afflict me, but I muſt be charged with being the Author of it? Juſt Heaven, let me not find Fault with thy Decrees, ſuffer not my rebellious Heart to murmur at my undeſerved Woes, let me ſubmit with Pa⯑tience to my Deſtiny; and ſince I have lived with Innocence, let me die with Reſignation.’

The Woman who had been appointed to attend the Counteſs, rather indeed to be a Spy upon her Behaviour, than to do her Ser⯑vice, could not hear this affecting Language without Tears. The Youth and Beauty of Madam de Berci had the Moment ſhe be⯑held her, excited her Compaſſion, and inſen⯑ſibly [216] removed that Prejudice which ſhe had conceived againſt a Woman charged with ſo black a Crime; ſhe could not look on her, and imagine her capable of Cruelty, ſhe could not hear her, and believe her a Hypo⯑crite. After two or three Days Attendance upon her, ſhe diſcovered ſo much unaffected Piety in her Behaviour, ſuch Gentleneſs of Manners, ſuch perfect Reſignation, and ſuch a calm, yet ſteady Courage, as perſuaded her ſhe was wholly innocent.

Madam de Berci ſoon perceived, this Woman had entertained favourable Thoughts of her: her extreme Aſſiduity to oblige her, the ten⯑der Concern ſhe expreſſed for her Misfortunes, drew from the grateful Counteſs Acknow⯑ledgments that entirely won her Heart. The Unfortunate are ever ready to over-rate the Benefits they receive, becauſe they are unex⯑pected: Madam de Berci, although ſhe ſhewed herſelf grateful in the higheſt Degree, yet had a Dignity in her Manner which enhanced the Value of her Condeſcenſions. The Exi⯑gencies of her Situation required that ſhe ſhould court the Friendſhip of this Woman, and ſhe ſucceeded without Difficulty, and without Humiliation: the Horrors of her Confinement were in ſome Degree moderated by this Incident; but the Shame and Diſ⯑grace ſhe ſuffered, and the Uncertainty of what might be her Fate, innocent as ſhe was, was ſufficient to overwhelm her with Sorrow. Death was not what ſhe dreaded, her Miſe⯑ries [217] had made Life hateful to her; but to die loaded with Infamy, to ſuffer the Stroke of an Executioner, upon a public Scaffold, brand⯑ed with the Crimes of Adultery and Murder, ſhocked her almoſt to Madneſs.

After a Week's Impriſonment, the Lieute⯑nant Criminal entered ſuddenly into her Cham⯑ber, in order to interrogate her: ſhe trembled at firſt at the Sight of this auſtere Magiſtrate; the Thoughts of being obliged to anſwer like a Criminal, in a Poſture ſo unworthy of her Quality and Innocence, threw her into ſome Confuſion: but here her Piety came to her Aid; ſhe humbled herſelf under the chaſtiſing Hand of the Almighty, and, with a perfect Submiſſion to his Will, ſuffered the igno⯑minious Examination; ſhe confeſſed the Ad⯑venture of the Foreſt, and the Interview ſhe had had with the Chevalier des Eſſars in the Caſtle of Beauplan, but ſhe took God to Wit⯑neſs for the Innocence of her Intentions, and her Conduct. The Judge, after taking her Confeſſion in writing, which he read to her, and ſhe ſigned, withdrew.

Neither the Counteſs of Berci nor Marianne had made any mention of Verague, in their Examinations: that Aſſaſſin was carefully con⯑cealed in Paris, in the Houſe of one of his near Relations. He ſtaid there for ſome Days, to ſee what Turn the Affair would take; but though he found himſelf in Safety, he was tortured with the Stings of his own Guilt. [218] This Man was a Gentleman by Birth: he had not hitherto committed any flagrant Crimes; the Terror he was in, leſt the Re⯑putation of his Miſtreſs ſhould be blaſted, made him deſperate, he found he could not diſengage himſelf from the Count, who held him faſt, and called aloud for Lights; his Si⯑tuation gave him not Time for Reflexion, it was neceſſary he ſhould ſpeedily eſcape for the Preſervation of his own Life and his Miſtreſs's Honour, and he could no other ways effect it than by ridding himſelf of the Count; guided by a ſudden Impulſe, he ſtabbed him with his Poignard, but aimed the Stroke at the Arm which held him, the unfortunate Count received it in his Breaſt; and Verague fled full of Horror at the Action he had committed, and Fear of the Conſequences. When he found, that the Counteſs of Berci and the Chevalier des Eſſars were accuſed of the Mur⯑der of the Count, his Heart was touched with Remorſe, but he had neither Fortitude nor Generoſity enough to clear their Innocence, by confeſſing himſelf the Aſſaſſin of that un⯑happy Nobleman. He could not, however, endure to be in a Place which every Moment recalled to him the Remembrance of his Crime, for which two innocent Perſons were perſecuted; he was apprehenſive likewiſe, that Marianne, terrified at the fatal Conſe⯑quences of her Guilt, would endeavour to re⯑pair the Miſchiefs ſhe had been the Cauſe of, and would deliver him up to Juſtice: but he judged too favourably of that hardened [219] Wretch, the Perſecution ſhe ſaw the Counteſs ſuffer, gratified her Malice, while it ſecured her Safety. She could never forgive her for the ſevere Reproaches ſhe made her on ac⯑count of her Amour with Verague, and for the Reſolution ſhe had taken to diſmiſs her from her Service.

It is one of the greateſt Triumphs of Vice to behold Virtue in Diſtreſs. Marianne exult⯑ed in her own Mind over her ſuffering Lady, and hardened herſelf in her Crime by re⯑flecting on the Advantages ſhe had now over that ſcrupulous Virtue, which, rather than wink at her Failings, had expoſed its Owner, though innocent, to all the Conſequences of detected Guilt. But Verague, who had not even truſted her with the Place of his Con⯑cealment, did not know the full Extent of his Wickedneſs, and was ignorant of his own Security: he therefore reſolved to leave Pa⯑ris, and ſhelter himſelf in England; but Change of Place could bring no Relief to the Tortures of his Mind, the Blood he had ſhed haunted his Imagination with Horrors, which made that Life he feared to loſe, in⯑ſupportable to him, and the Dangers the in⯑nocent Counteſs was expoſed to through his Crime, gave new Stings to a Conſcience ſuf⯑ficiently wounded before.

The Lieutenant Criminal was extremely concerned to find that the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars had eſcaped his Vigilance: the ſtricteſt [220] Search imaginable was made for him, but to no Purpoſe; he was perfectly ſafe in the Aſy⯑lum he had choſe, but devoured with Melan⯑choly, and a Prey to the moſt bitter Reflec⯑tions, the Murder of his Friend, the Suffer⯑ings of his beloved Counteſs, were never out of his Thoughts, and almoſt overturned his Reaſon.

Madam de Berci, who poſſeſſed more real Delicacy and Greatneſs of Mind than half her Sex, had never, when preſſed by her Brother-in-law to receive Marianne again in⯑to her Service, taken the leaſt Notice to him of the Cauſe for which ſhe had diſmiſſed her: he therefore was wholly ignorant of her In⯑trigue with Verague. She was ſilent like⯑wiſe upon that Head when ſhe was interro⯑gated by the Lieutenant Criminal: her Ago⯑nies, when ſhe beheld her Lord wounded to Death, and weltering in his Blood, were too great to ſuffer her Attention to be free enough to obſerve the conſcious Look he gave Ma⯑rianne, and the Confuſion it cauſed in that wicked Girl. At times indeed ſhe had ſome Suſpicions of the Truth, but as they were only Suſpicions, ſhe did not think herſelf au⯑thorized to accuſe any one. Her Pride ſug⯑geſted to her likewiſe, that ſhe ſhould level herſelf with her infamous Servant, to retort Scandal for Scandal, ſince ſhe had no Means of proving her Aſſertions, and Marianne had the Advantage of having firſt accuſed her, which ſhe thought would render every thing [221] ſhe afterwards ſaid, ſuſpected; this falſe Rea⯑ſoning was the Source of all her Miſeries: had ſhe diſcovered her vile Woman's Amour with Verague; his Flight, with ſeveral other con⯑curring Circumſtances, would have made him known to have been the Author of her Lord's Aſſiſſination; but ſhe herſelf was ignorant of his having left France, and as none of her Fa⯑mily knew of his Connexion with Marianne, it was a Circumſtance not attended to by them, and if not by them, no other Perſon had any Concern in it. Madam de Berci truſting her Juſtification to Providence, con⯑ſoled herſelf with the Conſciouſneſs of her In⯑nocence; and in her Piety and Reſignation to the Will of Heaven, found a Support that enabled her to undergo her Afflictions.

Mean time the Chevalier never one Mo⯑ment forgot the lovely Priſoner: as he could not ſolicit her Cauſe openly, he engaged all his Friends in her Intereſt; the Ardor and Zeal with which they undertook her Defence, were ſo much the greater, as they were con⯑vinced of her Innocence, and that of their Friend; even the Public, though often very unjuſt in its Cenſures, could not be perſuaded that this brave Man was capable of commit⯑ting a Crime, ſo unworthy of his Courage, his Generoſity, and his Birth, thoſe only who were Strangers to his Fame and his great Qualities, and the Friends of the Count of Polan, whom he had killed in his laſt Duel, [222] were capable of ſaying that he was the Author of ſo deteſtable an Action.

The two Marqueſſes de Saint-Sauveur were inconceivably afflicted for the Misfortunes of the Counteſs; but her Mother and her new Siſter-in-law were in a Condition truly pitiable: the Sorrow of that tender Friend for the undeſerved Sufferings of Madam de Berci was equal to that of her who had given her Birth. Under what fatal Auſpices had Hymen lighted his Torch for her? Her Nup⯑tials reſembled a Funeral rather than a Bridal Solemnity: Tears, Groans, and agonizing Aprehenſions left no room for Love or Joy. None of the Relations of Madam de Berci en⯑tertained the ſlighteſt Suſpicion of her Virtue; they were alike convinced of the Honour and Probity of the Chevalier; they knew where he lay concealed, and often viſited him, to lament the hard Fate of the innocent Counteſs, and to concert Meaſures for her Relief.

That unfortunate Lady was not allowed the Conſolation of ſeeing her Friends; her Father and Mother were denied Permiſſion to viſit her. Yet amidſt this complicated Miſery, her Mind was compoſed, her Behaviour expreſſed a calm and decent Sorrow, and in that the Death of her Lord had greater Part than her own Diſ⯑grace and Danger.

The old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, although he had a great Opinion of his Daughter's Vir⯑tue, [223] and the higheſt Veneration for the Che⯑valier des Eſſars; yet was greatly ſurpriſed, when he was informed of the Circumſtances of Marianne's Depoſition, concerning the Chevalier's Paſſion for his Daughter. He re⯑ſolved to get ſome Explanation of this Mat⯑ter from him: for which Purpoſe he went alone to viſit him one Day; and entering immediately upon the Point, he told him, that the only Circumſtance which made his Daughter's Innocence doubtful, were the vio⯑lent Preſumptions formed againſt her by the Judges on account of the Paſſion he was ſaid to have entertained for her, and which was proved by the Depoſitions of the Count's Brother and her Woman.

The Chevalier was in ſome little Confu⯑ſion at this Diſcourſe; he bluſhed, and caſt down his Eyes, for a few Moments he was ſilent, and in terrible Uneaſineſs. The old Marquis, in great Agitations, preſſed him to ſpeak: the Chevalier diſdained a Lie, re-aſ⯑ſuring himſelf therefore in a Moment, he re⯑plied with that Confidence which is always the Companion of Innocence, and Rectitude of Mind:

‘It is true, my Lord, I do love the Coun⯑teſs of Berci, your Daughter; I loved her before I knew her unfortunate Lord, whoſe Death you cannot more ſincerely lament than I do. Her Beauty charmed me while I was yet ignorant of her being married, [224] and when I knew it, her Wiſdom and Vir⯑tue rivetted my Chains. She might poſſibly have been ignorant of this Paſſion till now, had I not diſcovered it by my Complaints in the Foreſt of Beauplan. I did not imagine I could be overheard amidſt the Solitude of that vaſt Foreſt: I freely diſburthened my Heart; and Chance brought the Counteſs and her Brother-in-law within Hearing. That young Lord for his Siſter's Juſtifica⯑tion, ought to have remembered that I ex⯑preſſed the ſincereſt Friendſhip for the Count, which my Actions have ſince proved; that I trembled leſt my involun⯑tary Paſſion ſhould offend the Virtue I adored; and that I hoped for no other Re⯑ward than her Compaſſion. I acknowledge farther, that I once had a private Interview with the Counteſs in the Caſtle of Beauplan: ſhe granted me this Favour, in Conſidera⯑tion of the Service I had the good For⯑tune to do you. I had no Intention of making a Merit with her by that Service, as you, my Lord, well know, by my Soli⯑citude to conceal my Name. Madam de Berci ſaw me indeed, but it was to reprove me for my miſplaced Love; ſhe convinced me I could never hope to obtain any Favour of her inconſiſtent with the ſtricteſt Duty and tendereſt Affection to her Lord; and what is more, ſhe brought me myſelf to de⯑ſire no other, to be contented with her Friendſhip, and to aim at no higher Satis⯑faction than the Glory of ſerving her Lord, [225] and giving her ſuch Proofs of my Paſſion, as the ſevereſt Virtue muſt not only not condemn, but approve. Is it poſſible, that the Judges ſhould reflect upon the whole Tenor of my Conduct with regard to the Count of Berci, yet impute his Murder to me? Was it probable, that I would take a Voyage to Africa, in which I run the Riſque of being delivered up to the Laws of my Country, which I had offended by kil⯑ling the Count of Polan, or of being made a Slave myſelf, to deliver the Count from his Fetters, only to become his Aſſaſſin? Did I expoſe my Life, to ſave his, at the Siege of Oſtend, only to deprive him of it by a Midnight Murder when I returned into France? Ah! my Lord, do me the Juſtice to believe that I mention not theſe Things with any other View but to clear the Innocence of the Counteſs, and to de⯑fend my own Honour from the unjuſt Cen⯑ſures that have been caſt upon it. Yon Star that gilds the Firmament, is not clearer than your Daughter's Virtue, nor more ſpotleſs than her Mind. He who reads Hearts, who knows our Thoughts as they riſe ſponta⯑neous in the Mind, can witneſs how pure mine have been with regard to the Counteſs your Daughter. Ah! my Lord, if my Paſ⯑ſion for that virtuous Lady had been crimi⯑nal, if it had ſuggeſted baſe Deſires, I ſhould have rejoiced at the Captivity of her Lord, and not have expoſed myſelf to Slavery to redeem him; to ſave him from Death, I [226] ſhould not have run between him and his Enemies, and received the Strokes aimed at his, upon my own Breaſt.’

‘Dear Chevalier, interrupted the old Mar⯑quis, convinced by the Force of theſe Rea⯑ſons, forgive me for the Neceſſity I have laid you under of defending that Honour and Ge⯑neroſity of which my whole Family has had ſuch ſtriking Proofs; I am aſhamed that I have for one Moment ſuffered a Doubt to riſe in my Mind concerning your Love for my Daughter: that Love muſt have been honourable and pure; for mean and baſe Paſſions could never have a Place in ſuch a noble Mind.— Once more forgive me, and allow me to hope that I have not forfeited your Friendſhip by this Trial of your Good⯑neſs.’

The Chevalier made no other Anſwer than a ſtrict Embrace to which the old Marquis had invited him, as he uttered theſe laſt Words, by opening his Arms, and going towards him. Tears of Joy and Tenderneſs fell from the Chevalier's Eyes at the reco⯑vered good Opinion of the Father of her, whom he ſo religiouſly adored; but theſe pleaſ⯑ing Emotions ſoon gave Way to others, cau⯑ſed by the Remembrance of the Counteſs's Sufferings. They conferred together upon what Meaſures were proper to be taken to remove the Prejudices of the Judges: but all their Efforts were to no Purpoſe, the ſup⯑poſed [227] Amour between the Chevalier and the Counteſs, gave every Thing ſo black an Ap⯑pearance on the Side of the Lovers, that thoſe Magiſtrates iſſued an Order for Madam de Berci's being put to the Queſtion to force her to reveal what ſhe knew of the Aſſaſſina⯑tion of her Lord.

When this News was brought to the Family de Saint-Sauveur, the Grief they had hitherto ſuffered on account of her Impriſon⯑ment was ſo light to that they now felt that they thought they had never been miſerable till now, the whole Houſe was filled with Cries and Lamentations, the unhappy Mother beat her groaning Breaſt, and proſtrate on the Ground in agoniſing Sorrow, beſeeched Heaven to have Mercy upon her Child. But the unfiniſhed Prayer ſcarce paſſed her Lips when the Image of her Daughter's threatned Pains riſing to her tortured Imagination, her Grief roſe up to frenſy, wildly ſhe rent her reverend Hairs, and wrung her Hands, caſting by Intervals her ſtreaming Eyes to Heaven, from whence ſhe only hoped Relief: the young Marchioneſs in the Arms of her Woman, fell into ſucceſſive Faintings that made them tremble for her Life, the two Marquiſſes de Saint-Sauveur, endeavoured to conſole the Ladies, but wanted themſelves the Support they would have given.

But no Words can deſcribe the mingled Rage, Deſpair, and Anguiſh which took [228] Poſſeſſion of the Chevalier's Soul at the dreadful News, the very Idea of torturing that lovely Frame, drove him almoſt to Diſtraction, he could not bear to think her Ears had been wounded with the ignominious Sentence; regardleſs of his Safety he quitted his Retreat and flew to his own Hotel, where the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and his Fa⯑mily ſtill reſided. The Sight of his afflicted Friends gave him up for a few Moments to Tears:.. they could not ſpeak to each other, no one could bear to mention the horrid Sentence. The Chevalier at length recollect⯑ing himſelf, and ſtarting as if newly awaked from a frightful Dream, approached the wretched Mother and taking her Hand with a Countenance and Tone of Voice, that darted a Ray of Comfort into her Soul, thus ſpoke to her.

‘Heaven, Madam, has inſpired me with a Deſign which may relieve the Counteſs, and reſtore you tranquility, ſuſpend your Grief for a few Days and depend upon it, I will ſave her or periſh in the Attempt.’ The old Marchioneſs could only preſs his Hand, and by an ardent Ejaculation, implore the Aſſiſtance of Heaven upon his Enter⯑prize, the Chevalier then taking the two Marquiſſes aſide, told them that it being now near the End of Advent it was pro⯑bable the ignominious Sentence might be put in Execution before Chriſtmas, he there⯑fore deſired he would ſolicit the King, to put [229] off by his Authority, the Deciſion of the Proceſs, till after Twelfth-night. In great Afflictions it is natural for the Mind to faſten upon any thing that affords the leaſt Probability of Relief: the well known Courage of the Che⯑valier, his enterprizing Temper, and the Prudence and Fortitude which he poſſeſſed in a very high Degree, gave ſuch Force to his Aſſurances, that he would deliver the Counteſs from her Confinement, though with the Loſs of his Life, if that ſhort Interval could be obtained, that they readily, and not without ſome Degree of Hope, and Comfort, undertook, to procure, by the Mediation of their Friends, the required Delay. In Effect, the King, whoſe Indulgence for the charm⯑ing Sex, made up a great Part of his Charac⯑ter, was prevailed upon to interpoſe his Au⯑thority, to procure the unhappy Counteſs this ſhort Relief. The Chevalier was over⯑ioyed, and immediately began to execute the Project he had formed.

Between the little Chatelet and the Bridge there is a Street inhabited only by Butchers, whither no one comes but ſuch as have Oc⯑caſion to purchaſe Meat, becauſe it is not a Thoroughfare. The Chevalier, having long before been informed that the Chamber in which the unfortunate Counteſs was confined, looked into this Street, had, upon that Cir⯑cumſtance, laid the Foundation of his Deſign. Having put on a plain Dreſs, and turned up his own fine Hair under a Wig, which ſerved [230] for a tolerable Diſguiſe, he went very early in the Morning to this little Street, as at that Hour there was no Probability that any one would come to buy Proviſions: he walked leiſurely down it to take a View of the Situa⯑tion of the Counteſs's Priſon, and obſerved that a Grate of the Chatelet looked upon a Window of a Houſe which was ſo near it, that there was only the Breadth of that Street between them; the Grate was in⯑deed a little higher than the Window. The Chevalier was approaching this Houſe, when he obſerved that the Miſtreſs of it was em⯑ployed in opening her Shop; the Woman, ſtruck with his Air and Mien, notwithſtand⯑ing the Plainneſs of his Dreſs, was ſurpriſed to ſee a Perſon whom ſhe concluded to be of ſome Rank, at that early Hour, in an unfre⯑quented Street. But the Chevalier did not give her Time to make many reflections; he accoſted her with great Civility, and told her it was in her Power to do him a very conſiderable Service, which he would not fail to reward generouſly, and, as an Earneſt of what he would farther do for her, in Caſe ſhe was ſo good as to aſſiſt him, he begged ſhe would accept that Trifle, ſaying which he put a Purſe that contained fifty Crowns, in her Hand. The Woman was aſtoniſhed at the Value of ſuch a Preſent, which conciliated her good Will, even more than the inſinuating Perſon and Addreſs of the Chevalier, though Beauty never fails to have its due Weight [231] with that Sex. She deſired him to come in, and was prudent enough not to let him ſtand in the Shop, for fear of Obſervation; for ſhe found her Intereſt engaged in this ſtrange Gentleman's Buſineſs, whatever it might be, and that made her extremely wary. The Chevalier joyfully accepted of her Invitation; he followed her into the little Room ſhe led to, and after prefacing his Story with ſome Praiſes of her Benevolence, which he accom⯑panied with a Salute and a gentle Preſſure of her Hand, that extremely prepoſſeſſed her in his Favour; for Women in her low Claſs think themſelves highly honoured by ſuch Sort of Notice, from Men of the Rank the Cheva⯑lier appeared to be; he told her, that in the Chatelet there was Priſoner a Lady who was a near Relation of his; that he had the Ma⯑nagement of her Affairs, but that ſhe had been ſo cloſely confined for ſome Time paſt, that he had not been able to give her any In⯑formations concerning her Proceſs, nor to re⯑ceive any Inſtructions from her, all which was extremely prejudicial to her Cauſe. He aſſured her, that the Favour he required of her, could be productive of no Inconvenience either to her or her Huſband, it being only to lend him for two or three Days a Room in her Houſe that was oppoſite to the Grate; the Uſe, he intended to make of it, he ſaid, was to convey a Letter to his diſtreſſed Rela⯑tion, to give her Notice of ſomething which was of the utmoſt Conſequence to her Safety. He concluded, with aſſuring her, that if God, [232] through her Aſſiſtance, ſhould enable him, as he hoped, to juſtify the Innocence of the La⯑dy, he would give her a much more conſider⯑able Proof of his Gratitude than that ſhe had already received.

The Populace of Paris are naturally com⯑paſſionate, they are always ready to aſſiſt any one in the Circumſtances the Chevalier de⯑ſcribed this Lady to be in, when it is to coſt them nothing, but when for that Aſſiſtance Gratuities ſo conſiderable as the Chevalier's Preſent, are offered, there is nothing but what may be expected from their obliging Of⯑ficiouſneſs. The Woman, won by the Sum ſhe had in Hand, and the flattering Hopes of a much greater, offered the Chevalier not on⯑ly that Room, but her whole Houſe, if it could be of any Service to him, aſſuring him ſhe would keep his Secret faithfully, which the Chevalier, having engaged her ſo far in his Intereſts, had no Reaſon to doubt. She began immediately to make good her Pro⯑miſes, and conducted the Chevalier into the Room he deſired to be ſhewn to. The Huſ⯑band, upon hearing them there, ran to ſee who was with his Wife. She was young, and tolerably handſome: his Jealouſy was awaken⯑ed at the Sight of a fine Gentleman in Con⯑ference with her, and he did not fail to give ſome Marks of his Diſſatisfaction, but this laſted no longer than till he was informed of the Occaſion of ſuch a ſuſpected Viſit; the Sight of fifty Crowns inſtantly diſpelled the [233] Cloud on his Brow, and he ſurpaſſed his Wife in Civility, intreating the Gentleman to be aſſured that himſelf and all he had was at his Service. At any other Time the Chevalier would have ſmiled at ſuch a ſudden Tranſition from Diſguſt to a Profuſion of Kindneſſes; but the Importance of his Deſign filled all his Thought. The Butcher told him, that the Chamber which had that Grate in it, was the beſt in the Chatelet, where only Per⯑ſons of Quality were uſed to be confined; and that he believed there was at preſent in it a Lady of Diſtinction, who was accuſed of being concerned with a Gallant in the Aſſaſ⯑ſination of her Huſband. The Chevalier could not help ſighing at theſe Words, but recol⯑lecting himſelf, he deſired the Man with great Compoſure, to bring him the neceſſary Materials for writing, his only View being to convey a Letter to the Hands of his Kinſ⯑woman. The Butcher flew to get him what he wanted, and the Chevalier having finiſhed his Letter, faſtened it to a ſmall Cord, toge⯑ther with a little Inkhorn, ſome Paper, and a Pen. The Grate was double-barred, and very cloſe, he ſaw it would be very difficult to throw in this little Packet, however he flung it ſeveral times, directing it as near as poſſible to the Mark, at laſt it had the good Fortune to enter; he let go the Packthread, that the Counteſs might draw it all in through this Grate. That unhappy Lady was upon her Knees juſt oppoſite to it; ſhe ſaw ſomething fall on the Ground, and her Imagination be⯑ing [234] heated with the Fervency of her Devo⯑tion, ſhe concluded that Heaven had heard her Prayer, and had ſent her Comfort. She took up the Packet immediately, and drew in the reſt of the Packthread, which was hang⯑ing on the Outſide of her Chamber. The Paper, the Inkhorn, and the Pen, which ſhe ſaw tied up all together, ſurpriſed her at firſt; for the Confuſion of her Thoughts were ſo great that ſhe could not gueſs for what Rea⯑ſon thoſe Things were ſent her: but when ſhe opened the Chevalier's Letter, her Appre⯑henſion was a little quickened. It contained theſe Words:

The Counteſs read this Letter with a Va⯑riety of ſtrong Emotions: her Heart felt an involuntary Tranſport at this new Proof of the Chevalier's Tenderneſs and Conſtancy. She well knew his natural Intrepidity, and did not doubt but he was capable of under⯑taking any Enterpriſe to preſerve her. That good Fortune which had hitherto always at⯑tended him in any hazardous Attempt, ſeem⯑ed to promiſe him Succeſs in this: ſhe could not think of being delivered from that Place of Horror, without indulging a momentary Joy, heigthened with the Reflexion that the Man to whom ſhe was moſt willing to be obliged, would be her Deliverer. But this laſt Thought gave Riſe to another, which filled her with Confuſion and Uneaſineſs: [336] ſhe recollected, that this Deliverer, ſo dear to her, was, in the Opinion of the World, the Aſſaſſin of her Huſband; if ſhe accepted his offered Services, would it not confirm that horrid Suſpicion, and be productive of Dangers to both? She could not bear the Thought of giving ſuch a Sanction to the vile Reports that were ſpread of a guilty Commerce between her and the Chevalier, as the flying from her Priſon would do. No, cried ſhe weeping, let me die with the Satisfaction of having done nothing to de⯑ſerve the cruel Cenſures that have been paſt upon me. In vain ſhe endeavoured to fortify herſelf againſt the Fears of Death, by a Con⯑ſideration of what ſhe owed her Honour: the very Idea of the cruel and ignominious Tor⯑ture ſhe was to ſuffer, overthrew all her Conſtancy; and now wholly engroſſed by thoſe Terrors, ſhe reſolved to ſuffer no more Scruples to riſe in her Mind, but rather hazard the Loſs of her Reputation for a little Time, than loſe it effectually, together with her Life. She had not ſufficiently attended to the Force of the Chevalier's former Argu⯑ments againſt her truſting to the Judgments of Men, which cannot but be fallible. She had not Time to reflect on the Conſequences of the Step ſhe had determined to take. In that Enthuſiaſm, inſpired by Innocence and Grief, ſhe braved her Fate, and only ſenſible to Diſhonour, feared neither the Horrors of a Priſon, nor the threatened Death. Doubt⯑leſs, her Mind had been ſupported with the [337] Hope that her Innocence would be manifeſt⯑ed in ſpite of the Malice of her Accuſers, and that a ſhort Diſgrace would be recompenſed by a noble Teſtimony to her Honour. But her Situation was now greatly altered, her Fame was wounded deeply, her Puniſhment was certain, and not far off.

One reaſons very differently when a Dan⯑ger is near and unavoidable, from what one does while it is yet doubtful, and only threatens at a Diſtance. The Love of Life, ſo natural to a young and beautiful Woman, whoſe Heart was filled with the ſofteſt of all Paſſions, repelled every other Thought but what tended to her own Preſervation: ſhe no longer deferred taking her Reſolution, it was to live, whatever Conſtruction the World might put upon her Conduct. She made uſe of the Materials the Chevalier had ſent her for writing, and anſwered his Letter in the following Manner:

‘I will abandon myſelf entirely to your generous Cares and ardent Deſire to ſerve me, provided, that after you have delivered me from this Place of Horror, you will im⯑mediately reſign me to my Father's Protec⯑tion; the Enterprize you have engaged in, is generous and noble, but, alas, Chevalier, it is very difficult to execute, but remem⯑ber, that I expect you will act with ſo much Prudence, that while you are endea⯑vouring to preſerve my Life, you may not [238] endanger your own. Reſtrain the Impetuo⯑ſity of your Courage: in Affairs of this Na⯑ture the Arts of Contrivance are moſt wanted. Adieu, Chevalier. I ſhall be full of Anxiety, till I hear from you again.’

Although the Counteſs had entirely gained the Heart of the Woman who had been put about her, yet ſhe did not think proper to impart her Secret to her ſo ſoon, ſhe only told her, that a Friend, who was greatly in⯑tereſted in her Misfortunes, had found Means to convey a Letter to her, to comfort her under her ſevere Trials. The Pleaſure the Woman expreſſed at hearing this ſmall Piece of good Fortune for the Counteſs, made her, with good Reaſon, judge, that when Matters were riper ſhe might ſafely engage her Aſſiſt⯑ance. The Chevalier mean time ſuffered great Uneaſineſs and Perplexity, while the Counteſs was employed in deliberating what Part ſhe ſhould take; and afterwards, in writing her Anſwer, the poor Chevalier, tor⯑tured with Anxiety, planted himſelf at the Chamber-window: his Eyes were continually turned towards the fatal Grate; he trembled leſt he had miſtaken the Room where the Counteſs was confined, and that the Letter had fallen into other Hands. But at length, after being long racked between Expectation and Fear, he ſaw a Bit of Paper fall into the Street, his Heart bounded to his Mouth, with trembling Impatience he ran down the Stairs to take it up, but could not come Time [239] enough to prevent a Bailiff who had un⯑fortunately entered that Shop to buy ſome Meat, from ſeizing the Paper, which he was opening, when the Chevalier approached him, and deſired him very civily to give it to him, ſaying, it was a Paper he himſelf had let fall. The Bailiff's Curioſity to ſee the Con⯑tents of that Paper, was greatly heightened by the apparent Agitation of the Chevalier: he was a little ſlow in returning it; the Che⯑valier almoſt diſtracted with his Fears of what might happen from ſuch an unlucky Circum⯑ſtance, ſtaid no longer to intreat, but ſnatcht the Paper out of his Hands, and run away as faſt as his Legs could carry him, behind the Chatelet, on that Side near the Church of Notre Dame, with all the other Bailiffs who were then at the Barriere, and a confuſed Rabble at his Heels, who cried aloud, Stop, ſtop him, he has killed a Man. This Cry made ſeveral Perſons throw themſelves in his Way, and endeavour to ſeize him; but theſe Ene⯑mies were not near ſo formidable as thoſe be⯑hind, he conceived he might eaſily terrify them by holding his drawn Sword in his Hand; and, in Effect, the Sight of it, and the Chevalier's threatening Looks, ſo intimi⯑dated them, that not one would venture to lay hold on him, but, on the contrary, opened him a Paſſage, through the Coaches and Chariots, with which the little Bridge is al⯑ways crouded. He eſcaped thus from the Croud, and going through By-ſtreets, he ar⯑rived ſafe at the Houſe of his Friend, where [240] he read Madam de Berci's Billet with in⯑finite Satisfaction.

The Chevalier had not acquainted his Friend with his Deſign of delivering the Counteſs: but he now told it him, together with the Danger he had lately eſcaped. Monſieur la Ronvere, for that was the Name of this faithful Friend of the Chevalier's, blamed him greatly for his Raſhneſs, and told him, that he, with leſs Danger and equal Succeſs, might have tranſacted the Bu⯑ſineſs with the Butcher and his Wife, and have conveyed the Letter to and from the Lady ſafe. The Chevalier embraced him tenderly, and thanking him for his Zeal, repreſented to him, that on this Occaſion, if he attempted to ſerve the Counteſs, and was diſcovered, it might create a Suſpicion that he lay concealed in his Houſe, and if that happened, he ſhould either be appre⯑hended, or obliged to leave Paris to avoid it; either of which, in the melancholy Si⯑tuation the Counteſs was in, would be worſe than Death to him, as it would leave him no Poſſibility of aſſiſting her.

‘But, interrupted Monſieur la Rouvere, in what manner do you propoſe to con⯑vey Letters to her now, for it would be Madneſs to proſecute your former Scheme. If you return again to the Butchers, you will infallibly have all the Bailiffs to con⯑tend with, and probably the Mob of Paris [241] likewiſe, in which Caſe a Diſcovery of your Perſon would be the certain Conſequence.’

‘I have thought of an admirable Expe⯑dient, replied the Chevalier after a little Pauſe, I will, as ſoon as it is Night, dreſs myſelf like a Beggar, and be ſo well diſguiſed, that you ſhall hardly know me. I will creep along the Street aſking Alms, till I get near the Chatelet, where I will attempt two Things, the one is, to ſend another Line to the Counteſs, by the ſame Conveyance as before; and the other, to procure, if poſſible, an Interview with the Turnkey of the Priſon, and try, if, with the Hopes of a conſiderable Reward, I can prevail with him to let the Counteſs eſcape. Although I ſhould ſpend all my Eſtate, pur⯑ſued the Chevalier with great Emotion, in this Deſign, I ſhall yet be too happy and too rich if I procure her Liberty, for which I would readily ſacrifice my Life.’

Monſieur la Ronvere approved of his Friend's Scheme: ‘But, in order to render the Succeſs of it leſs uncertain, ſaid he, I think it will be neceſſary that I ſhould fol⯑low you at a Diſtance, with four or five Servants well armed, to prevent any Acci⯑dent happening to you, if you ſhould be known; and I would adviſe you, continued he, to take Money with you to give imme⯑diately to the Turnkey, for you deceive yourſelf, if you imagine he will liſten to [242] your Propoſals, unleſs he is ſoftened by the Sight of that perſuaſive Metal. And it is poſſible, that, without ſuch a powerful Ad⯑vocate, he may ſeize your Perſon for tempt⯑ing him to betray his Truſt. I think in the Letter you write to the Counteſs, you ſhould deſire her to ſound this Man; and if ſhe finds him diſpoſed to ſerve her, to tell him, that one of her Friends deſigned to have a Conference with him this Night, concern⯑ing her Affairs; ſhe may likewiſe promiſe him a conſiderable Sum, which you ſhall fix in your Letter, and have it ready with you to give him, in caſe he complies. The Counteſs will certainly have a better Op⯑portunity to enter upon this Negotiation, than you can have, and when ſhe has once begun, you may conclude it happily together.’

The Chevalier approved of his Friend's Advice, and waited with an ardent Impa⯑tience for the Hour in which he was to put his Project in Execution. After a ſhort Din⯑ner, he wrote to the Counteſs, depending upon conveying it to her in the ſame manner as he had done in the Morning: he then put on ſome ragged Cloaths, torne Stockings, and an old Pair of Shoes, one of which wanted a Heel, and helped to give him a hobbling Gate; his Hair was all tied up under the miſerable Remains of a Wig that had once been fair, but now looked like a darkiſh red; a large black Patch covered [243] half one Side of his Face; and, upon the whole, he was ſo well diſguiſed, that had he been met by his moſt intimate Friends, he would not have been known.

In this Equipage he ſet out in the Evening, followed at a diſtance by his Friend, and two ſtout Footmen. The Chevalier was not with⯑out Apprehenſions of meeting with ſome un⯑lucky Accident, like that in the Morning, and was grieved that he had not been able to take his Sword along with him; for he was armed only with a little Poignard, which he concealed in his Breaſt. When he [...] [...]aſ [...]ed the Chatelet, he left the Barriere where the B [...] ⯑liffs ſit, and on his left Hand, entered the [...] Street of the Butcher's, leaving his Friend and his Servants to walk leiſurely between the little Bridge and the Entrance to the Street St. Jac⯑ques. He went immediately to his friendly But⯑cher, whom he found in great Concern about him; they did not know him again till he ſp [...]ke to them, and overjoyed that he had ſo happily eſcaped from the Bailiffs and the Mob that had purſued him in the Morning, they con⯑ducted him inſtantly to the Chamber, from whence he had thrown his former Letter in⯑to the Grate, as he did this likewiſe, with equal Succeſs. He deſired the Counteſs in it to prepare the Turnkey for an Interview with him at Nine o'Clock that Night, and to let him know that he ſhould receive five hun⯑dred Crowns in Hand, and a thouſand [244] more as ſoon as he had delivered up his Pri⯑ſoner.

The Counteſs, whoſe Thoughts had been buſied in contriving Means to facilitate her Eſcape, ever ſince ſhe had received the Che⯑valier's firſt Letter, had actually hit on the ſame Expedient, and had ſounded the Turn⯑key that very Day: he had liſtened to her with great Attention and Complacency, but had promiſed nothing in particular, he only ex⯑preſſed great Compaſſion for her Misfortunes, and an Inclination to do her all the Service that was in his Power. Madam de Berci was overjoyed to ſee a ſecond Billet from the Chevalier fall into her Chamber; ſhe was ſtill more pleaſed with the Contents of it, and thought it a favourable Circumſtance that the Chevalier and herſelf had made Choice of the ſame Scheme to effect her Liberty. She wrote an Anſwer immediately, in which ſhe told the Chevalier, that ſhe would give the Turnkey a Preſent when he came with her Supper, as uſual, and make him the Offers mentioned in his Letter. She deſired him not to come to the Chatelet till Ten o'clock at Night, at which Hour ſhe hoped to prevail upon the Turnkey to meet him. The Chevalier went down into the Street, that he might be ready to take up the Counteſs's Billet as ſoon as he ſaw it fall: he had the good Fortune to ſecure it in his Pocket without being perceived. But he fell into another Scrape, which was much [245] more dangerous than the Adventure that hap⯑pened to him in the Morning.

It was formerly a Cuſtom in Paris, on Chriſtmas Eve, for a Commiſſary, attended with a certain Number of Archers, to walk through the Streets, and take up all the Poor they met, who, during that ſolemn Feſtival, were carried by Force, if they would not go voluntarily, to a Place prepared for their Re⯑ception, where they were cloathed and ſup⯑ported with the Money that was found in the Poor's Boxes in Churches, and with the Alms given by charitable Perſons. The Chevalier, as he was returning to meet his Friends, was met by the Commiſſary and his Guard: the Archers concluding the Chevalier was a Beg⯑gar, invited him to follow them, he refuſed, and two or three of the Archers laid hold on him, in order to force him along with them, wondering at the Folly of the miſerable Wretch, who refuſed to go to a Place where he would be cloathed and fed for a certain Number of Days; the Chevalier finding they were reſolved to compel him to accept of this Charity, reſiſted them with ſo much Strength and Obſtinacy, that they grew weary of con⯑tending with him, and left him at Liberty to go where he pleaſed. His Friend, who at a Diſtance ſaw what paſſed, advanced with his two Servants, under Pretence of aſking what was the Matter, and favoured the Chevalier's Retreat. In Effect, he happily eſcaped this Danger, and arrived ſafe at his Friend's Houſe, [246] where he was ſoon followed by Monſieur le Ronvere, and they read Madam de Berci's Billet with great Joy. They entertained them⯑ſelves at Supper with the pleaſing Hopes of ſoon freeing that perſecuted innocent Lady from her Confinement: and as ſoon as they had ſupped, they went to preſent themſelves at the Chatelet, at the appointed Hour. They were attended by ſeveral Servants well armed, ſo that if the Turnkey ſhould prove perfidious, they were in a Condition to take Revenge on him, and to defend themſelves againſt any that ſhould offer to ſeize them.

In the mean time Madam de Berci took an Opportunity to ſpeak to the Turnkey, when he brought her Supper into her Chamber. She had about four hundred Crowns in her Purſe, which ſhe divided between the Turnkey and the Woman that attended her: ſhe told them, that ſhe made them that Preſent in return for their obliging Behaviour to her, ever ſince ſhe had been a Priſoner; and that, if God was pleaſed to make her Innocence manifeſt, and ſhe was reſtored to her Liberty, ſhe would give them further Proofs of her Gratitude. She mentioned the approaching Trial ſhe was to undergo, and burſting into Tears, aſſured them that no Tortures ſhould extort from her the Confeſſion of a Crime ſhe had never com⯑mitted, and if ſhe died under them, ſhe hoped Juſtice would be done to her Memory.

[247]The Woman wept bitterly at this Diſ⯑courſe; the Turnkey was greatly affected. A Lady ſo young, ſo lovely, of ſuch high Birth, and in all Appearance ſo innocent, to be put to the Torture, was a Thought he could not endure: ‘how meritorious would it be, whiſpered he to the Woman, if we could preſerve this Lady from the cruel Fate with which ſhe is threatened!’ The Wo⯑man, although ſhe durſt not be the firſt to make ſuch a Propoſal, was overjoyed that he had mentioned it; ſhe eagerly aſſured him, that ſhe would run any Hazard to ſave her. The Counteſs obſerved their Whiſpers, her Heart divided between Fear and Hope, beat with unuſual Violence. At length they ap⯑proached her, ſhe waited trembling for the Reſult of their Conference, judging that her Deſtiny depended upon the Reſolution they had taken. The Turnkey, addreſſing her with Tears in his Eyes, urged her to make her Eſcape; and both he and the Woman aſſured her that they would venture their Lives to aſſiſt her. He told her, that it ſhould be his Part to deliver her out of Priſon, provided ſhe had any Perſon in whom ſhe could con⯑ſide that would receive her from him at the Gate of the Chatelet, and conduct her out of Paris. The Counteſs was tranſported to ſee them enter ſo readily into her Meaſures: ſuch unhoped-for good Fortune made her doubtful whether ſhe was not in a Dream; but recollecting herſelf, ſhe heedfully ob⯑ſerved the Countenances of her two Friends, [248] and ſaw ſo many Marks of real Sorrow and Tenderneſs imprinted on them, that ſhe was perſuaded they were ſincere in their Profeſ⯑ſions. She then opened herſelf more freely to them, and aſſured them that they ſhould have no Reaſon to repent of what they did for her Service; that they might hope every thing from her Generoſity and Gratitude, and that they ſhould be largely recompenſed for the Advantages they quitted in the Chatelet to ſet her at Liberty; that if he was in Ear⯑neſt in his Offers, ſhe had a Friend who would that very Night give him five hun⯑dred Crowns, and when he delivered her in to his Hands, a thouſand more; ſhe aſſured him, that he might depend upon this Pro⯑miſe, but that he muſt be alſo exact in the Performance of his; for that if he ſhould fail, no Place on Earth would be able to ſhelter him from the Vengeance of her Friend. She added, that he might make his Fortune in one Day if he pleaſed, and he enabled to quit a Profeſſion, which could not but be very diſagreeable to one who had any Humanity or Generoſity.

The Turnkey unalterably fixed in his Re⯑ſolution of delivering her by ſuch great Of⯑fers, aſſured her with the moſt ſacred Oaths, that he would perform his Promiſe in the Counteſs then ſhewed him the Letter ſhe had received from the Chevaller, and it was reſolved that the Turnkey ſhould give him a Meeting that Night, in order to receive the [249] five hundred Crowns, and to ſix the Day for her Eſcape.

The Turnkey did not fail to go out of the Chatelet at the appointed Hour, and ſeeing two Men at a little Diſtance from the Gat [...], he concluded they muſt be the Lady's Friends, who were waiting for him. One of them, who was the Chevalier des Eſſars, advanced immediately; and aſked him, if it was he that carried Proviſions into the Chamber of a Lady who was Priſoner in the Chatelet? The Turnkey replied, he was, and that the Lady had ſent him to confer with him concerning the Means to ſet her at Liberty. The Che⯑valier was overjoyed at theſe Words: he found by them that Madam de Berci had been ſucceſsful, and taking out of his Pocket a Purſe in which were five hundred Crowns in Gold, ‘Friend, ſaid he to the Turnkey, putting it into his Hand, receive this ſmall Earneſt of my Gratitude, and depend upon being rewarded with a Sum much larger, provided you will To-morrow deliver your Priſoner into my Hands. But do not de⯑ceive me, added he, for if you do, I will take away your Life, though I ſacrifice my own.’ ‘I will not deceive you, replied the Turnkey, receiving the Purſe, but I cannot promiſe you to free the Lady before Saint John's Day: my Maſter always keeps that Feſtival, and makes a great En⯑tertainment in the Chatelet, to which all his Friends and Relations are invited; they [250] will not fail to drink deep, and I hope I ſhall find ſome Opportunity that Evening to acquit myſelf of the Promiſe I have made you to deliver the Lady; that Pro⯑miſe I here repeat to you, Monſieur, and engage at the Hazard of my Life to bring the Lady at Twelve o'Clock that Night to the New-market, where you muſt be ready to receive her, but till then you muſt have Patience; and do not attempt to convey any more Letters to her, for fear any thing ſhould happen that may diſcover the Correſpondence we hold together. Again, Monſieur, I beg you to rely upon my Sincerity, and doubt not but I will faithfully perform my Promiſe.’

The Turnkey then urged him to depart, leſt they ſhould by ſome prying Eye be ob⯑ſerved in Diſcourſe together. The Chevalier repeating his Promiſe of a further Reward, and recommending Caution and Zeal in the Lady's Service, rejoined his Friend, to whom he related all that had paſſed between him and the Turnkey. This fortunate Beginning ſeemed ſuch an Earneſt of happy Succeſs, that the Chevalier reſigned himſelf up to a Joy he had long been unacquainted with. He would not Delay a Moment relieving the Anxiety of the ſorrowing Parents: before he went to his Friend's Hotel, he called upon the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and gave him Hopes that he ſhould behold his Daughter at Liberty. The Chevalier did not think it [251] proper to toll them what Meaſures he was purſuing to bring about this happy Event; but thoſe few Words tranſported them with Joy. They endeavoured to intereſt all Heaven in his Favour, by the moſt ardent Supplica⯑tions, and he retired loaded with their Bleſ⯑ſings and Praiſes.

The next Day, the Turnkey informed Madam de Berci of his having ſettled every thing with her Friend, and that on the Feſti⯑val of Saint John he hoped to be able to deliver her into his Hands. How ſweet were the Hopes of Liberty to that unhappy Lady, who had ſo long languiſhed amidſt the Hor⯑rors of a Priſon. She now for the firſt time ſince her Entrance into that fatal Place, felt ſome Remiſſion of her Grief. Her Mind admitted a Hope of once more being happy. She dwelt with Pleaſure on the Remembrance of all the Services ſhe had received from the Chevalier, and having no longer tyrannic Duty to combat with, indulged a Tenderneſs authorized by her Huſband's dying Command, and his own exalted Merit. In ſuch agreeable Reflexions, ſhe leſſened that Interval of Time which otherwiſe would have appeared ſo te⯑dious. Yet ſhe was often alarmed with Fears that their Enterprize would be diſcovered, and that Anxiety, ſo natural to Perſons in Suſpence, ſometimes damped her Joy for the near Proſpect of her Liberty, and gave her up to Terror and Deſpondence.

[252]At length, the Day ſo impatiently wiſhed-for appeared. The Jailor celebrated the Feſti⯑val with a great Entertainment as uſual. They prolonged the Debauch to a later Hour than ever they had done before, which was a very unfavourable Circumſtance. The Turn⯑key had given Notice to the Counteſs and the Chevalier to hold themſelves in Readineſs at Eleven o'Clock, the one in her Chamber, the other at the New-market. They both were perſuaded, that if they loſt this Opportunity, it would be very difficult to find another; and that it would not be poſſible to procure a further Delay of the Sentence againſt the Counteſs. The Chevalier poſted himſelf with his Friend, and four other Gentlemen well armed, at the appointed Place. With ſuch an Eſcort they had nothing to fear from the Archers, if they ſhould be betrayed; and they were determined, if they once got the Coun⯑teſs out of the Chatelet, to kill all that op⯑poſed them, rather than ſuffer her to be taken from them. When the Clock ſtruck Eleven, an univerſal Trembling ſeized the poor Coun⯑teſs, her Heart beat, as if it would leave her Breaſt, anxiouſly ſhe liſtened to every little Noiſe, and longed, with eager Impatience, to hear the ſoftly treading Foot of her Deliverer nor was the Chevalier under leſs Agitations, when he heard the important Hour ſtrike; Fear and Hope, for ſome Moments, equally divided his Soul; but when he found the Turnkey did not appear, he was almoſt diſ⯑tracted, he thought his beloved Counteſs [253] wholly loſt, and in the Agony of his Grief and Deſpair, he was for going forward to the Chatelet, and making ſome deſperate Attempt to relieve her.

The Turnkey at length appeared, but with⯑out the Counteſs: the Chevalier des Eſſars tranſported with Rage, was for ſacrificing him inſtantly to his Revenge, ſuppoſing he had betrayed him. The Turnkey ſeeing the Che⯑valier advance in a threatening Poſture, beg⯑ged him to liſten patiently to him for one Moment: he then aſſured him, that nothing had hindered him from performing his Pro⯑miſe, but the unexpected Stay of the Gueſts to a later Hour than uſual; that they were now all gone, and that his Maſter was pre⯑paring to go to Bed, where he did not doubt but he would be ſoon faſt aſleep; for he had drank deep, and was greatly intoxicated. He intreated him to wait patiently a little Time longer, when he would infallibly bring out the Priſoner.

This Aſſurance calmed the Rage of the Chevalier, and diſſipated his Uneaſineſs; but the poor Counteſs was in dreadful Agonies. She had counted the Hour by ſeveral dif⯑ferent Clocks, which ſhe heard, ſtrike, but not ſeeing her Deliverer, ſhe flattered her⯑ſelf that her Impatience had made her miſ⯑take. The Turnkey, terrified by the former Menaces of the Chevalier, was only ſoli⯑citous about ſatisfying him, without giving [254] himſelf any Trouble to calm the Fears of the Counteſs. As the Minutes rolled away, her Apprehenſions increaſed; yet ſtill ſhe fain would have perſuaded herſelf, that ſhe had miſcounted the Hour, and this Thought left her ſome faint Remains of Hope which ſupported her fluttering Spirits, till the Clock ſtruck, and ſhe reckoned Twelve. At this ſad Confirmation of her Fears, a mortal Pale⯑neſs overſpread her Face; her trembling Knees could no longer ſupport her Weight, ſhe ſunk down upon a Chair, and loſing all Hopes of Liberty and of Life, ſhe abandoned herſelf-to an Exceſs of Deſpair.

Amidſt theſe Agonies, more cruel than the Tortures ſhe dreaded, the Turnkey ſud⯑denly opened the Door of her Chamber, and deſired her to follow him: his unexpected Sight had ſuch an Effect upon the Counteſs, that ſhe fell fainting into the Arms of the Woman who attended her; her Mind tor⯑tured at firſt by Suſpenſe, and afterwards ſunk in the moſt deep Deſpair, could not bear the overwhelming Joy which the ſud⯑den Tranſition from certain Death, to Li⯑berty and Safety gave her. She continued a long Time deprived of Speech and Senſe, and in all Appearance dead.

The Turnkey, ſurprized at this Accident, and dreading the fatal Conſequences of it, knew not what to do. The Woman, who was likewiſe a Witneſs of ſo ſad a Spectacle, [255] was ſo much terrified, that ſhe was for ſeve⯑ral Moments incapable of giving her any Aſſiſtance. But after they had thrown ſome Water on her Face, ſhe gave Signs of return⯑ing Life; the Turnkey repeatedly cried to her that her Friends were waiting for her. That welcome Sound, at length, recalled her ſcattered Spirits, ſhe opened her Eyes, and the Turnkey urging her to depart im⯑mediately, leſt they ſhould be prevented, Fear gave her Strength in an Inſtant; the Woman lent her her ſupporting Arm, while the Turnkey ſoftly walked before with a Light; with eager, though trembling Stept, ſhe quitted that horrible Place. When ſhe had got without the Gate, ſhe thought her⯑ſelf ſecure, and now light as the Wind, her willing Feet carried her along; ſhe hardly touched the Ground, and flew rather than walked to the Place where the Chevalier and his Friends were waiting for her with great Anxiety. The Chevalier received her with a thouſand Tranſports of Joy: his Friend congratulated her on her recovered Liberty, in Terms that ſhewed the higheſt Satisfaction; they put her and the Woman who had attended her in the Priſon, and who never after quitted her, into a Coach they had brought-with them, and giving the Turn⯑key the promiſed Reward, they left him to provide for his own Safety, and went after the Coach, together with the four Gentle⯑men who had followed them in this dan⯑gerous Enterpriſe. The Coach brought the [256] Counteſs ſafe to the Houſe of the Chevalier's Friend, where he had lain ſo long concealed, and where Meſſieurs de Saint-Sauveur, with their Ladies, were expecting her and her ge⯑nerous Reſcuers, with Agitations that can bet⯑ter be imagined than deſcribed.

The Counteſs eagerly entered the Room where her Relations were: her Sight drew a joyful Exclamation from her Brother and Siſter-in-law, who ſprung to meet her; her Eyes with ſpeaking Tenderneſs returned their raptured Welcomes; but her Feet ſponta⯑neous carried her to her Mother's Chair, whoſe ſtrong Emotions had rendered unable either to riſe or ſpeak; Madam de Berci threw herſelf on her Knees before her, and taking a Hand of each dear Parent, as they ſat cloſe together, ſhe put them to her Lips in a pa⯑thetic Silence, for her Heart was too full to ſpeak. The overjoyed Mother hung over her with Tears of Tenderneſs and Tranſport; the no leſs tranſported Father embraced her as ſhe kneeled, and with lifted Eyes adored the gra⯑cious Providence that had reſtored to him his Child. The young Marquis and his Lady, impatient to fold their beloved Siſter in their Arms, ſtood cloſe beſide her, each with Arms extended for the wiſhed Embrace; while the Chevalier and his Friend, extremely affected with this tender Scene, ſtood at ſome Diſtance contemplating it. What ſweet Emotions then filled the Breaſt of the Chevalier, at ſee⯑ing the Object he had ſo long adored, ſo long [257] lamented, reſtored by him to Liberty, to Life, and to the tender Gratulations of her Friends. No Wonder, that his Heart entertained a Hope of being one Day rewarded with the Poſſeſſion of her whom he had ſo faithfully ſerved.

When the firſt Tranſports for this happy Meeting were a little abated, and their Joy [...]ound vent in Words: a thouſand rapturous Welcomes were given the Counteſs, a thou⯑ſand Bleſſings pronounced on the Chevalier, who had ſo generouſly expoſed his Life, to deliver her; nor was Monſieur la Ronvere's Kindneſs unacknowledged by the whole late ſorrowing, now rejoicing Family. The Morn⯑ing appeared e'er they could be perſuaded to ſeparate; but the Chevalier repreſenting to them that it might raiſe ſome Suſpicions if they were not ſeen, as uſual, at their own Hotel, the two Marquiſſes and their Ladies, with extreme Reluctance, returned Home, and left the Counteſs to recruit her waſted Spirits, in Slumbers more tranquil than any ſhe had for a long Time taſted.

The Counteſs's Eſcape from the Chatelet was not [...]o ſoon diſcovered, as they had Reaſon to apprehend; for the Jailor, from the Effects of the Night's Debauch, lay late in Bed, and when he got up, was ſo much diſordered, that for ſeveral Hours he could not, as uſual, viſit his Priſoners, to ſee if all were ſafe. At length, however, he took his [258] accuſtomed Rounds: when he came to the Chamber where the Counteſs had been con⯑fined, and found the Door open, and no one within, he grew pale with Fear and Amaze⯑ment, and dreaded to make any Enquiries, leſt his Apprehenſions ſhould be turned into Certainties. His Wife having juſt then been informed, that the Turnkey had not been ſeen in the Chatelet that Day, came to ac⯑quaint her Huſband with the News, and was aſtoniſhed to ſee him gazing wildly round the Lady's Chamber, with all the Marks of Terror and Diſmay imprinted on his Coun⯑tenance.

‘Do you know, cried ſhe, pulling him by the Sleeve, that the Turnkey is fled?’ The Jailor, at theſe Words, ſtarting as from a Dream, ſent forth a Volly of Execrations, and tearing his Hair, roared out that he was ruined, the Lady had made her eſcape, and the wicked Turnkey, it was plain, had aſſiſted her, and was fled with her. The Wife taking in inſtantly all the fatal Conſequences of this Flight, intreated her Huſband to compoſe himſelf, and to endeavour privately to diſcover what Way the Fugitives had taken, and get them again into his Hands. ‘It will be Time enough, ſaid ſhe, to declare their Flight, when you have loſt all Hopes of recovering them. You will unavoidably be turned out of your Employment, as ſoon as it is known that this Accident happened through your Intemperance, therefore, by keeping it [259] ſecret, you will only defer your Fate a little longer, if you do not ſucceed in your Attempts to get back your Priſoner, and if you do, you will have nothing to fear.’

The Jailor reliſhed this Reaſoning, al⯑though it was very abſurd; for he ought im⯑mediately to have given Notice to the Of⯑ficers of Juſtice, that the Counteſs had eſcaped, that ſhe might have been immediate⯑ly purſued; his Wife, however, was willing to put off the evil Moment as long as ſhe could. This Procraſtination ſaved the Coun⯑teſs, as it gave her Friends Time to ſettle the Method of her Flight.

Meſſieurs and the Ladies de Saint-Sau⯑veur returned to the Houſe of Monſieur la Ronvere the next Day, as ſecretly as poſſible, in order to conſult with the Counteſs and her Friends upon the Meaſures they were to take to keep her concealed. They did not doubt but her Flight from the Chatelet was already publicly known, and that ſhe would be ſought for with the utmoſt Diligence. This Thought gave them great Uneaſineſs; ſuch is the Viciſſitude of human Paſſions, and of Affairs below: Hope and Fear, Joy and Sorrow, ſucceed each other naturally, as Darkneſs to the Light.

The Tranſport which the Relations of the Counteſs had felt for her Deliverance, now gave way to their Sorrow for her Departure, [260] which for many obvious Reaſons, it was ab⯑ſolutely neceſſary ſhould be ſudden. While they were deliberating in great Confuſion and Anxiety upon the Meaſures ſhe ſhould pur⯑ſue. Monſieur la Ronvere, who had very prudently been in Search of News that Morn⯑ing, ſuppoſing the Town would be full of the Counteſs's Eſcape, returned pleaſingly ſur⯑prized, to tell the perplexed Family, that Madam de Berci was either not yet miſſed, or the Jailor, for Conſiderations in which him⯑ſelf was concerned, had certainly concealed her Flight, that therefore they need not pre⯑cipitate their Reſolutions, but take Time to deliberate upon the Courſe which was now moſt proper to purſue.

The Counteſs propoſed retiring to Burgun⯑dy, where ſhe might remain in Safety, in a Caſtle belonging to the Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur, her Father; the natural Strength of the Place, and the great Affection all the Gentle⯑men in that Province bore her Family, made that appear to her the ſecureſt as well as the moſt decent Retreat, as it was not likely they would ſuffer any Violence to be offered to her there. The old Marquis was of Opinion, that to attempt to ſecure his Daughter by Force, was an Inſult to the Authority of Juſtice, and the higheſt Diſreſpect to the So⯑vereign, who would undoubtedly, if thus braved by his Subjects, make himſelf be obeyed in his own Kingdom, in ſpite of all Obſtacles. It was then propoſed by the young [261] Marquis, that his Siſter ſhould leave France, and till this Storm that threatened her Life and Honour, was laid, reſide in ſome foreign Country. Flanders was unanimouſly allowed to be the fitteſt Retreat for her, the City of Bruſſels in particular, where ſhe had a Kinſ⯑woman, with whom ſhe could ſtay with Ho⯑nour. This Lady was Wife to the Ambaſſa⯑dor from France to the Archduke, and had always had a great Friendſhip for Madam de Berci. It was therefore concluded, that ſhe ſhould ſet out early the next Morning, with an Eſcort able to defend her againſt any At⯑tempts that might be made upon her Liberty. Monſieur la Ronvere engaged the four Gentle⯑men, who had aſſiſted in carrying the Coun⯑teſs from the Chatelet, to accompany him in guarding her to the Frontiers: they were likewiſe to be attended by a good Number of their Servants, well armed; and they de⯑clared, that they would not quit the Lady, till they delivered her ſafe to the Ambaſſa⯑dreſs.

The Chevalier, with eager Joy, ſeized this new Opportunity of ſhewing his Zeal and Ardor in the Service of his beloved Coun⯑teſs: no Intreaties could diſſuade him from attending her in this Journey; and he re⯑ſolved not to quit her any more till her In⯑nocence was made manifeſt in the Eyes of all France.

[262]When it was fully determined, that the Counteſs ſhould retire to Bruſſels, and all the neceſſary Preparations for her Journey were made, they next conſulted upon the Meaſures to be taken in order to diſcover the Author of the Count's Aſſaſſination, by which alone ſhe could be cleared, as well as the Chevalier, upon whom the Weight of this Accuſation fell. The Count's Hint relating to Marianne, the conſcious Look he gave her, her extreme Confuſion in Conſequence of it, and her diabolical Malice in accuſing the Counteſs, were the Points now diſcuſſed. Madam de Berci liſtened attentively to the different Opinions that were formed upon this Wretch's Behaviour: ſome Suſpicions ſuddenly darted into her Mind; Marianne's ſcandalous Intrigue with Verague ruſhed up⯑on her Remembrance; ſhe thought ſhe ought not to conceal a Circumſtance of ſuch Im⯑portance from her Family, however unwilling ſhe was to diſcover the infamous Secret, and which her Delicacy conſidered as a kind of Recrimination. Her Friends greatly blamed her for ſo long ſuppreſſing a Circumſtance of ſuch a Nature, and, with good Reaſon, form⯑ed violent Suſpicions againſt Verague. The young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur was commiſ⯑ſioned immediately to make ſome Inquiries after that Gentleman: he went to his Houſe, and was told that he was not at home; the Marquis aſked ſo many Queſtions concern⯑ing him, and ſo artfully examined the Ser⯑vant who anſwered him, that at laſt he [263] learned that Verague had left Paris fifteen Days before, and was gone to paſs ſome time in travelling. When he returned to his Friends with this Account, no one doubted but that Verague was the real Aſſaſſin. But as they could, as yet, prove nothing, it was judged proper to keep their Suſpicions ſecret from all but Monſieur de Berci, who was as well as them, greatly intereſted in revenging his Bro⯑ther's Murder. As he truly eſteemed and loved his Siſter-in-law, he was rejoiced to hear of her Eſcape from Priſon; and reſolved, together with the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, to go in Search of the Murderer, and, if poſſible, bring him to Juſtice.

At length the cruel Moment came that was to ſeparate the Counteſs of Berci from her afflicted Friends: they had no Leiſure to in⯑dulge Tears and Embraces; ſudden and ſad their Parting was. The old Marquis, his Lady, and Daughter-in-law, not being al⯑lowed to follow her to the Coach, for fear of giving Suſpicion, preſſed her each in their Arms, and withdrew, in ſilent Anguiſh, at Eight o'Clock at Night. She entered, drown⯑ed in Tears, a Coach drawn by ſix Horſes, which waited for her at a private Gate of Monſieur la Ronvere's Houſe. All her female Attendants were the Woman who had fled with her from the Chatelet, and a young Maid that belonged to the Marchioneſs, her Mother. The Chevalier des Eſſars, attended [264] by his Gentleman, a Valet de Chambre, and a Biſcayan, of whoſe Fidelity he was well aſ⯑ſured, mounted their Horſes, as did likewiſe Monſieur la Ronvere, and the four Gentle⯑men before mentioned, and followed the Coach at a ſmall Diſtance; they went all out of Paris by the Gate of St. Denis, and took the Rout through Picardy to Flanders. They ſoon reached Cambray, having travelled with great Speed, and reſting there one Day, purſued their Journey, but with leſs Haſte and Fatigue, as they were now out of Dan⯑ger. The Chevalier finding there was no⯑thing farther to apprehend, intreated Mon⯑ſieur la Ronvere and his Friends to return to Paris with all poſſible Diligence, leſt if their Abſence ſhould be known, they might pro⯑bably be ſuppoſed to have been of their Par⯑ty. He as well as the Counteſs expreſſed the higheſt Acknowledgments for the Services they had received from him and his gene⯑rous Friends. It was with Difficulty that the Chevalier could prevail upon them to re⯑turn, till they had ſeen the Counteſs ſafe at Bruſſels; but the Reaſons he urged for their Departure being unanſwerable, they at length ſeparated, not without ſome Tears, and ma⯑ny affectionate Wiſhes on both Sides.

From Cambray to Bruſſels the Chevalier gave his Horſe to his Valet to lead, and ſeat⯑ed himſelf by the Counteſs in the Coach. The continual View of an Object, whom he ſo ardently loved, ſoon baniſhed all Re⯑membrance [265] of his paſt Misfortunes, and left him no leiſure to reflect on any of thoſe with which he was ſtill threatned. A thouſand ſoft Emotions filled his Breaſt, but his Reſpect for the Counteſs whom he ſaw buried in a pro⯑found Sadneſs, and the Regard he owed to the Memory of his late Friend, repreſt the Violence of his Paſſion, and obliged him to ſuch a reſerved and diſtant Behaviour, as left the Counteſs no cauſe to complain of him; and indeed during the whole Journey, his tender Aſſiduity, and his ſolicitude and Ea⯑gerneſs to ſerve her, were the only indica⯑tions he gave of a Flame, the moſt pure and conſtant that ever warmed a Heart. The Counteſs was too generous not to give this Moderation, all the Weight it ought to have, her Gratitude ſo much engaged already, every Hour added to the Debt, the tender Awe, ſo apparent in the Chevalier's Behaviour, the conſcious Love that ſparkled in his Eyes, yet when they met hers reluctently withdrawn, leſt they ſhould too plainly diſcover all that paſſed in his Heart, were ſuch Indications of uncommon Delicacy and Reſpect, as could not fail of making a very great Impreſſion on a Heart ſo generous as hers. With ſuch a mutual Reſerve did theſe two Lovers paſs the happieſt Moments of their Lives, the only Opportunities they ever had to declare their Sentiments to each other, were Sacrificed to Delicacy and to Grief.

[266]As ſoon as they arrived at Bruſſels, Madam de Berci diſpatched a Meſſenger with a Letter to the Ambaſſador's Lady, acquainting her with the Situation of her Affairs, and the De⯑ſign ſhe had of throwing herſelf into her Pro⯑tection: that Lady no ſooner received it than ſhe ordered her Coach to be made ready, and went herſelf to fetch her Kinſwoman from the Inn ſhe had put up at; ſuch an Inſtance of Reſpect joined to the affectionate Reception ſhe gave the Counteſs, made the Chevalier en⯑tertain a high Opinion of the Merit of that Lady. Few Perſons know how to confer Favours on the Unfortunate, the higheſt De⯑licacy muſt accompany Acts of Benevolence to true Merit and Dignity in Affliction, if we would not oppreſs that Heart, we intend to relieve, The Chevalier went that Day to pay his Reſpects to the Arch-Duke, that Prince received him in the moſt gracious Manner imaginable, the great Actions he had performed in France, and even in Holland, tho' againſt himſelf, inſpired him with Ad⯑miration and Eſteem for ſuch extraordinary Valour. He loaded him with Favours, in Hopes to bring him over to his Service, and offered him a very conſiderable Penſion to engage him to fix himſelf in his Court, but the Chevalier had too much Greatneſs of Mind to ſecure his Safety by Conceſſions in⯑conſiſtent with the ſtricteſt Honour. He in⯑treated his Highneſs not to be offended with him for refuſing the Offers he was pleaſed to make him, he aſſured him that although he [267] had incurred the Diſpleaſure of his King, rather indeed by his Misfortune than his Fault, yet that he was reſolved to continue faithful to him till his Death; but at the ſame Time he expreſſed the higheſt Acknowledge⯑ments to the Arch-Duke, for his offered Bounty, and declared that he would be always ready to ſhed his Blood in Support of his Intereſts, uninfluenced by any Reward, when he could do ſo without violating the Duty he owed his lawful Sovereign.

The Arch-Duke was generous enough to applaud a Conduct which oppoſed his Deſires, he was charmed with his diſintereſted Loyalty, and gave him publick Teſtimonies of his Eſteem. As the Chevalier conceived he had only performed his Duty by rejecting the Arch-Duke's Offers, he did not repent of what he had done, although he found himſelf ſtill perſecuted by his Prince, for Henry was no ſooner informed that the Counteſs and he had retired to Bruſſels; but he ſent Orders to his Ambaſſador there to arreſt them both and ſend them under a ſtrong Guard to Paris. The Ambaſſador's Lady greatly concerned that ſhe could no longer protect her unfor⯑tunate Kinſwoman, acquainted her immedia⯑tiately with the Orders her Huſband had re⯑ceived. It was reſolved ſhe ſhould leave Bruſſels with as much Expediton and Se⯑creſy as poſſible, and retire to Frieſland. The Chevalier inſenſible to his own Miſ⯑fortunes, only lamented thoſe of the Countſes. [268] She again ſet out under his Convoy, and they arrived ſafely in Frieſland, where they hoped to remain for ſome Time in Tranquility, but Fortune was not yet weary of perſecuting the Counteſs of Berci, her Charms had not ſuffered any Dimunition from the Diſtreſſes ſhe had been in, her Countenance ſhewed indeed that her Mind was not at eaſe, but that ſoft Lan⯑guor, with which it was overſpread, carried a ſecret Influence that no Heart could reſiſt. No one could behold her without feeling pity for her Sorrows whatever they were, and Pity for ſo lovely an Object, ſoon ripened into a more tender Paſſion: it was thus that a No⯑bleman of Frieſland found himſelf captivated with the melancholly Fair One, before he was aware, but preſuming upon his Rank and Fortune, he was at no Pains to deſguiſe his Paſſion, the Chevalier des Eſſars had per⯑ceived it before he himſelf could give a Name to his Sentiments. Nothing is ſo quick ſighted as the Eyes of a Lover, all his Con⯑fidence in the Juſtice and Generoſity of Ma⯑dam de Berci could not hinder him from feel⯑ing the moſt cruel Torments at the Thoughts of this new Conqueſt, but dreading to offend her, by a Jealouſy ſo injurious to that perfect Eſteem ſhe expreſt for him, he impoſed Si⯑lence upon his Tongue, and had it been poſſible would have regulated his Looks in ſuch a Manner, that they ſhould not have given the leaſt Indication of the torturing Anguiſh that preyed upon his Soul.

[269]The Counteſs was not long before ſhe diſ⯑covered the painful Situation of her Lover. The Reſtraint he laid upon himſelf in not diſ⯑cloſing the Cauſe of it to her, was a new Proof of his Reſpect which claimed ſome Re⯑turn. She was reſolved not to let him lan⯑guiſh any longer under ſuch cruel Enquietude, and was therefore the firſt to propoſe leaving Frieſland, ſhe alledged that the Air of that Province did not agree with her conſti⯑tution, and ſhe deſired he would conduct her as ſoon as poſſible to ſome Place where her Health might be leſs endangered. The Che⯑valier who did not penetrate into the Coun⯑teſs's ſecret Reaſons for being deſirous to leave Frieſland was exceſſively rejoyced that a Propoſal ſo agreeable to his Wiſhes had firſt come from herſelf, he would have been wretched had he imagined ſhe had perceived his Jealouſy, for although in Lovers it may be conſidered as a Proof of the Violence of their Paſſion; yet in a favoured one it argues ſome injurious Diſtruſt of his Miſtreſs, which a Woman of any Delicacy cannot eaſily prevail upon herſelf to pardon. The Chevalier therefore wiſely concealing the particular Intereſt he had in the Counteſs's leaving Frieſland, replied calmly that he would attend her when ever ſhe pleaſed, and adviſed her to make Gaſcony the Place of her Retreat, he aſſured her that in that Province there were ſeveral ſtrong Caſtles, at ſo great a Diſtance from the Court that they need not be under any Apprehenſions of being ſurprized, although it [270] ſhould be diſcovered that they were there, he added that by being nearer their Friends and Eſtates they might avoid many Inconve⯑niencies to which they were now ſubjected in that Country.

The Counteſs approved of his Advice, but being reſolved to take no Step of that Kind without firſt conſulting her Father, ſhe told the Chevalier that they muſt defer their Departure till ſhe had wrote to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and received his Anſwer. It was not long before the Anſwer they waited for arrived, it filled the Counteſs of Berci with Joy, but it was not favourable to the Wiſhes of the poor Chevalier, as he found he ſhould for a long Time be deprived of the Preſence of her who was dearer to him than any other Perſon in the World.

The old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, in⯑formed his Daughter that the Count of Berci, for ſo we muſt now call her Brother-in-law, had left Paris, together with the Marquis his Son, to go in ſearch of Verague, that he him⯑ſelf was preparing to go to Court to ſolicit a Pardon for the Chevalier des Eſſars on Ac⯑count of his Duel with the Count of Polan, that he would engage ſo many Perſons of Diſ⯑tinction in his [...]ſe, and uſe ſuch Methods as he hoped would entirely undeceive the grand Monarque, who had ſuffered himſelf to be influenced by his Regard for the Favourite to the Prejudice of the Chevalier. ‘When his [271] Pardon, for the Death of the Count of Polan, is obtained, added the old Marquis; he will then be at Liberty to come and defend his Innocence with Regard to the Accuſation he ſuffers under, as well as you; but till this is effected, I deſire you will ſet out immediately to attend the Mar⯑chioneſs your Mother, who will not be able in the Grief ſhe is in for your Abſence, to ſupport the additional Weight of mine.’ He then adviſed his Daughter to take her Rout through Germany and Franche Comte, from whence ſhe might travel to Burgundy with leſs Danger of a Diſcovery, and con⯑cluded with the moſt affectionate Prayers for her Health and Safety.

The Chevalier was greatly afflicted at this unexpected Order, he had been uſed for ſome Time paſt to the Sight of his dear Counteſs, almoſt every Day: the Idea of a long Abſence plunged him into the moſt cruel Deſpair, yet he reſolved to make a generous Effort upon himſelf, and give Madam de Berci a new Proof of his Love, by obeying without mur⯑muring the Commands of her Father. The Agonies it coſt him to make this Reſolution, were but too viſible in his Countenance and Behaviour, the tender Sorrow that languiſhed in his Eyes, his painfully ſuppreſſed Sighs, the Solitude he now courted to indulge a Melancholly, which even in her preſence ſeemed wholly to engroſs him, could not eſcape the Notice of Madam de Berci, and [272] filled her with ſympathiſing Grief. So per⯑fect a Reſignation to her Father's Will, ſuch a boundleſs Reſpect for hers, even to the Loſs of all his Happineſs, touched the Heart of the Counteſs more than the moſt pathetick Complaints could have done, ſhe reſolved to neglect nothing which depended meerly upon herſelf, to calm his Griefs, and to enable him to ſupport her Abſence. After enumerating to him all the Obligations he had conferred upon her Family and herſelf, ſhe aſſured him that her Gratitude being ſo much engaged by his Services, her Heart had readily received the tender Impreſſion, a Paſſion ſo pure and diſintereſted had inſpired. — Here ſhe ſtoped abruptly, when the Chevalier in a Tranſport of Joy threw himſelf upon his Knees, and beſought her to have Compaſſion upon the miſerable Condition to which he ſhould be reduced if ſhe ſuffered him to leave her without giving him her Hand. ‘Let me have the unſpeakable Happineſs Madam, cried he, to call you mine, before this cruel Parting. How ſhall I ſupport your Abſence if any Poſſibility remains of loſing you? if the Torments I have ſo long en⯑dured while I languiſhed with a hopeleſs Paſſion, have any Claim to your Pity, if my Fidelity has any Title to reward; Oh! ſoften the Pangs of Separation, by conſent⯑ing to be mine.’ Madam de Berci was greatly affected with this paſſionate Sup⯑plication, but ſhe would not leave her Lover a Moment in Suſpence upon a Point [373] whereon ſhe herſelf was ſo abſolutely de⯑termined; her Tenderneſs for a Man ſo worthy of her utmoſt Eſteem had at all Times yielded to her Duty, nor would ſhe ſuffer it now to triumph over the care of her Reputation: after obliging him to riſe, ſhe re⯑preſented to him with her uſual Sweetneſs, that a Marriage ſolemniſed in a foreign Country, while they were accuſed of the Aſſaſſination of her deceaſed Lord, would cover them both with Infamy; that the Duty and Reſpect ſhe owed her Parents required that her Choice ſhould have the Sanction of their Conſent, and her Reputation was too dear to her to ſuffer her to think of Mariage till her Innocence was as well known to the World, as it was to her own Heart: ſhe aſſured him that when they had triumphed over the Malice of their Accuſers, and that they were fully juſtified in the ſight of all France, ſhe would follow the Impulſe of her Gratitude and Tenderneſs, that Abſence ſhould never weaken her Regard for him, or blot him for one Moment out of her Re⯑membrance, and that if the Malice of their Fate ſhould make it impoſſible for her to be his, ſhe never would be anothers.

The Chevalier yieled to the Force of her Reaſons, and with the moſt tender Tranſports received the Aſſurances ſhe was pleaſed to give him of being only his. Again at her feet he vowed eternal Conſtancy. Madam de Berci could not hide her Emotion when with a reſ⯑pectful [274] Awe he took her Hand, and ſealed his Vows upon it with his Lips, while a ſtruggling Sigh ſeemed to rend that manly Heart which was the Seat of every Virtue, and Tears of mingled Grief and Tenderneſs guſhed from his Eyes; ſhe haſtily withdrew her Hand, but not till by an almoſt imperceptible Preſ⯑ſure of his, ſhe ſhewed ſhe was not offended at the Favour he had ſnatched, and retiring to her own Apartment, indulged the ſweetly painful Emotions of her Soul, in Tears that ſhe had hitherto with Difficulty reſtrained.

The Preparations for their Journey being made with the utmoſt Privacy, and Expedition, the Counteſs and the Chevalier ſet out very early in the Morning, in a Coach eſcorted by their Servants well mounted and armed, one of whom led a Horſe for the Chevalier to make uſe of upon Occaſion. They con⯑tinued their Rout two Days without Interrup⯑tion, but on the Third the Chevalier's Gen⯑tleman came up to the Coach and told him that they were purſued by ſix Horſe⯑men who would infallibly be up with them in a few Minutes. The Chevalier inſtantly leaped out of the Coach, and mounted his Horſe, leaving Madam de Berci almoſt fainting with her Fears; it was in vain that he pro⯑teſted to her he would loſe his Life rather than ſuffer her to fall under the Power of her Enemies, ſo ſad an Alternative only increaſed her Grief, with Eyes and Hands lifted up, ſhe earneſtly implored the Aſſiſtance of Hea⯑ven, [275] and collecting all her Fortitude to her Aid, ſilently waited the Iſſue of this Adventure. The Chevalier had ordered the Coach to go on, while he with his Gen⯑tlemen, his faithful Biſcayan, and two Gentle⯑men of Frieſland, waited undauntedly for the Enemy. As ſoon as they came near, the Chevalier knew the foremoſt to be the Ger⯑man Nobleman, who was in Love with the Counteſs: the Sight of his Rival added to his natural Courage all the Fury that Hate and Jealouſy could inſpire. The German was for purſuing the Coach, but the Che⯑valier ruſhing in his Way, bid him pro⯑ceed upon his Peril, and aſked him, with what Intention he followed that Coach. The German, with horrid Oaths, replied, that he would have the Lady. The Che⯑valier made no other Anſwer than by firing his Piſtol at his Rival; but miſſing his Aim, the German and his Men fired upon the Chevalier and his Attendants, and at this firſt Diſcharge, his Gentleman and the two Frieſlanders fell to the Ground. The Chevalier tranſported with Rage at this Sight, clapping Spurs to his Horſe, ruſhed through the midſt of his Enemies, and coming up cloſe to the German, ſhot him through the Head. He then drew his Sword, and being ſeconded by his faithful Biſcayan, he overturned all that oppoſed him; the Germans, diſmayed at the Death of their Maſter, and the Impetuoſity of the Che⯑valier, [276] who had made two of their Compa⯑nions bite the Ground, turned their Horſes Heads, and fled with the utmoſt Precipi⯑tation, while the Chevalier and his Servant galloped after the Coach, and never ſtop⯑ped till they had paſſed the Frontiers of Frieſland. The Chevalier had received ſome ſlight Wounds, but thoſe of his faithful Biſcayan were much more dangerous. The Ian they alighted at, being at a great Diſtance from any Town, there was no Surgeon to be had, and the Chevalier was obliged to dreſs his own Wounds and his Servant's as well as he could. Madam de Berci was greatly alarmed for her Lover, but he aſſured her, that he felt ſo little Inconveniency from his Hurts, that he was able to attend her as ſoon as the Horſes had baited. The Biſcayan indeed was obliged to be put to Bed; he was dangerouſly wound⯑ed in the Shoulder. The Chevalier deſired a Surgeon might be ſent for with the ut⯑moſt Expedition, and leaving him Money to defray all his Expences, ordered him as ſoon as he was cured, to join him in Gaſ⯑cony.

Madam de Berci and the Chevalier, after taking a little Refreſhment, again entered the Coach, the Counteſs gave ſome Tears to the Memory of the Chevalier's Gentleman, for whoſe Loſs his Maſter expreſſed great Con⯑cern. They met with no Accident the re⯑maining [277] Part of their Journey, and arrived happily in Franche Comte. The Counteſs, at her Lover's earneſt Intreaty, reſided eight Days at Beſançon, and then reſumed their Rout to Burgundy. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur's Caſtle was but two Days Journey from Auxerre: the Chevalier's Heart was di⯑vided between Grief and Joy, when he ſur⯑rendered the Counteſs to the Arms of her in⯑dulgent Mother, who received her with in⯑expreſſible Tranſports. That ſhe was now in Security, was a Circumſtance which could not but give him the higheſt Satisfaction; but when he conſidered that he muſt ſoon leave her, that it might be long e'er he beheld her again, he ſuffered Torments which can only be imagined by thoſe who have loved like him, and like him been torn from the Object of their Affections. The old Mar⯑chioneſs releaſing her Daughter from her Embraces, turned towards the Chevalier, and in Terms that expreſſed the higheſt Gratitude, thanked him for her Safety: ſhe told him, that the Marquis had eight Days ago ſet out for Paris, on the Buſi⯑neſs he had mentioned to the Counteſs in the Letter he had wrote to her, and that he would ſend him Notice in Gaſcony what Succeſs he had at Court. It was neceſſary, for this Reaſon, as well as for his own Secu⯑rity, that the Chevalier ſhould go into that Province immediately. He had an Uncle there, who was very much advanced in Years, and to whoſe vaſt Poſſeſſions he was Heir, [278] who earneſtly deſired to ſee him: as he found he muſt leave the Counteſs, he reſolved to ruſh at once into his Miſery; and after reſt⯑ing one Night at the Caſtle de Saint-Sau⯑veur, he took Leave of the Marchioneſs and Madam de Berci, and purſued his Way to Gaſcony.

The Marchioneſs, who ſaw her Daughter ſwallowed up in Affliction, omitted nothing which maternal Fondneſs could ſuggeſt, to comfort her; but as her Conſolations were wholly applied to the Misfortunes ſhe had lately ſuffered, on account of the vile Accuſa⯑tion ſhe had laboured under, ſhe did not reach the Bottom of the Counteſs's Grief, who was pierced to the Heart by the Deſpair that was viſible in her Lover's Eyes, notwithſtanding his aſſumed Compoſure at parting.

The Chevalier, full of uneaſy Thoughts, that made him wholly regardleſs of his Safety, took Paris in his Way to Gaſcony: he was very deſirous of ſeeing his Friends there, and arriving at Charenton at Five o'Clock in the Evening of the third Day after his Departure from the Caſtle de Saint-Sauveur, he rode ſlowly on, not being willing to enter Paris till it was dark. A Noiſe of ſome Horſes be⯑hind him made him apprehenſive that he was diſcovered and purſued, he turned haſtily to ſee who they were that were riding after him, and perceived four Archers of the Provoſt, conducting a Priſoner whoſe Legs were faſten⯑ed [279] under his Horſe's Belly. Although the Chevalier had but a ſlight View of this Pri⯑ſoner, yet he imagined he knew the Face; he rode up to the Archers, and deſired to know who their Priſoner was, and whither they were conducting him. ‘We are carry⯑ing him, replied one of them, to the little Chatelet, where he was formerly Turnkey; but we ſhould have enough to do, added he in a ſurly Tone, if we anſwered all the im⯑pertinent Queſtions that are aſked us.’

The Chevalier, without heeding the Fel⯑lows Rudeneſs, was reflecting upon the Mis⯑fortune of the poor Turnkey, and upon the Means he ſhould uſe to deliver him. Grati⯑tude as well as Compaſſion ſuggeſted to him that he ought not to let this poor Wretch ſuf⯑fer for an Action which he had drawn him in to commit, and of which the Counteſs and himſelf had all the Benefit; he therefore again accoſted the Archers, and with great Mild⯑neſs repreſented to them, that the unhappy Man would certainly be hanged if they car⯑ried him to Priſon; ‘and you, ſaid he, will then be concerned at the Part you have had in precipitating his Death; if you will de⯑liver him to me, I will give you twenty Piſtoles to drink, and you will bind the poor Wretch to pray for you as long as he lives.’

‘We neither care for his Prayers, nor your Piſtoles, ſaid one of them, who had [280] not yet ſpoke, and poſſibly it would be bet⯑ter for you if you were leſs charitable than you are.’ ‘How, replied the Chevalier a little alarmed, do you intend to make me Priſoner for being too charitable?’ ‘I do not ſay ſo, replied the Archer; but if thoſe by whom we are commiſſioned to bring this Man Priſoner to Paris, were to know your Offers, they would force you to declare what Intereſt you have in his Eſcape from Juſtice.’ Leave that Care ‘to Juſtice, returned the Chevalier, who began to be enraged, and at preſent think of nothing but delivering this Man to me, for I will abſolutely have him. I deſire you will unbind him this Inſtant, and reſign him into my Hands for nothing, ſince you have refuſed my Money, and if you do not comply willingly, know that I will have him from you by Force.’

The Archers ſtared upon one another in Aſtoniſhment, at this arrogant Speech: they thought the Chevalier was a Madman, and were more inclined to laugh at his Extrava⯑gance, than diſpute with him for their Priſo⯑ner; but when they ſaw him fall upon them Sword in Hand, aſſiſted by his Valet de Chambre and a Lackey he had brought from Burgundy, they prepared in good earneſt for a vigorous Defence. The Chevalier dealt his Strokes with ſuch Rapidity and Succeſs among the Archers, that two fell immediately to the Ground, his Servants diſpatched another, and [281] the fourth fled towards Vincennes, leaving the poor trembling Priſoner in the Hands of his Deliverer, for whom, during the Combat, he had offered up the moſt ardent Prayers. The Chevalier ordered his Valet to take off his Irons, and then making himſelf known, he congratulated him upon his Freedom; the Turnkey, raviſhed with Joy and Gratitude, fell at his Feet, and vowed the Life he had preſerved ſhould from thenceforwards be whol⯑ly at his Diſpoſal.

They now rode with all Speed towards Pa⯑ris: the Chevalier altered his Intention of ſtopping there, on account of his Adventure with the Archers, and continued his Journey to Eſtampes, whither he arrived at the Break of Day; he reſted about two Hours, and then taking Poſt with the Turnkey, who never afterwards quitted him, he arrived ſafe at his Uncles Eſtate, which was a few Days Jour⯑ney from Bordeaux. The old Man, who had not ſeen him during ten Years be⯑fore, received him with Tranſports that had like to have been fatal to his Health. He wept at the Recital of the ſeveral Dangers and Mis⯑fortunes which had happened to him in the Courſe of ſo many Years, and earneſtly con⯑jured him to expoſe himſelf no more to the Caprice of Fortune, but to live with him in Security and Happineſs.

The News of the Chevalier's Arrival being ſpread over the Province, all the neighbouring [282] Gentry came in Crouds to viſit him, and to ſhew their Joy for his Return: he had the Sa⯑tisfaction, a few Days afterwards, to ſee again his faithful Biſcayer, who was perfectly reco⯑vered of his Wounds. The Tenderneſs his Uncle expreſſed for him, and the obliging So⯑licitude of his Friends to divert and pleaſe him, ſuſpended for ſome Time the Agonies of a Paſſion which had hitherto been traverſed by ſo many cruel Accidents. But we ſhall now leave him to enjoy a ſhort-lived Repoſe, and ſee what Succeſs the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur had at Court.

His Impatience to ſerve the Chevalier des Eſſars, would not permit him to delay go⯑ing to the Louvre the Day after his Arrival, to ſolicit the King in his favour; he extol⯑led in Terms worthy of the Fervor of his Friendſhip, the Valour and Generoſity of the Chevalier, of which on many different Oc⯑caſions he had given the moſt ſhining Proofs. He dwelt upon his unſhaken Fidelity when diſtreſſed and a Fugitive in the Court of the Archduke, perſecuted by the Laws, and under the Diſpleaſure of his Sovereign; he had re⯑fuſed a very conſiderable Penſion, and diſ⯑claimed his Protection, if he muſt purchaſe it by the ſmalleſt Violation of his Duty. The Marquis then throwing himſelf at the King's Feet, modeſtly reminded him of his paſt Ser⯑vices, and with Tears conjured him to have Compaſſion on his old faithful Soldier, ſink⯑ing under the Weight of Years and Infirmi⯑ties, [283] and made miſerable by the Aſſaſſination of a worthy Son-in-law, and the undeſerved Sufferings of his Daughter.

‘To ſoften theſe Calamities, ſaid the good old Man, grant me, I conjure your Ma⯑jeſty, the Pardon of the Chevalier des Eſſars, for unfortunately killing the Count of Polan, in a Duel which he could not in Honour or Juſtice avoid, after the Attempt that was made upon his Perſon by a Kinſman of the Count, and by his Orders.’ He then re⯑preſented to the King, that the Count, in his Anſwer to the Chevalier's Challenge, had in a manner confeſſed the Charge, and therefore juſtly deſerved the Fate he had met with.

The Circumſtances of the Chevalier's Combat with the Count of Polan, had by his Friends been repreſented to the King, in a manner very different from the Truth; pre⯑judiced by thoſe Reports, and the Tender⯑neſs he had borne to the Deceaſed, he an⯑ſwered the Marquis with ſome little Indig⯑nation, ‘That he had been prevailed upon to pardon Duelliſts, when their Quarrel had been fairly decided by the Sword; but that he had never ſkreened Aſſaſſins from Juſtice;’ and expreſſed a great Aſto⯑niſhment that the Marquis ſhould ſo earneſt⯑ly implore Pardon for a Man who had been accuſed of murdering his Son-in-law.

[384] ‘I do not, Sire, replied the Marquis, im⯑plore your Pardon for an Aſſaſſin, but for a Man who has bravely killed his Enemy in a fair Fight; no, if it can be proved that the Chevalier des Eſſars has murdered my Son-in-law, I would be the firſt to intreat that he might ſuffer the Puniſhment due to ſuch a Crime, but being fully perſuaded of his Innocence with regard to my Son's Aſſaſſination, I am come to ſolicit his Par⯑don for a leſſer Offence, in order that he may be at Liberty to clear himſelf of a greater.’

‘Marquis, anſwered the King, the Rela⯑tions of the Count of Polan are convinced that the Chevalier killed that Nobleman baſely, although they poſſibly do not be⯑lieve him guilty of your Son-in-law's Mur⯑der. Thus every one liſtens to the Dic⯑tates of his own private Reſentment for ſuppoſed Wrongs; but I, who am not a Party, but a Judge, in this Cauſe, will ren⯑der to each the Juſtice that is due to him.’

‘Permit me, Sire, returned the old Man, to repreſent to your Majeſty, that no one is condemned till he has been heard in his own Defence. I am ſolicitous to procure the Chevalier's Pardon for the Count of Polan's Death, that he may clear himſelf of my Son's Murder. My Daughter's Character labours under the ſame odious Calumny; her Juſtification is included in [285] that of the Chevalier. In this Caſe the Ac⯑cuſed and the Accuſers are in a like Un⯑certainty. Surmiſes only can be oppoſed to Surmiſes; but if your Majeſty will, on this Occaſion, follow the Example of ſome of your glorious Predeceſſors, when in Ca⯑pital Crimes there was neither ſufficient Evidence to condemn or to acquit, and allow the Parties to decide their Cauſe by the Sword, Providence and a juſt Cauſe will, I doubt not, enable the Chevalier, to make good his Challenge, let who will be the Oppoſer.’

The King was at Dinner, while the Mar⯑quis, with friendly Zeal and honeſt Elo⯑quence, was pleading the Chevalier's Cauſe. Among other Noblemen, who attended at his Majeſty's Chair, was the young Count of Polan, Brother to him whom the Chevalier had killed. This young Lord had already acquired a great Reputation for perſonal Va⯑lour: the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur had ſcarce finiſhed his Speech, when he threw himſelf at the King's Feet, and conjured him not to let the Death of a Brother ſo dear to him, and who had been killed by the Cheva⯑lier contrary to the known Rules of Duelling, go unrevenged for want of ſufficient Proofs, but permit him to challenge the Chevalier to ſingle Combat.

‘Count, interrupted the old Marquis, were it not that we are in the Preſence of the [286] greateſt King in the World, to whom I owe an inviolable Reſpect, I would not tamely ſuffer you to charge the Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars with having baſely killed your Brother; he is too noble and too generous to commit any diſhonourable Action, and too brave to have Recourſe to Aſſaſſination, to rid him of an Enemy, or unjuſtifiable Methods to overcome him. Loaden as I am with Years and Afflictions, this Arm wants not Strength, nor this Heart Courage to defend the Chevalier againſt ſo baſe an Accuſation: and if his Majeſty will permit it, I am ready whenever you pleaſe to prove with my Sword, that what you have aſſerted againſt my Friend, is falſe. I would rather, replied the young Count of Polan with a ſcornful Smile, meet your Son than you upon this Occaſion; but when I have done with you, I will ſupport the Truth of what I have ſaid againſt your Son, and againſt the Chevalier des Eſſars like⯑wiſe, if he dares accept my Challenge.’

The good old Marquis, enraged at this Inſolence, was going to reply with ſome Warmth, when the King impoſed Silence upon them both, and forbid them, upon Pain of his higheſt Indignation, to proceed any further in this Affair. Afterwards that Prince, feeling the Force of thoſe Arguments the old Marquis urged in favour of the Chevalier, as well as the Duty and Fidelity he had ſhewn in refuſing a Penſion from the Archduke at a [287] Time when his Protection was ſo neceſſary for his Safety, he granted him a Pardon for the Death of the Count of Polan, upon Condi⯑tion that he returned to Paris within a Month, to clear himſelf of the Aſſaſſination of the Count of Berci.

The old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur tranſ⯑ported with Joy that he had thus happily car⯑ried his Point, returned to Burgundy with great Expedition, where he had the Satisfac⯑tion to find his Daughter already arrived: be⯑ing informed by her of the particular Place where the Chevalier reſided, he ſent a Gen⯑tleman poſt that very Day with his Pardon, which he accompanied with the following Letter:

‘I have, at length, Monſieur, had the good Fortune to touch the Heart of the moſt juſt and benevolent of King's, by the Repreſen⯑tations I have made in your favour. The Bearer of this will deliver your Pardon for your laſt Duel, in Form. There is now no⯑thing to hinder you from appearing to clear your Innocence with reſpect to the lamented Murder of my dear Son-in-law, and to cover with Confuſion and Diſgrace thoſe who have blackened your Fame, and that of my Daughter. I am not, through pa⯑ternal Tenderneſs, more ſolicitous for her Juſtification, than, through Gratitude and Friendſhip, for yours. I would have ſent my Son to you with this News, if I had [288] found him, after my Return from Court, at my Caſtle, but he is ſtill abroad, in Search of Verague: I make it my conſtant Prayer to Heaven, that he may be ſo fortunate as to bring back that Wretch with him to France. Do not fail to be at Paris within the Time preſcribed to you by the King; and may our meeting be happy to us all.’

The Marquis having communicated this Letter to his Lady, ſhe told him, that, her Daughter being ſo much concerned in this Affair, it was proper that ſhe alſo ſhould write to the Chevalier: the Marquis approved of the Propoſal, and deſired Madam de Berci to write to their common Friend, which ſhe did with great Willingneſs, in theſe Terms:

‘I write to you, Monſieur, by the Com⯑mand of my Parents, but at the ſame time I muſt aſſure you, that no Command of theirs was ever more chearfully complied with. You will underſtand by my Father's Letter which accompanies this, what he has done for you at Court, and what is now expected from you for your own Juſtifica⯑tion as well as mine. I do not think it neceſſary to preſs your ſpeedy Return to Paris: wherever your Honour and my In⯑tereſt is concerned, I cannot doubt of your utmoſt Solicitude. Be aſſured, that my De⯑ſire to ſee you again, is not one of my leaſt Motives for being anxious for your Return. The many and great Obli⯑gations [289] I owe you, merit all my Gratitude and my tendereſt Eſteem; may my Juſtifi⯑cation be alſo your Work, that my Heart may openly avow the Sentiments with which you have inſpired it. Adieu.’

The Meſſenger having received theſe Diſ⯑patches, and proper Inſtructions where to find the Chevalier des Eſſars in Gaſcony, ſet out for that Province immediately. His Return was expected with extreme Impatience by the Counteſs of Berci; but an unfortunate Acci⯑dent happened, which produced great Diſorders in the Chevalier's Affairs: the Meſſenger was ſent in a Seaſon of the Year when the Waters had roſe very high, and travelling was both dan⯑gerous and tedious; as he was riding along the Side of a little River which had overflowed great Part of the Road, he perceived that the Po⯑ſtillion was got beyond his Depth, and was in Danger of being loſt, together with his Horſe; eager to ſave the Youth, he advanced haſtily, to lay hold of him by the Neck, but the Bank upon which he ſupported himſelf, ſuddenly gave way, and his Horſe ſtumbling, he fell into the Water and both he and his Poſtilion were drowned. By this fatal Accident the Chevalier was prevented from appearing at Court within the Time preſcribed, which brought on the Counteſs of Berci and himſelf many cruel Misfortunes: but let us now ſee how the Chevalier employed himſelf in his Retirement where he was perfectly ignorant of all that had paſſed at Court.

[290]The old Marquis des Eſſars, his Uncle; who was extremely rich, and had no other Heir but the Chevalier, was laying Schemes in his own Mind to fix him in Gaſcony for the reſt of his Life; he dreaded his Return to Court, leſt ſome new Misfortune ſhould deprive him for ever of a Nephew he ſo tenderly loved, and whoſe Preſence was ſo neceſſary to his Happineſs. He reſolved therefore to make his Connexions in Gaſcony ſo ſtrong, that it ſhould not be in his Power to break them, and this was only to be done by marrying him ad⯑vantagiouſly. Mademoiſelle de Genvincourt was the Lady he pitched upon for a Wife for the Chevalier, ſhe was young, beautiful, and had the greateſt Fortune in the Province, ſhe had been left an Orphan in her earlieſt Years under the Guardianſhip of a Kinſman of her Father, who for ſome Time very faith⯑fully diſcharged his Truſt, he carefully applied himſelf to improve the great Qualities ſhe had received from Nature by an excellent Educa⯑tion; the ſurprizing Progreſs ſhe made in every Kind of Learning, and the conſum⯑mate Lovelineſs of her Perſon, excited an Ad⯑miration of her in the Heart of her Guardian, which when ſhe grew older, terminated in a moſt violent Paſſion; his advanced Age, his Proximity of Blood, his low Fortunes (low when compared to hers) were Conſiderations too weak to hinder him from declaring his Sentiments to his ward and to ſolicit ear⯑neſtly for her Hand. Mademoiſelle de Ge⯑vincourt with a Mind as haughty as ever Wo⯑man's [291] was, had all the Courage, Fortitude and Reſolution of the moſt intrepid Man. Her Inclinations from her earlieſt Youth had led her to Maſculine Exerciſes, and the Make of her Perſon, beautiful and finely propor⯑tioned as it was, fitted her for exelling in them. She was ſo enraged at her Guardians preſumptuous Declaration, that ſhe would have wiſhed to chaſtiſe his Inſolence with her own Arm, for her Reſentments were no more fe⯑minine than her Spirit. With a Look of inconceivable Diſdain, ſhe deſired him to be ſilent for ever upon ſuch a Subject, if he did not wiſh to feel the Effects of her juſt Indig⯑nation.

The poor Guardian was thunderſtruck at a Repulſe, couched in Terms ſo very extraor⯑dinary for a Lady, yet he did not ceaſe to perſecute her with his Addreſſes, which ſo pro⯑voked the haughty Girl, that ſhe reſolved to ſet him at Defiance. Some little Time after⯑wards, he was obliged to go into another part of the Province upon Affairs which would neceſſarily detain him ſeveral Weeks. Ma⯑demoiſelle de Gevincourt took this Oppor⯑tunity to fortify the Caſtle in which ſhe had hitherto lived with her Kinſman, and ſhut herſelf up in it with ſome of her Friends, when her Guardian returned, ſhe refuſed him Admittance, and ordered him to be gone, otherwiſe ſhe would Fire upon him and his Attendants from the Windows; the old Lover retired in Deſpair, and ſoon after died with [292] meer Shame and Grief for the Treatment he had received from his Charge; this Affair made a great Noiſe over all the Province, every one was pleaſed with the Spirit and Re⯑ſolution of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, her fine Accompliſhments, the Charms of her Perſon, her noble Birth, and her great Riches brought an innumerable Croud of Lovers to her Feet, but there was not one amongſt them, who in her Opinion was worthy of her Heart.

It was this incomparable young Lady whom the old Marquis des Eſſars deſigned ſhould give Fetters to his Nephew. He was not ignorant of her extreme Haughtineſs, and her declared Averſion to Marriage, founded upon her own Fondneſs for Liberty, and deſire of Rule; but he hoped every thing from the extraordinary Merit of his Nephew, whoſe Fame too vaſt for his Country had ex⯑tended itſelf over all Europe, and made him the Object of Univerſal Admiration and Eſteem; he flattered himſelf that Mademoiſelle de Ge⯑vincourt would be charmed with a Character that ſo nearly reſembled her own, but he did not think it proper to mention his Deſign to his Nephew, the Sight of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, he juſtly thought would have more Influence upon his Heart, than all his Arguments or even his Authority, if he was inclined to make uſe of it, not but he was acquainted with the Chevalier's Paſſion for the Counteſs of Berci, and looked on it as an Obſtacle to the Succeſs of his Scheme; he [293] was too prudent to think of reaſoning him out of his Love for that Lady, but he expected a great deal from the Beauty of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and therefore earneſtly wiſhed that Chance might throw her in his Way, not doubting but the Sight of ſo many Charms informed by a Mind great and noble, as his own, would have ſui⯑table Effects upon a Heart whoſe Senſibility was but too certain.

The old Marquis having been taken up ſeveral Days in contriving Schemes to bring his Nephew and Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt together, at laſt bethought himſelf of making a Party for the Chace which could not fail of anſwering his Purpoſe. When this Thought had once entered his Head, he wondered how he could be ſo long before he hit upon it, he went himſelf to invite the fair Amazon, for ſo ſhe was called all over Gaſcony, to honour this Hunting Match with her Preſence. Ma⯑demoiſelle de Gevincourt inſtantly complied with his Invitation, ſhe had a great Deſire to ſee the Chevalier des Eſſars, of whom ſhe had heard the moſt extravagant Encomiums, ſhe took a more then ordinary Care that Day in ſetting off her lovely Perſon to the greateſt Advantage, her Pride would not ſuffer her to acknowledge to herſelf that ſhe had any Deſign upon the Chevalier's Heart, yet ſhe could not help thinking ſuch a glorious Con⯑queſt would add greatly to the Reputation of her Charms, and ſhe neglected no Ornament [294] her hunting Dreſs would admit of, to make herſelf appear lovely in his Eyes. Her Habit was green Velvet, richly embroidered with Silver, a Dagger the Handle of which was adorned with a great number of Diamonds, hung in a rich Scarf by her Side, her fair Hair played in careleſs Ringlets down her Shoulders, ſhe wore a little Hat with a black Feather that waved over part of a Forehead whiter than Ivory, it was adorned with Bril⯑liants, which bright as they were, yielded in Luſtre, to her large blue Eyes, in which Viva⯑city and Sweetneſs were ſo happily blended, that the coldeſt Heart muſt have been in⯑flamed by their piercing Rays, her Horſe was a Spaniſh Genet, white as the falling Snow, which ſhe managed with a Grace wholly in⯑chanting; in this Equipage ſo well ſuited to the lovely Fierceneſs of her Air and Mein, ſhe rode to meet the Marquis des Eſſars, and his Company. The Chevalier although plainly dreſt, had a natural Dignity in his Perſon, which Negligence of Apparel could neither hide or diminiſh; he was mounted upon a very fine Horſe which he managed with equal Skill and Gracefulneſs: the manly Sweetneſs of his Countenance, the Fire that ſparkled in his Eyes, his martial Air, ſoon diſcovered him to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who had been at the place appointed for meeting, a few Moments before the Marquis des Eſſars, and his Company.

[295]The Chevalier gazed with Aſtoniſhment and Delight upon an Object ſo new and char⯑ming; Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, was not leſs ſtruck with the noble Aſpect of our Hero. The Company in whiſpers declared that they were the lovlieſt Pair in the World, and ſeemed wholly formed for each other; the old Marquis enjoyed the mutual Admiration with which his Nephew and the charming Amazon beheld each other, but the Effects of this In⯑terview were vaſtly different in each. Ma⯑demoiſelle de Gevincourt loſt in a Moment that Inſenſibility of which ſhe had hitherto boaſted, and became paſſionately enamoured of the Chevalier, while her Beauty, Inchant⯑ing as it realy was, found his Heart ſo filled with the Idea of the Counteſs of Berci, that it excited no other Sentiments for her than thoſe of Admiration and Reſpect. The Che⯑valier eagerly leaping off his Horſe, was pre⯑ſented by the Marquis his Uncle, to the lo⯑vely Maid, who lightly diſmounting advanced to meet him. The Chevalier made her a gallant Compliment which ſent new Arrows to her Heart. Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt found a ſecret Charm in every Thing he ſaid and did; ſhe ſcarce ever removed her Eyes from his Face; ſuperior to the little Affecta⯑tions and Reſerve of her Sex, ſhe was not ſo⯑licitous to conceal the favourable Sentiments ſhe entertained for him; they never ſeparated during the Chace. The old Marquis des Eſ⯑ſars could hardly contain his Joy at a Succeſs ſo much beyond his Hopes: he did not doubt [296] but the Wit and Learning of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt would finiſh what her Beauty had begun, and entirely eraſe all Remembrance of the Counteſs of Berci. The Chevalier indeed found Graces in the Converſation of Mademoi⯑ſelle de Gevincourt, which greatly increaſed his Admiration and Eſteem of her. A Man of his Galantry and Vivacity could hardly avoid talk⯑ing of Love to ſo charming a Creature, whom he had an Opportunity of entertaining alone: he fell naturally into very paſſionate Expreſ⯑ſions, by which however he meant nothing more than to pay that Homage he thought due to a Beauty ſo attracting, and a Wit ſo lively and poignant. Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt had been too much uſed to make ſuch ſudden Con⯑queſts, to doubt that her Charms had produced their ordinary Effects: ſhe liſtened with Plea⯑ſure to the rapturous Language that fell from the Lips of the Chevalier, and although her Heart was ſenſible of Emotions it had till then been a Stranger to, yet ſhe anſwered him with ſuch eaſy Raillery, and a Gaiety ſo unaffected, that whatever were her Thoughts, they re⯑mained perfectly hid from the Chevalier.

The Chace finiſhed with the taking of a large Stag, and the Company being now ve⯑ry much fatigued, they were preparing to re⯑turn home, when a furious Boar ruſhed out of a Wood that was near them, and diſperſed both the Hunters and the Dogs in an Inſtant; the intrepid Chevalier alone diſdained not to fly, he threw himſelf off his Horſe, and ad⯑vancing [297] towards the Boar, with his drawn Sword in his Hand, he thruſt it up to the Hilt in the Body of the terrible Beaſt: the Wound was mortal, but the furious Animal, in his dying Agonies, ſprung forwards, and overthrowing the Chevalier, fell down dead a few Paces diſtant from him. The Marquis ſuppoſing his Nephew mortally hurt, ſent forth loud Cries of Grief and Conſternation; he was haſtening to his Aſſiſtance, when the fair fierce Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, leaping off her Horſe, flew to raiſe him from the Ground, trembling between Hope and Fear, and all the Marks of Terror and Grief printed upon her lovely Face. The Chevalier was already upon his Feet, when the charming Amazon offered her aſſiſting Hand. The Marquis was by this Time come up to them, as well as the reſt of the Hunters; their Fears were now turned to Joy and Exultation; they congratulated the Chevalier upon the Victory he had gained. Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Emotions had been ſo viſible, that there was not one in the Company who doubted of her Love to the Chevalier; ſhe complimented him, as well as the reſt, on his Valour, but the Changes in her fair Face while ſhe was ſpeaking, made it evident, that the Danger he had ſo lately eſcaped, was ſtill moſt in her Thoughts. The Chevalier, in Imitation of Melcager, cut off the Head of the Boar, and laid it at the Feet of this fairer Atalanta, as a Trophy con⯑ſecrated to her Beauty. She accepted it ſmile⯑ing, together with the Chevalier's Offer to [298] attend her to her Caſtle, where at parting he begged Permiſſion to viſit her, which he obtained without Difficulty: but he returned to his Uncle more pleaſed than captivated with the Perfections of the lovely Amazon.

Mean time the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur was full of uneaſy Apprehenſions, on hear⯑ing no News of the Chevalier: the Term preſcribed by the King for his Appearance, for which he had engaged, was almoſt ex⯑pired; he was amazed that the Meſſenger whom he had ſent to the Chevalier, did not return; he knew not what to think of a De⯑lay ſo unaccountable. The Counteſs of Berci was in Deſpair, nothing but the moſt fatal Accident could in her Opinion be the Cauſe of his not appearing. Anxiety and Suſpenſe might have ſuggeſted Doubts of his Love, but his Honour was too well known to ad⯑mit of the ſlighteſt Suſpicion againſt it. But fearful of her Parents Obſervations, ſhe ſmo⯑thered her Griefs in her own Breaſt, and only ſilently deplored the various Misfortunes to which her Life was expoſed.

Two Days before the Expiration of the Month preſcribed to the Chevalier, the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur arrived at Paris: he had ſpent ſeveral Months in Search of Ve⯑rague, but to no Purpoſe; and eager to ſee again his beloved Wife, he came back ſome Weeks ſooner than the Time on which he had agreed to meet the Count of Berci at [299] Paris, who had been employed in the ſame fruitleſs Search. On his Arrival he was im⯑mediately informed of the Challenge given by the young Count of Polan to his Father and to himſelf, in the King's Preſence, which, at the Command of his Majeſty, was not ac⯑cepted. The Fire of Youth, and eager De⯑ſire of ſupporting his Father's Honour upon this Occaſion, as well as his own, would not ſuffer him to reflect upon the Conſequences of diſobeying the King, he ſent a Challenge to the Count of Polan, who accepted it with Joy: they met accordingly, and a vigorous Combat enſued; both gave Proofs of great Courage and Skill, and both were ſo much wounded, that their Attendants were obliged to get Litters to carry them from the Place of Battle to Paris. The Friends of the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur did not think him in Safety in that City, therefore, wounded as he was, carried him in the Night to Cham⯑piegny, to a Houſe that belonged to one of them. The young Marchioneſs, his Wife, almoſt dying with her Fears, haſtened thither to attend him: the Marquis, who was now capable of ſerious Reflexions, aſked her Par⯑don for expoſing unneceſſarily a Life that was dear to her, while ſhe, mingling Tears with her ſoft Reproaches, aſſured him that her Fate was involed in his. The old Mar⯑quis, his Father, loſing all Expectations of ſee⯑ing the Chevalier, reſolved to be at Paris on the appointed Day, to fight with the Count of Polan in behalf of his Friend, unaccountable [300] as the Conduct of that Friend now ſeemed to him. On his Arrival he was informed, that his Son had been beforehand with him, and that he was dangerouſly wounded, as well as his Antagoniſt. The brave old Man was pi⯑qued at his Son's Forwardneſs in ſnatching this Combat out of his Hands: it looked as if he thought him unequal to the Taſk, and he was apprehenſive that it might be ima⯑gined his Son had, by his Command, met the Count of Polan in his ſtead. Theſe Conſide⯑rations, although they excited ſome Reſent⯑ment in the brave old Soldier, yet could not obliterate the Tenderneſs of the Father: he ſent Notice of his Son's Condition to the Marchioneſs, his Wife, and ſet out immediate⯑ly himſelf for Champiegny, to viſit him. No⯑thing paſſed at this Interview, but kind En⯑dearments on one Side, and ſubmiſſive Plead⯑ings for Pardon on the other. The young Marquis grew better every Day; and when Madam de Saint-Sauveur his Mother, and the Counteſs of Berci his Siſter, arrived, they had the Satisfaction to find him out of Danger. Their Apprehenſions and Grief were now changed to Joy: the young Marquis's Reco⯑very left them nothing to wiſh for but the Sight of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and the Diſ⯑covery of Verague, to make them entirely happy. The Friends of the Count of Polan, ſeeing that both he and his brave Antagoniſt were quite out of Danger, reſolved to recon⯑cile them to each other: they flattered them⯑ſelves with being able to effect this the more [301] eaſily, as neither of them had any Advantage over the other, and their Quarrel was occa⯑ſioned rather by a Point of Honour, than any Injury given or received. The Count of Po⯑lan and the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur had a mutual Admiration of each other's Va⯑lour: there is a ſecret Sympathy in brave and generous Minds, which inſenſibly produces Eſteem and Kindneſs. The Count of Polan readily embraced an Opportunity of viſiting the Marquis, with a common Friend of them both: and met with a moſt polite Reception from the Father and the Son. The two Mar⯑chioneſſes and the Counteſs of Berci were pre⯑ſent at this Interview, which proved fatal to the Liberty of the Count of Polan, for the Charms of Madam de Berci made ſo abſolute a Conqueſt of his Heart, that from a mortal Enemy of her Family, he now became one of the moſt zealous Friends to it.

The Count was young, handſome, and ex⯑tremely gallant: he had indeed more Vivacity than Wit; but he poſſeſſed the happy Art of ſaying the moſt common Things in a manner ſo agreeable, that his Converſation, by the Ladies eſpecially, was always thought pleaſing. Madam de Berci's Heart was too little at Eaſe, to take any Delight in the agreeable Liveli⯑neſſes of this young Nobleman, who know⯑ing his own Talent, took every Opportunity to diſplay thoſe happy Spirits which inſpired good Humour and Chearfulneſs wherever he came. The fixed Melancholy that appeared [302] in the Countenance and Behaviour of Madam de Berci, repreſſed his Gaiety; which, how⯑ever, was no Advantage to him; a true Lover inſenſibly adopts the prevailing Humour of his Miſtreſs, be it what it will. The Count of Polan made no Figure in a ſerious Converſa⯑tion, nor were his Features adapted to Gra⯑vity; yet his Eyes ſeemed to take Leſſons from the lovely ones of Madam de Berci, he ſighed when ſhe did, ſympathetically; and Sor⯑row in her ſweet Face had ſuch powerful In⯑fluence upon his Heart, that loſing all that Fire and Vivacity, which ſo particularly diſtin⯑guiſhed him, he became penſive and reſerved without knowing that he was ſo. He eaſily found a Pretence for ſtaying at Champiegny a few Days, during which he loſt no Oppor⯑tunity of ſeeing the Counteſs of Berci; but theſe frequent Interviews increaſed his Flame, without affording him any Hope of his ever being more happy. He ſaw her ſo wholly engroſſed by Grief, that he durſt not make any Declaration of his Sentiments; he only intreated her to accept of his Services on every Occaſion that offered, to defend her Inno⯑cence: but he made this Requeſt with a Zeal ſo animated, with ſuch apparent Tenderneſs in his Voice and Eyes, that the Counteſs, who knew too much of the Paſſion of Love herſelf, to miſtake the Cauſe of ſuch extraordinary Emo⯑tions, eaſily perceived the Impreſſion ſhe had made in his Heart, which, conſidering him as an Enemy to the Chevalier des Eſſars, rather increaſed than leſſened her Diſguſt.

[303]The Count of Polan returned to Paris in a State very different from that in which he had left it. He had hitherto been too ſuc⯑ceſsful with the Ladies, to leave him any Doubt of making an Impreſſion upon a Heart wholly diſengaged: the Coldneſs with which the Counteſs received his Offers, he attri⯑buted to her Regard for the Chevalier, whoſe ardent Paſſion for her, no one was ignorant of; the Count of Polan being fully perſuaded that when his Rival was removed, he ſhould find no other Obſtacle to his Wiſhes in the Heart of Madam de Berci, reſolved to proſe⯑cute him for his Brother's Death with the ut⯑moſt Rigor, and ſacrifice him at once to his Vengeance and his Love.

The Month granted by the King for the Chevalier des Eſſars to make his Appearance in, being now fully expired, his Pardon was cancelled, and the Count of Polan was deter⯑mined, if poſſible, to hinder it from being ever renewed. He remonſtrated to the King, that the Chevalier's Guilt could no longer be doubted, ſince he had neglected to lay hold of his Majeſty's Mercy, which had given him ſo fair an Opportunity of clearing himſelf; he alledged, that his Flight, was, as well a Proof of his Crime, as the Terrors of his Conſcience; for brave as he was allowed to be, he would not have ſhunned the offered Combat, had he not known he had a bad Cauſe to ſupport. The Count then humbly intreated his Majeſty to revoke the Pardon he had granted to the [304] Chevalier des Eſſars, and to ſuffer Juſtice to be executed upon the Murderer of his Brother; or at leaſt, if in his Abſence any one was pre⯑ſumptuous enough to maintain his Cauſe, to permit him to challenge him to the Field, and truſt his Vengeance to the Deciſion of Arms.

The King did not think fit to grant all that the Count of Polan demanded, but contented himſelf with declaring, that if in the Space of three Weeks the Chevalier des Eſſars did not appear to anſwer the Count's Challenge, or ſome one for him, his Pardon ſhould be can⯑celled, and his Perſon wherever he could be ſeized, delivered into the Hands of Juſtice. He then commanded, that the Combat ſhould be fought on Horſeback, and in his Preſence; that the Combatants ſhould be in compleat Ar⯑mour, according to the ancient Cuſtom of the Kingdom of France. The old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur hearing of this Decree, diſpatched his Son immediately to Gaſcony in Search of the Chevalier, although he was hardly yet reco⯑vered of his Wound; and having prevailed with the King to order that all Proceedings againſt the Counteſs his Daughter ſhould be ſtopt, till farther Informations could be had with regard to her Huſband's Murder, he fixed his Reſidence at Champiegny, expect⯑ing with great Anxiety and Impatience the Event of the young Marquis's Journey, in which they were all ſo much concerned.