CHAP. I.

FIFTEEN years had juſt elapſed from the birth of the Marquis of Clerville, when he was deprived of [12] his father. His mother had no ſooner paid the laſt rites to her lord's memo⯑ry, than ſhe removed from the family⯑ſeat at Clerville to Paris, taking with her the young Marquis; who, more from neceſſity than choice, plunged at once into all the diſſipation of the capital. His mother's firſt care, on her arrival, was to procure for her ſon a commiſſion in the guards, that he might have an opportunity of mix⯑ing with men of his own rank.—Here commenced his acquaintance with the Baron Fitzou. In him he found a true friend, who was willing to ſacrifice even his life in his ſer⯑vice; and who endeavoured, but [13] in vain, to prevent the misfortunes which afterwards befel him. The Marquis continued in the guards till he was of age; when that good ſenſe of which he was poſſeſſed, led him to ſee the folly of a life ſpent in a conti⯑nual round of diſſipation and idle viſits. He therefore determined to quit the ſervice, and retire to Clerville, where he hoped to ſpend his time more to his own ſatisfaction than he had hi⯑therto done. He imparted his deſign to no one but his friend the Baron; who, however fooliſh he might think it, ſeeing his friend determined, gave his approbation. The Marquis, de⯑lighted to find his plan approved by [14] Fitzou, reſigned his commiſſion; and without ſtaying to hear the cenſures of his companions, ſet out for Cler⯑ville, having firſt requeſted his mo⯑ther to paſs the ſummer with him: With which requeſt ſhe complied, in hopes to reclaim her ſon, whom ſhe now conſidered as mad. On his ar⯑rival at Clerville, he found the houſe much out of order, and the grounds like a deſart; but he was too much determined with reſpect to his plan, to have his reſolution ſhaken by ſo ſlight an obſtacle.

CHAP. II.

THE Marquis had ſcarcely reached Clerville, when he received let⯑ters from all his quondam companions, rallying him in the ſtrongeſt manner, on a reſolution which, they affirmed, was condemned by all Paris, and which had expoſed him to the ridicule of all his friends and acquaintances. To theſe letters the Marquis returned no anſwer, but that he muſt ſubmit [16] with patience to their ridicule, as he was determined to perſevere in a plan which to him appeared to be highly rational. In a few days the Marchio⯑neſs appeared, laden with epiſtolary admonitions from his uncles; which, bating that they were treated with more apparent reſpect, met with no better fate than did thoſe of his gay companions.

The Marchioneſs attempted to rally her ſon on his romantic plan; but finding he was not to be laughed out of it, ſhe endeavoured to prevail by reaſoning with him. Her arguments, however, produced no better effect [17] than her railleries; and the Marquis remained fixed in his intention of ſet⯑tling at Clerville. The ſummer was ſpent in fruitleſs remonſtrances on the part of the Marchioneſs, and unheed⯑ed replies on that of the Marquis. When the ſeaſon drew near when the Marchioneſs was to return to the circle of her gay friends, ſhe became more urgent than ever that her ſon ſhould return with her to the honours of Verſailles and the amuſements of Pa⯑ris. But having made one great ef⯑fort, and that proving unſucceſsful, ſhe bid him adieu; hoping neverthe⯑leſs to reclaim him, after he ſhould have ſpent a ſolitary winter in the [18] rookery at Clerville. On her arrival at Paris, all his former companions flocked to her houſe, not doubting that they ſhould there find the Mar⯑quis, cured of all his romantic ideas. But on hearing that he had withſtood all his mother's intreaties, and their ridicule, they deſpaired of ſeeing him till next winter.

The Marquis, in the mean time, was purſuing his ſtudies and his im⯑provements with vigour. He ſpent the morning in viewing his eſtate and improving his pleaſure-grounds; while his afternoons were either devoted to ſtudy, or to viſiting thoſe of his neigh⯑bours, [19] the narrowneſs of whoſe for⯑tunes prevented them from ſhining in the beau monde.

CHAP. III.

IN this manner had the whole win⯑ter elapſed, undiſtinguiſhed by any remarkable event, when the Marquis received a viſit from his old friend the Baron Fitzou, with whom he had kept up a conſtant correſpondence; but who, till then, had been prevent⯑ed from viſiting Clerville by his ab⯑ſence from France. The Marquis re⯑ceived [21] him with all thoſe demonſtra⯑tions of joy which are natural at the ſight of one who is dear to us, and from whom we have been long ſepa⯑rated. The Baron expreſſed the ut⯑moſt ſatisfaction at finding his friend pleaſed with the plan which he had choſen, and which he owned had not at firſt appeared to him ſo ra⯑tional as it now did.

A few days after the Baron's arri⯑val, as they were walking in the park, they obſerved at ſome diſtance a car⯑riage; which, on a cloſer inſpection, proved to be that of the Marchioneſs. On the ſight of her ſon, ſhe alighted; [22] was by him received with the utmoſt reſpect, and conducted to the caſtle; where dinner being ſerved up, pre⯑vented thoſe reflections on his mode of life, which he above all things dreaded.

The cloth was, however, no ſooner removed, than ſhe inquired, whe⯑ther he did not now ſee the folly of his conduct, in retiring from the world at a time when he was moſt qualified for enjoying it? To this inquiry the Marquis made anſwer, That had his manner of life been honoured with her approbation, he ſhould have been completely happy, as nothing but her [23] diſlike of it could render it diſagree⯑able. The Marchioneſs, by no means edified with an anſwer ſo diametrically oppoſite to what ſhe wiſhed, after ha⯑ving ſtaid a few days at the caſtle, re⯑turned to Verſailles, deſpairing of ever reclaiming her ſon.

The Baron ſoon after received a ſummons to attend the King; and the Marquis was left, by his depar⯑ture, in his uſual ſolitude. A ſoli⯑tude, however, which was frequently and agreeably interrupted by the vi⯑ſits of Monſieur Fenelon, the curé of the pariſh: a man of extenſive learn⯑ing, gentle manners, true piety, and [24] liberal ſentiments.—With ſuch a neighbour, it was impoſſible that the Marquis ſhould ever feel ennui. By his aſſiſtance he had recovered his knowledge of the claſſics, and was be⯑come an excellent ſcholar.

CHAP. IV.

THE goddeſs of Content had hi⯑therto reſided with her favour⯑ite votary at Clerville: but the melan⯑choly hour of her exile was at hand, and a leſs friendly deity was ſoon to fix his abode there. The Marquis had not as yet burnt incenſe at the altar of Cytherea; but the little god, jealous of his own and his mother's [26] honour, aimed a gall-ſteeped arrow at his heart; and he who, till then, had never ſacrificed, was doomed himſelf to fall an early victim at the ſhrine of love.

The Marquis, one day as he was riding, being overtaken by a ſtorm of thunder and lightning, repaired for ſhelter to a neighbouring farm-houſe; the beauty of whoſe ſituation, as well as its vicinity, tempted him to viſit it. On his entrance, he found the ma⯑ſter, his wife, and only daughter, ſeated at a ruſtic board. He no ſoon⯑er appeared, than he was invited to partake of the rural repaſt; an invi⯑tation [27] which he accepted without he⯑ſitation. But the luſtre of Maria's eyes ſo engaged his attention, that it was with difficulty he could comply with the preſſing invitations of the old people to eat. The ſtorm diſappear⯑ing, he with reluctance quitted the cottage; where, at that inſtant, he would have been glad to ſpend his days, provided he might enjoy the company of Maria.

Maria's charms had made too deep an impreſſion on the heart of the Mar⯑quis to permit of his not ſoon repeat⯑ing his viſit. Accordingly, in a few days, on pretence of thanking them [28] for their hoſpitality, he returned to the cottage (the inhabitants of which had now learnt the rank of their gueſt), that he might contemplate the charms of the fair ruſtic. As he ap⯑proached the houſe, he perceived Maria ſitting under the ſhade of a large elm, with a book in her hand. He inſtantly alighted; and, advan⯑cing, addreſſed himſelf to her. But Maria, diſconcerted at his appearance, and reflecting on the eaſy manner in which they had formerly treated him, fled to the houſe with the utmoſt pre⯑cipitation, dropping her book; which was eagerly ſeized by the Marquis. He then proceeded to the cottage.

[29] The old people, diſtreſſed to the laſt degree at the ſight of the Mar⯑quis, apologiſed, in an aukward manner, for the treatment he had ex⯑perienced at his former viſit; decla⯑ring, that nothing but their ignorance of his rank could excuſe their con⯑duct. The Marquis, who was ever amiable, was by no means inclined to be harſh to any thing connected with Maria. He received their ex⯑cuſes with politeneſs; begged them to be compoſed; thanked them for their hoſpitality; and, notifying to them his intention of dining with them, reſtored to the cottage its uſual tranquillity.—The old people, de⯑fighted [30] with the Marquis, prepared for dinner, whilſt the amuſement of their noble gueſt was entruſted to Ma⯑ria.—A taſk pleaſing in itſelf; but for which ſhe was then but ill quali⯑fied, on account of her embarraſſment and neſcience of the world.

Dinner, however, ſoon releaſed Maria from her tete-a-tete with the Marquis; and the whole family ſat down to a neat but frugal board. Dinner being ended, the Marquis re⯑queſted Maria's leave to viſit the dairy. With this requeſt ſhe could not re⯑fuſe to comply; and accordingly at⯑tended him to the ſcene of his hap⯑pieſt [31] hours. During their converſa⯑tion, he was ſo ſtruck with her mo⯑deſty and good ſenſe, that he aſked permiſſion to repeat his viſit. Maria bluſhed conſent; and the Marquis having taken leave of the old people, returned to Clerville, leaving Maria in a ſtate of mind to which ſhe had been a ſtranger previous to her ac⯑quaintance with him.

CHAP. V.

BUT before I proceed farther in my narrative, it will be neceſ⯑ſary to give ſome deſcription of Ma⯑ria's mental accompliſhments; for as her perſonal charms beggared all de⯑ſcription, I ſhall paſs them over in ſi⯑lence. Her father, though not a man of much learning himſelf, had (by advice of the Curé) ſpared no pains [33] on her education. Muſic, painting, &c. were accompliſhments for which ſhe was indebted to the vicinage of a convent, where ſhe was placed from twelve to fifteen. The Curé had early implanted in her breaſt thoſe ſenti⯑ments of piety and virtue which, aid⯑ed by an uncommon ſortitude, ſup⯑ported her in thoſe trying ſituations in which ſhe was afterwards placed.

It is not to be wondered, that by a woman ſo accompliſhed, and ſo hand⯑ſome, a deep impreſſion ſhould be made on a ſenſible heart. The Mar⯑quis frequently repeated his viſits; which at laſt alarming the old people, [34] they now cautioned their daughter againſt him, as a man who, however amiable he might appear, would not, ſhould opportunity offer, heſitate to ruin her. Maria, terrified by this admonition, received the Marquis at his next viſit with a coldneſs that aſto⯑niſhed him. He was not long at a loſs to gueſs the cauſe of this altera⯑tion in her conduct, from whom he now dreaded an eternal ſeparation. The mention of marriage was not to be thought of; and, from the check he had juſt received, he had no great hopes of ſucceſs on any other ground.

[35] In this dilemma, he applied for aſſiſtance to an aunt of Maria's; who rendered herſelf unworthy of ſuch a niece, by concurring with the Mar⯑quis in his deſign upon her virtue. She undertook to deliver to Maria the Marquis's propoſals; which were ſuch as might be expected from a young man deeply enamoured, whom reſpect for the abſurd maxims of the world prevented from matching him⯑ſelf with one of inferior rank. They were received by Maria with deſerved contempt; and ſhe gave the Marquis to underſtand, that ſhe never more would ſee a man who had been ca⯑pable [36] of offering her ſuch an in⯑ſult.

CHAP. VI.

THE Marquis ſeeing all hopes of poſſeſſing Maria at an end, gave himſelf up to deſpair. The ſolitary life which he led, ſerved only to in⯑creaſe his paſſion. Maria's image was ever preſent to his mind; and the day was ſpent curſing his unhappy fate, born to honours which were the only ſource of his misfortunes, [38] and of which he wiſhed it poſſible to di⯑veſt himſelf; whilſt the night was paſ⯑ſed in dreaming of his happier hours, which were now paſt recovery fled.

Maria in the mean time had at⯑tempted, but in vain, to efface from her mind the impreſſion which the Marquis had made on it: for not⯑withſtanding his ungenerous offer, ſhe loved him ſtill. Her friends re⯑marked with grief, that her former ferenity and cheerfulneſs were gone. She who was once the gayeſt on the green, now ſat drooping at the ſide of a brook, that ſeemed to ſympa⯑thiſe with her wo; whilſt the hills, [39] which once re-echoed her happy ſtrains, heard nothing but ſighs.—Thus did Maria ſpend each ſad revol⯑ving day; doomed to love, yet for⯑bid to hope, and conſcious that her birth was the only obſtacle to her hap⯑pineſs.

Affairs were in this ſituation when the Marchioneſs made her appear⯑ance at the caſtle; for the news of the Marquis's amour had reached Paris, with this embelliſhment, that he was ſoon to be united to Maria. On her arrival, ſhe found the Mar⯑quis plunged in the deepeſt melan⯑choly. She urged him with the ut⯑moſt [40] vehemence to return to Paris. To this, however, he would by no means conſent, but promiſed to viſit England: a country for which he entertained a high reſpect; eſteeming the Engliſh a free, a noble, and a generous people.—The Marchio⯑neſs, on receiving her ſon's promiſe to leave Clerville in a few days, left the caſtle without mentioning Ma⯑ria, having learnt that there was no probability of his marrying her.

CHAP. VII.

NO ſooner was the Marchioneſs gone, than the Marquis ſet out for Dunkirk, without venturing to bid adieu to Maria. A few days landed him at Dover; whence he pro⯑ceeded to Canterbury; where, tho' no bigot, he viſited the ſhrine of the mitred martyr. This ceremony per⯑formed, he ſet out for the capital, [42] where his rank introduced him to the beſt company; and in which, had he not been ſunk in the deepeſt melan⯑choly, he would have ſhone with luſtre: But he was ſo much altered by his misfortunes, that that wit which had rendered him the idol of Paris was baniſhed, and he always appeared as if he was any where but where he was.

In compliance, however, with his mother's commands, the Marquis ſpent two years in England; during which time he viſited Bath, Wind⯑ſor, the environs of London, and South Wales; where he was much [43] ſtruck with the beautiful ſcenery which every where preſented itſelf to his view. Scenes ſo romantic did not fail to inſpire the Marquis with thoſe ideas which he endeavoured to baniſh from his mind. During his reſidence in England, he conſtantly correſponded with the Baron; who had his poſitive orders to ſend an ac⯑count of Maria in every letter.

The time of his baniſhment being now expired, the Marquis ſet out on his return to France; and a few days landed him at Clerville.

CHAP. VIII.

AS he was riding one evening ſoon after his arrival, he obſer⯑ved a female figure reclined by the ſide of a brook. He immediately jumped off his horſe; and having fa⯑ſtened him to a tree, advanced gently to contemplate the fair unknown.—The trees that overſhadowed the brook prevented her from ſeeing the [45] Marquis; who, on a nearer approach, diſcovered it to be his loved Ma⯑ria.

At the ſight of Maria, the Marquis thought himſelf completely happy; for as ſhe had declared ſhe would ne⯑ver receive another viſit from him, he had loſt all hopes of ſeeing her again. He threw himſelf at her feet; and eagerly ſeizing her hand, kiſſed it be⯑fore ſhe was ſufficiently recovered from her ſurpriſe to diſcover who he was. No ſooner, however, was this diſcovery made, than Maria ſwooned. The Marquis ſlew in an agony to get ſome water from the brook. He [46] all means to reſtore her; but in vain for ſome time. At laſt, however, ſhe opened her eyes; and caſting them on the Marquis, fainted once more. Shocked at her relapſe, he ſtood mo⯑tionleſs with grief and deſpair, till he was rouzed by the arrival of one of his ſervants; who, happening to paſs that way, and obſerving his maſter's horſe, had entered the grove in ſearch of him, dreading leſt he had met with ſome accident. The ſer⯑vant was no ſooner perceived by the Marquis, than he was diſpatched to the caſtle for ſalts, &c. but with or⯑ders to mention to no one the ſitua⯑tion in which he had found his ma⯑ſter. [47] The Marquis in the mean time endeavoured, by throwing cold wa⯑ter on her face, to recover Maria; and he was fortunate enough to ſuc⯑ceed: for when the ſervant returned, he found her ſeated on a bank, recli⯑ning on his maſter's arm, but very weak.

Maria had no ſooner recovered from her ſecond fainting-fit, than the Marquis intreated her to be compo⯑ſed; aſſuring her that no violence ſhould ever be offered her by him. A little comforted by theſe aſſuran⯑ces, ſhe entered into converſation with him, deſiring him to permit her [48] to return home, and to promiſe ne⯑ver to diſturb her retreat. For tho' ſhe was not happy there, nor ever could be any where, yet ſhe there en⯑joyed a ſort of repoſe, which his pre⯑ſence would infallibly deſtroy. She owned that ſhe had a great regard for him; a regard which would pre⯑vent her from ever being any one's but his. But as ſhe never could be his conſiſtently with her honour, ſhe was determined never to be his at all. Her happineſs was a ſacrifice ſhe had not with-held; but her honour ſhould ever remain ſacred and inviolate.

The Marquis begged pardon for the [49] offers he had made her through her aunt, and pleaded in excuſe the ex⯑ceſs of his paſſion; obſerving, that the fooliſh maxims of the age in which they lived, had placed inſupe⯑rable obſtacles between them and hap⯑pineſs. He aſſured her, that it now gave him the higheſt pleaſure, to think that ſhe had treated his offers as they deſerved; and concluded with promiſing never more to make at⯑tempts of a ſimilar nature.

Maria was by this time ſufficiently recovered to think of returning home: and accordingly, with the aſſiſtance of the Marquis, ſhe reached the dairy; [50] the ſcene of happy hours that were no more to return, and on which they reflected with pleaſure mixed with regret. Here Maria bid adieu to the Marquis, ſtrictly forbidding him to viſit her on any pretence whatever, and returned to the cottage; where her preſence occaſioned as much joy as had her abſence uneaſineſs.

CHAP. IX.

THE Marquis, in the mean time, returned to Clerville more en⯑amoured than ever; and determined, that, as he could not confer the title of Marchioneſs of Clerville on Maria, no other woman ever ſhould enjoy it. As ſoon as he found himſelf at the caſtle, he retired to his dreſſing⯑room, that he might be at leiſure to [52] indulge thoſe melancholy reflections that engroſſed his mind. Here he ſat meditating on his unhappy fate till midnight, when he was alarmed by the horn of an expreſs who rode into the court-yard. He immediately flew down; and ſnatching the letter from the bearer, opened it with the utmoſt anxiety. He no ſooner caſt his eyes on the writing, than he knew it to be the Baron's, who requeſted his immediate preſence at Paris on buſi⯑neſs of the utmoſt importance. With this requeſt the Marquis heſitated not to comply; and three days after, he reached the capital.

[53] On his arrival, the Baron informed him, that an uncle of his had died at Liſbon, and had left him a conſider⯑able property; of which, however, he could not take poſſeſſion but in per⯑ſon; and he requeſted the Marquis to accompany him thither. The Marquis wiſhed not to comply: at the ſame time, he could not refuſe any thing to the Baron; and ſo he at length determined to bid adieu to Clerville caſtle and to Maria for a few months.

Before he embarked, however, he wrote to Maria, regretting his being obliged to leave Clerville: For tho' [54] he could not ſee her, as ſhe had not yet conſented to receive his viſits, he had the pleaſure of hearing of her every day. Of this pleaſure, how⯑ever, he was now to be deprived; and in a few days the two friends em⯑barked for Portugal.

CHAP. X.

THEIR voyage was proſperous till they were within a few days fail of their deſtined port, when one morn⯑ing an Algerine corſair was diſcover⯑ed bearing down upon them. The appearance of this worthy follower of Mahomet excited very diſagreeable ſenſations in the breaſts of the crew, as their veſſel was of force conſider⯑ably [56] inferior to that of the Corſair. He was now, however, too near to admit of their eſcaping; they there⯑fore determined to ſell their lives or their liberties dearly. The Marquis, though a ſoldier, had never ſeen ſer⯑vice. He embraced with ardour this opportunity of ſhowing that he had not reſigned his ſword becauſe he knew not how to uſe it. A few mi⯑nutes brought them cloſe to each other, and a mutual diſcharge of broadſides took place. The action continued for twenty minutes, when the Marquis ordered out the grap⯑pling irons, and united the Corſair [57] to them by ties of not a very ductile nature. His ardour increaſing every minute, he at laſt determined to board them. In this bold attempt he ſucceeded, and found himſelf in an inſtant on the deck of the Corſair. Several of the crew attempted to fol⯑low the example of the Marquis, but periſhed in the attempt. Some few ſucceeded, but were ſoon ſacrificed to the rage of the enemy; who find⯑ing themſelves boarded, fought with the utmoſt fury. The Marquis, how⯑ever, had penetrated unhurt into the middle of the deck, where he was made priſoner; as the aim of the [58] Algerine cruiſers is always to take as many priſoners as poſſible.

At that inſtant the Corſair loſt her main-maſt and conſiderable part of her rigging. This being obſerved by the French, they quickly made off, notwithſtanding the threats and in⯑treaties of the Baron, who was wound⯑ed in attempting to follow his friend, and now ſat upon the deck in a chair, to ſee if any thing could be done to reſcue him. But the French being ſatisfied with the reception they had already met with, did not chooſe to hazard the event of a ſecond en⯑gagement; and a freſh gale ſpring⯑ing [59] up, ſoon waſted them beyond the reach of their diſabled ene⯑my.

CHAP. XI.

THE Baron ſtill ſat on the deck, beholding, with inexpreſſible anguiſh, the priſon of his friend; a priſon into which he had been led by his friendſhip for him. While he was indulging thoſe melancholy reflec⯑tions, his wound had bled ſo much that he was quite faint: but, faint as he was, he ordered out the pinnace, [61] and determined to go and ſhare the fortune of his friend. But not one of the crew would undertake to man it, expecting that as ſoon as they ſhould come within reach of the Cor⯑ſair's guns they ſhould all periſh.—The Baron finding that neither threats nor intreaties would prevail on the crew to row him to the Corſair, gave himſelf up to deſpair. He was now ſo weakened by his wound, that this new agitation threw him into a faint⯑ing fit; during which his ſervant, aſ⯑ſiſted by ſome of the crew, carried him to the cabin; where the ſurgeon dreſſed his wound, and put him to bed. He ſlept for ſome hours; but [62] no ſooner awoke than it was evident he was delirious. He called on the Marquis; he offered to beggar him⯑ſelf to procure his ranſom; and aſked pardon of Maria for having deprived her of her Clerville.

In this manner he continued ra⯑ving for ſome hours. At length he fell aſleep; and having taken a com⯑poſing draught, ſlept ſound for ſome time. When he awoke he ſeemed much better, and was ſoon able to ſit on the deck for the benefit of air. The winds had proved contrary ever ſince they had parted with the Cor⯑ſair; but they were now favourable, [63] and a few days landed the Baron in Liſbon; where his firſt employment was to prepare for a voyage to Al⯑giers, which he determined to under⯑take as ſoon as the ſtate of his wound would permit him.

CHAP. XII.

THE wiſhed-for hour at length came, and the Baron embarked for Algiers; where he arrived ſafe after a ſhort paſſage. He thought, that if he was once landed he ſhould have very little difficulty to procure the freedom of his friend, having brought an immenſe ſum with him for that purpoſe. In this, however, [65] he was diſappointed: for on his ar⯑rival at Algiers, he found that the captain of the Corſair had ſold his friend to he did not know whom. Diſtreſſed to the laſt degree at this melancholy piece of intelligence, he inquired how long he had been ſold. They informed him, ſome weeks; and that he was gone far up into the coun⯑try, but to what place they did not know. In this dilemma he determi⯑ned to ſet out in ſearch of his friend; having procured an order from the Dey that he ſhould be delivered up to him, on paying the price which had been paid to the captain.

[66] For a long while his ſearches were unſucceſsful: but after having expe⯑rienced nothing but diſappointment for ſeven months, he at laſt found the Marquis employed as a gardener in a retired part of the country. To attempt a deſcription of the feelings of theſe two friends on this joyful meeting, would be ſuperfluous; and to execute ſuch a deſcription, would be impracticable. I ſhall therefore ha⯑ſten to inform the reader of what happened to the Marquis after he was taken priſoner.

His treatment on board was not ſo harſh as might have been expected; [67] and the Corſair's being much dama⯑ged put an early period to his con⯑finement, as the captain made for Algiers with all poſſible ſpeed. His firſt care, on his arrival, was to diſ⯑poſe of the Marquis, leſt the Dey ſhould put in his claim. The perſon who bought him reſided in the moſt remote part of the country; and find⯑ing him a good gardener (that ha⯑ving been one of the Marquis's amuſe⯑ments at Clerville), he committed to him the care of his garden. This truſt the Marquis executed with ſo much fidelity and ability, that he ſoon became a great favourite with his new maſter.

[68] The old Mahometan was walking in his garden when the Baron en⯑tered. The Marquis and he flew in⯑to one another's arms; in which ſi⯑tuation they remained for ſome mo⯑ments, to the aſtoniſhment of the muſſulman. At laſt, however, ad⯑vancing towards them, he received from the Baron the Dey's order for the liberty of the Marquis. He read it over two or three times with at⯑tention, as it contained a ſhort ac⯑count of the Marquis's misfortunes. He then returned it, aſſuring them by their interpreter that it was totally uſeleſs; for that from that time the Marquis was his own maſter; but on [69] one condition only, that he did not offer to pay for his liberty.

The two friends looked at each other with aſtoniſhment. At length the Marquis broke ſilence; decla⯑ring, that if theſe were the only terms on which he could procure his freedom, he would end his days in ſlavery. An intereſting conteſt en⯑ſued between the Marquis and his maſter; in which the former at laſt proved victorious, and the generous Mahometan was conſtrained to ac⯑cept of a thouſand pounds as an equivalent for the Marquis's free⯑dom, [70] —a ſum much greater than what he had given for him.

At the requeſt of the Turk, they deferred their departure for ſome days; during which time they wrote to France, informing their friends of the joyful event that had taken place. The hour at length arrived when they were to bid adieu to the gene⯑rous Mahometan; who, whatever his religious principles were, would have done honour to any religion. He embraced them at parting; and earneſtly recommending them to the protection of the prophet, bade them farewell. The Marquis could not [71] refrain from tears, at leaving a man whoſe conduct towards him had been ſo noble and diſintereſted. He bid adieu to a ſtate of ſervitude, with feelings not common on ſuch an oc⯑caſion; and could he have forgotten his loved Maria, he would have felt ſtill more than he did at quitting the generous Mahometan.

CHAP. XIII.

THE two friends in a few days arrived at Algiers, whence the Marquis inſiſted on ſailing to Liſ⯑bon before they returned to France; declaring, that as the Baron had ſa⯑crificed his own intereſts to his hap⯑pineſs, he muſt now accompany him to ſettle them. To this the Baron with reluctance conſented; and the [73] day for ſailing was fixed, when one evening as the Marquis and he were at ſupper, a number of armed men ſuddenly entered, and ſeizing the Marquis, carried him off, notwith⯑ſtanding all the reſiſtance the Baron could make.

Both the one and the other know⯑ing the violences that are daily com⯑mitted under that government, de⯑ſpaired of ever meeting more. But Clerville was doomed to ſuffer un⯑numbered woes ere death ſhould ſign his releaſe. He found himſelf con⯑veyed to a large houſe about three miles from the town, which had all [74] the appearance of a palace. Here he paſſed the night; and it would be ſu⯑perfluous to add, a ſleepleſs one. The morning having made its appearance, he looked out of his windows, and beheld himſelf ſituated in a delight⯑ful garden, which Nature ſeemed to have formed in ſome laviſh hour. Nor had art been leſs liberal. It was all perfection; and appeared calcula⯑ted for the abode of love and peace, if ever they had choſen to reſide to⯑gether.

Whilſt the Marquis was reflecting on his own ſituation, he was inter⯑rupted by the appearance of a female [75] ſlave, who accoſting him in the lan⯑guage of the country, deſired him to baniſh fear; for that he had been ſei⯑zed only to be conducted to bliſs: That a beautiful young widow had ſeen him as he paſſed the window the other day; and was ſo much ſtruck with him, that ſhe determined to con⯑fer on him, herſelf and all her im⯑menſe riches: that as ſoon as he had dreſſed himſelf in the Turkiſh habit he was to repair to her, and that ſhe would be his conductreſs.

The Marquis determined to obey immediately; and having dreſſed him⯑ſelf in a dreſs which was brought him [76] by the ſlave, he followed her into a large room, at the upper end of which he beheld, ſeated on a ſofa, a fine female figure, moſt richly adorned. She advanced a few ſteps to meet him; and having ſaluted him in the manner of the country, ſhe ſeated him by herſelf on the ſofa, and thus addreſſed him.

‘Chriſtian, my ſlave has already informed you where I firſt ſaw you, and how much I was ſtruck with your appearance. If your mind be as beautiful as your perſon, I ſhall have no reaſon to repent the ſtep I have taken. Should that prove the [77] caſe, I will render your life com⯑pletely happy. If, on the other hand, I ſhall have reaſon to regret my con⯑duct towards you, expect to feel the effects of my vengeance. On the death of my huſband, I determined to become a Chriſtian, and to marry one of your faith; as with you the women are treated like women, and not like ſlaves; and one man is not, as I am told, allowed to have more than one wife. Theſe reaſons deter⯑mined me to marry a Chriſtian; and as I am much pleaſed with your ap⯑pearance, I will confer upon you my riches and my perſon. I have learn⯑ed from your attendants that you are [78] not married; I therefore doubt not of your accepting my offer. There remains then nothing for us to do, but to celebrate the marriage accord⯑ing to your rites; and then we will embark for your country with my treaſure, which will enable you to live in ſplendor and magnificence.’

To this addreſs the Marquis liſten⯑ed with the utmoſt attention, but was perfectly at a loſs how to reply. At laſt, however, after having pauſed for a conſiderable time, he anſwered in the following terms:

[79] ‘I am ſenſible of the diſtinguiſhed honour you intend me, when you ſe⯑lect me to be the partner of your riches and your bed. It is with re⯑luctance I deline an honour ſo flat⯑tering and ſo enviable: but vows which I have made,—vows of a moſt ſolemn nature,—vows that muſt for ever remain ſacred and inviolate—render it impoſſible for me to accept that happineſs which you ſo generouſly offer. I ſhall, however, remember with gratitude, and reflect with re⯑gret, on this day's adventure. I am ſorry that my attachment to one who is now far diſtant, and who counts with anxiety the hours that inter⯑vene [80] between this time and that of my expected return, precludes me from returning that affection you pro⯑feſs for me. It is true we are not united by the rites of our faith; nay, we never may be ſo: but we have exchanged the moſt ſolemn vows, if we do not marry each other, never to marry at all. From theſe moſt ſacred obligations, no power what⯑ever can releaſe me. You muſt not therefore do me the injuſtice to at⯑tribute my refuſal of your offer to in⯑ſenſibility of your uncommon charms, but to the violence of an unhappy paſſion, which will, I fear, one day prove my ruin.’

[81] During the Marquis's diſcourſe, Zara's eyes flaſhed fire; but when he had concluded it, ſhe gave no bounds to her reſentment. She felt herſelf injured, if not inſulted, by this pre⯑ference given to another; and deter⯑mined from that inſtant to effect the ruin of the Marquis. He was by her ſlaves reconducted to his priſon, where he waited with fortitude the event of a tranſaction from which he had every thing to dread: for the Marquis well knew, that nothing is ſo dangerous as a ſlighted female.

He had not, however, been long in his confinement, before the Baron en⯑tered [82] his apartment, and once more reſtored him to freedom. For, ha⯑ving obtained an order from the Dey for that purpoſe, he eaſily diſcovered the priſon of his friend; and in a few minutes conducted him to the har⯑bour, where they embarked for Liſ⯑bon; well knowing they had every thing to fear from the reſentment of Zara. After a good paſſage, they landed in Portugal; where the Mar⯑quis found letters from all his friends, congratulating him on the recovery of his liberty. But theſe letters pro⯑ved unſatisfactory. They contained not the name of Maria; for whom his attachment was as great as ever, [83] and of whom it will now be proper to ſay ſomething.

CHAP. XIV.

AFTER the Marquis's depart⯑ture, Maria relapſed into her former melancholy. She generally ſpent the whole day on that ſpot which had witneſſed the affecting interview between her and her lover, and which has been already deſcribed. Heaven, however, commiſerating her ſorrows, ſent to her relief one of the moſt [85] amiable women that ever lived. A⯑delaide now made her appearance at the cottage. As her hiſtory is ſome⯑thing ſingular, and as ſhe was the friend of Maria, the reader will, I hope, pardon my inſerting a ſhort ac⯑count of it.

Adelaide was the only daughter of the Baron and Baroneſs D'Aranda. Her father and mother lived in the greateſt ſplendor and magnificence; and by the time Adelaide had reach⯑ed the age of ſixteen, found them⯑ſelves neceſſitated to quit Paris, and retire to the family-feat at Cler⯑mont.

[86] The Baron, to add to the many other bad qualities he poſſeſſed, was a gameſter; and ſome unlucky hit had almoſt ruined his affairs. The man who retires from the world only be⯑cauſe he can no longer afford to live in it, after he has ruined himſelf by vice, does not generally make the moſt agreeable companion, becauſe he is never happy in himſelf—It is to the good man only that retirement is pleaſant. With ſuch a companion as the Baron, however, was Adelaide doomed to ſpend her days when in the bloom of life; ſhe was ſuddenly torn from the admiration of Paris, and the friends of her youth, to lin⯑ger [87] in a gloomy ſolitude. But this ſhe could have borne, had it been the only ſource of her unhappineſs. But her father's temper, ever bad, was now ſo ſoured by his recent loſſes, that he vented his ſpleen on every one who came in his way.

The Baroneſs, his wife, was a mild amiable woman, who endeavoured to ſoften her own lot and that of her daughter, but to no purpoſe. The Baron was continually curſing that bad luck which had reduced him to his preſent unhappy ſtate; and, in⯑ſtead of being cured of his paſſion for gaming, he was conſtantly expreſſing [88] his ardent wiſhes that he might ſoon be in a condition to take the field once more.

As ſoon as they had arrived at Clermont, the Baroneſs and her daughter uſed every means to render the Baron's life as pleaſant as poſ⯑ſible. They invented little amuſe⯑ments for him; and tried, but in vain, to make him reliſh his new ſi⯑tuation. He grew more moroſe than ever; and they remained ſtill un⯑happy.

Matters had continued in this ſtate [89] for near a year, when the Baroneſs was taken ill. She found that ſhe was dying; and having ſent for A⯑delaide, ſhe gave her her will, in which ſhe had left her all ſhe had to diſpoſe of, viz. three thouſand livres a-year; appointing her couſin Mon⯑ſieur de Vâtres her guardian. With tears in her eyes, ſhe recommended it to her to live with her father as long as ſhe could, and to do every thing in order to pleaſe him. At the ſame time ſhe added, ‘If you find yourſelf obliged to leave him, which I fear will ſoon be the caſe, retire to Mr de Vârtes, who will protect you; [90] and your own income will ſupport you.’

She had ſcarce finiſhed this diſ⯑courſe, when the Baron entered the room. He was juſt returned from a card-table at the next town, to which he went as often as he had money, in hopes of repairing his fortunes by ſome lucky ſtroke. The ſervants had informed him of his wife's ill⯑neſs; and he appeared, when he en⯑tered, in great agitation. The Ba⯑roneſs no ſooner ſaw him, than ſhe put forth her hand to take hold of his; and having had juſt ſtrength [91] enough to recommend her daughter to his protection, expired.

CHAP. XV.

ADELAIDE, upon the death of her mother, was ſo much af⯑flicted, that ſhe was thrown into a vio⯑lent fever, and confined to her cham⯑ber for ſeven weeks. On her reco⯑very, ſhe found her ſituation worſe than ever. The Baron had been but little hurt by the death of his wife; and the impreſſion which that event [93] had made was now totally effaced from his mind. He informed his daughter of his intention to marry her to the Duc d'Albeville, an old worn-out rake; and required her conſent. By this match he was de⯑termined to repair his ruined fortune; for as the Duc was immenſely rich, and Adelaide was extremely hand⯑ſome, the Baron expected that the greateſt advantages would accrue to him from the connection.

Adelaide, ſhocked at the brutality of her father, and the diſguſting manners of her lover, determined to free herſelf from both. As her fa⯑ther [94] had declared his reſolution, ſhe knew ſhe could only eſcape by put⯑ting herſelf under the protection of her friend and guardian Mr de Vâtres; which ſhe took the firſt op⯑portunity of doing. He received her with the greateſt kindneſs; aſſured her of his friendſhip and ſupport; and deſired ſhe would conſider his houſe as her own. Adelaide thanked him for his goodneſs; but requeſted his leave to reſide in the country rather than at Paris. She therefore deſired him to chooſe ſome place of retire⯑ment, where ſhe might paſs her days in regretting the loſs of an amiable mother.

[95] With this requeſt Mr de Vâtres complied, and placed her with Maria's father, who was a tenant of his. The old man gladly embraced the propo⯑ſal, hoping that ſo agreeable a com⯑panion would be a great acquiſition to Maria, who was now in a decli⯑ning ſtate. The two ladies ſoon be⯑came attached to each other. Ade⯑laide had ſuffered; ſhe therefore knew how to pity. She requeſted Maria to give her an account of her life and misfortunes: On hearing of which, ſhe could not refrain from tears; and endeavoured, by every means, to comfort the fair mourn⯑er: but in vain; Maria gave herſelf [96] up to deſpair, when ſhe conſidered that her future proſpects in life were clouded over, and not one friendly ray of hope appeared to diſpel the ſurrounding gloom.

CHAP. XVI.

AFFAIRS were in this ſituation when the Marquis and his friend returned from Liſbon. Im⯑mediately on his landing, he flew to Clerville. He was no ſooner there, than he repaired to the conſcious grove. But—ah—there was no Ma⯑ria there! To the cottage he durſt not go till he had obtained her leave: [98] For that leave he applied; but it was obſtinately refuſed. He petitioned for an interview; but to no purpoſe. Deſpairing of ever ſeeing her more, he returned to Clerville, where he was ſeized with a fever, which laſted thirty days; during which time the Baron never left his bed-ſide. When delirious, he called his Maria cruel; and begged her to viſit him. Some⯑times he lamented her death, and ſometimes prayed heaven to accele⯑rate his own. The phyſicians, how⯑ever, at laſt gave the Baron hopes of his friend's recovery; and a few days verified their prediction. The Mar⯑quis's fever gradually abating, he [99] ſoon found himſelf able to walk in the park; but he was ſtill ſo dejected, that the Baron feared, unleſs ſome ſtep was taken for baniſhing his me⯑lancholy, he would ſoon fall a victim to it.

CHAP. XVII.

THE Baron had entertained pre⯑judices againſt the Marquis's marrying Maria: but he was aſha⯑med to think of ſacrificing his friend to his prejudices; and well knowing that deſperate diſeaſes require deſpe⯑rate remedies, he propoſed himſelf, that the Marquis ſhould apply for his mother's conſent to the marriage. [101] He undertook to convey the Mar⯑quis's requeſt to the Marchioneſs; and to aſſure her, that nothing ſhort of her conſent could preſerve the life of her ſon.

To this propoſal the Marquis li⯑ſtened with ecſtaſy. He had often de⯑termined within himſelf to marry Ma⯑ria; but he feared that even the Ba⯑ron would not ſupport him in ſo im⯑prudent a choice. No time, how⯑ever, was now to be loſt; and the Baron ſet out for Paris, leaving to his friend the delightful office of in⯑forming Maria of the ſtep taken in her favour.

[102] This office the Marquis ſoon diſ⯑charged. He flew to the cottage, ruſhed into her chamber, threw him⯑ſelf at her feet, and vowed never to riſe till ſhe promiſed to bleſs him with her hand, provided he ſhould obtain his mother's conſent. The old peo⯑ple, who had followed him to the room, did not leave their daughter time to reply. They declared, that if the Marquis was in earneſt, he was the beſt, the moſt generous of men. Maria ſtood ſpeechleſs. Adelaide, who had never before ſeen the Mar⯑quis, was not at a loſs to gueſs who he was, and expected with impa⯑tience the reply of her friend. Ma⯑ria, [103] after recovering a little, aſſured the Marquis that he was going to take a ſtep of which he would re⯑pent when it was too late; but that ſince he declared his happineſs de⯑pended on her becoming his, ſhe ſhould defer accepting the honour he now offered her, only till he ſhould receive the Marchioneſs's approba⯑tion.

Maria had no ſooner given her conſent than the Marquis aroſe; and, ſeating himſelf by her, reproached her for her cruelty in refuſing to ſee him: but before ſhe could juſtify herſelf, ſhe fainted, quite overcome [104] with the ſcene which had happened. Adelaide flew to the aſſiſtance of her friend; and in a ſhort time Maria recovered.

The Marquis, who till then had not obſerved Adelaide, his attention having been wholly engroſſed by Ma⯑ria, now turning to the former, ad⯑dreſſed her in the following man⯑ner:

‘Madam, as you are the intimate friend of Maria, and are well ac⯑quainted with her misfortunes as well as with mine; my conduct will leave you no room to doubt that I am the [105] unfortunate Marquis of Clerville. Permit me to embrace this opportu⯑nity of thanking you for your good⯑neſs to Maria; for which I ſhall be ever grateful. I have long wiſhed to commence an acquaintance with you; but Maria's injunctions forbidding me to viſit her, has prevented it till now. I truſt you will not refuſe me either your friendſhip or your pity.’ To this ſpeech Adelaide could make no reply, ſhe was ſo much confuſed; but after a little while ſhe retired and left the two lovers alone. The Mar⯑quis intreated Maria to delay her hap⯑pineſs no longer than the return of the Baron, whom he expected in a [106] few days. With this requeſt ſhe pro⯑miſed to comply; and it being late, the Marquis, having bid adieu to Ma⯑ria, returned home to prepare the caſtle for her reception.

CHAP. XVIII.

AT length the wiſhed-for hour arrived, when the Baron made his appearance at the caſtle. The Marquis flew to meet him, and read his fate in the Baron's countenance; who delivered to him a letter from the Marchioneſs, containing a poſi⯑tive refuſal of her conſent, and a de⯑claration that ſhe would ſooner fol⯑low [108] him to the grave than ſee him diſ⯑grace himſelf by ſo degrading a con⯑nection as that he now wiſhed to make.

This news had near proved fatal to the Marquis. After, however, ha⯑ving meditated for ſome time, he went to Maria; informed her of his mother's determination; but decla⯑red, that as ſoon as ever the marriage ſettlements could be drawn up, he would marry her, be the conſequences what they would: That, as to the loſs of his mother's eſtate, he ſhould never feel it; for however ſmall his own fortune might be, it was ſuffi⯑cient [109] for them. He had too good an opinion of her underſtanding, to ſup⯑poſe that ſhe was ambitious of mo⯑ving in a higher ſphere; that for his own part, he ſhould not heſitate a moment to ſink into a lower one, provided he could but call her his.

Maria affected to be delighted with the thoughts of her approaching nup⯑tials. But no ſooner was the Mar⯑quis gone, than ſhe applied to her fa⯑ther for leave to go for two days to her uncle's, who lived at a few miles diſtance. This leave being obtained, ſhe ſet out; but, inſtead of going to [110] her uncle's, directed her ſteps to a convent; the ſafeſt retreat of the un⯑fortunate. It was ſeventy miles from Clerville. There ſhe had a friend, through whoſe intereſt ſhe was recei⯑ved by the Abbeſs, who approved of her intention of taking the veil, and promiſed ſhe ſhould be concealed there till it ſhould be out of the power of man to take her thence. Being now ſafe from all purſuit, ſhe wrote the following letter to the Marquis:

[113] The ſame poſt brought a letter to her father, apologizing for her con⯑duct; and informing him of her in⯑tention of remaining in the convent till ſhe ſhould take the veil.

CHAP. XIX.

THE Marquis no ſooner received her letter than he flew to the cottage. The firſt perſon he met was Adelaide, who was in tears for the loſs of her friend. She endeavour⯑ed to comfort the Marquis, but to no purpoſe. He inquired for Maria's father; who no ſooner appeared, than he taxed him with being privy to his [115] daughter's elopement. The old man replied only by crying, and tearing his hair, and curſing his fate in ha⯑ving a daughter who rejected ho⯑nour, and wealth, and happineſs, for the ſake of burying herſelf in a con⯑vent.

The Marquis finding that none of her letters were dated, vowed to ſet out the next day in ſearch of her. From this the Baron attempted to diſſuade him: but finding him determined to go, he reſolved at laſt to ac⯑company him on his journey; and the next day they ſet out. Almoſt every convent in France was ſearch⯑ed, [116] but to no purpoſe. The Mar⯑quis's health was declining very faſt, owing to the conſtant fatigues he un⯑derwent, and to the agitation of his ſpirits. He continued his purſuit, however, for near a year; during which time he had not been able to procure any intelligence of Maria. She conſtantly correſponded with A⯑delaide, who alone knew where ſhe was hid. This correſpondence, in the end, proved the means of her re⯑ſidence being diſcovered by the Mar⯑quis.

Maria, hearing from Adelaide that the Marquis ſtill continued his pur⯑ſuit, [117] wrote him the following let⯑ter.

CHAP. XX.

THE Marquis received this letter late at night. He peruſed it ſeveral times; and then retired to his room, where he continued walking up and down till morning in great agitation. As ſoon as the Baron was up, he deſired him to ſet out and follow him, without informing him where they were going. After tra⯑velling [120] a few miles, he ſtopped at a ſmall inn, finding himſelf ſo weak that he could proceed no farther. Here they breakfaſted; and juſt after breakfaſt ſtepped into the kitchen, where the poſt was delivering out the letters for that diſtrict. As he was thus employed, the Marquis obſer⯑ved one directed by a well-known hand. He inſtantly ſeized it; and before the poſt could prevent him, he broke it open. It proved to be from Maria to Adelaide; informing her, that on that very day ſhe was to take the veil, in a convent only ſix miles diſtant from where the Marquis then was. The Marquis threw down [121] the letter; and running into the ſtable, ſeized his horſe, and ſet out full ſpeed for the convent. The Ba⯑ron, who had caught up the letter, and perceived the contents, imme⯑diately followed him; and they pro⯑ceeded together to the convent.

When they entered the chapel, the ceremony was begun. The Baron trembled at the ſight; but the Mar⯑quis ſeemed to acquire new ſortitude, and waited with heroic firmneſs the concluſion of the ſatal rite. But no ſooner was it over, and Maria pre⯑paring to withdraw, than, exclaim⯑ing with agony, ‘Cruel Maria!’ he [122] ſunk motionleſs into the arms of the Baron, and expired.

The confuſion that ſo melancholy an event occaſioned in the chapel, attracted the eyes of every one. Ma⯑ria no ſooner caſt her eyes on the fa⯑tal ſpot where the Marquis lay, than ſhe ſunk ſpeechleſs into the arms of thoſe who ſtood next her. She was immediately conveyed into the con⯑vent; where ſhe remained inſenſible for ſome time: But when ſhe was re⯑covered, they found that ſhe had loſt her ſenſes. She raved; and, addreſ⯑ſing herſelf to the Marquis, promiſed to marry him immediately; then aſk⯑ed [123] his pardon for occaſioning his death. In this ſtate ſhe remained till evening, when ſhe was conveyed to bed, where ſhe got little ſleep, and that very diſturbed.

The Baron, in the mean time, had conveyed the Marquis's body to a neighbouring houſe; where all at⯑tempts to reſtore him to life proved ineffectual. The Baron was almoſt diſtracted, and knew not what to do. Next day, however, he repaired to the convent (having, in the mean time, diſpatched an expreſs to A⯑delaide, deſiring her immediate pre⯑ſence), and endeavoured to ſee Ma⯑ria. [124] But ſhe was not in a condition to be ſeen by any one, for ſhe was ſtill delirious.

In this condition did the Baron remain till Adelaide's arrival. The meeting between them was ſuch as one would expect between two peo⯑ple ſo circumſtanced. After ſome converſation, the Baron and Adelaide repaired to the convent, where Ade⯑laide gained admiſſion to her ſtill de⯑lirious friend. Maria did not take the leaſt notice of Adelaide, but con⯑tinued ſtill to addreſs her converſa⯑tion to the Marquis. This melan⯑choly ſpectacle proved too much for [125] Adelaide. She was obliged to return to the inn, where ſhe found the Ba⯑ron preparing to accompany the re⯑mains of the amiable and unfortunate Marquis of Clerville to his ſeat, where he was to be interred.

CHAP. XXI.

ON his arrival at Clerville, the Baron found the Marchioneſs walking in the Park, waiting the re⯑turn of her ſon, who ſhe heard was expected at home that day. She no ſooner beheld the mournful caval⯑cade, and learned the fate of her a⯑miable ſon, than ſhe burſt into tears. The Baron proceeded to the hall, [127] where he lodged the remains of his friend. They were no ſooner in the hall, than ſurrounded by all his weeping domeſtics, who declared that they never could meet with ſo kind a maſter. The Baron begged them to be comforted; aſſured them he would retain every one of them in his ſervice as long as they pleaſed, and would endeavour to imitate the conduct of their late worthy maſter.

The Marchioneſs ſent for the Ba⯑ron to her room, and inquired the particulars of her ſon's death. She ſaid, that though ſhe could not but lament his fate, ſhe was happy he [128] had not lived to diſgrace his illuſtri⯑ous anceſtors. The Baron left her, incenſed to the laſt degree by ſo un⯑feeling a ſpeech, and prepared to ful⯑fil a promiſe he had made to his friend; which was to ſend his heart incloſed in a ſilver urn to Maria. He accordingly ſet out for the convent.

CHAP. XXII.

ON his arrival he found Maria ſtill delirious, but with lucid intervals. Adelaide, who during the Baron's abſence had reſided in the convent, gave him hopes of her recovery. But theſe hopes ſoon va⯑niſhed. For no ſooner did Maria receive from the Baron the melan⯑choly legacy, than ſhe became worſe [130] than ever; and ſnatching up the urn, ran to the ſoot of the altar, whence ſhe would ſuffer none to remove her, but ſpent the whole night in weeping over that heart which was her's in every ſenſe of the word.

In the morning ſhe ſuffered Ade⯑laide to lead her to her apartment, whence ſhe never ſtirred for ſome weeks. The Baron in the mean time returned to Clerville; where, af⯑ter having celebrated the funeral of his friend, he proceeded to execute his will; in which he had left the e⯑ſtate of Clerville to the Baron, ſub⯑ject to a penſion of three thouſand [131] livres to Maria, and five hundred to each of her parents.

This affair being ſettled, he once more ſet out for the convent. On his arrival, Maria appeared at the grate with her friend, which till now ſhe had not done ſince ſhe had re⯑ceived the fatal preſent. The meet⯑ing was affecting in the higheſt de⯑gree. The Baron and Adelaide wept in ſilence. Maria continued ſtill to rave, and addreſs herſelf to the Mar⯑quis. The Baron could bear this in⯑terview no longer; but retired from the grate, leaving Adelaide to con⯑duct her friend back to her apart⯑ment. [132] At two in the morning Ma⯑ria aroſe, and taking with her the urn, repaired to the chapel, where ſhe continued weeping, till Adelaide wa⯑king, and miſſing her, went to the chapel in ſearch of her, and with dif⯑ficulty prevailed on her to return.

Maria continued in this ſtate for ſome time; but at length ſhe chan⯑ged her manner, and never ſpoke at all, but remained in a deep and fixed melancholy. She was now ſo much emaciated by her conſtant grief, that the phyſicians deſpaired of her life: But, to the aſtoniſhment of every one, ſhe continued in this ſituation [133] for two years; during which time Adelaide never left the convent. At the end of this time ſhe became ſo feeble, that Adelaide, ſeeing her diſ⯑ſolution approaching, ſent for the Baron. On his arrival Maria ap⯑peared at the grate, ſupported by A⯑delaide and two nuns. She was now ſo altered, that the Baron hardly knew her. He attempted to ſpeak to her; but was ſo much affected, that he could not. She made ſigns for them to bring her a chair, on which ſhe ſeated herſelf; and, reſting her hand on the urn, aſked him if that con⯑tained her Clerville's heart. To this the Baron anſwered in the affirma⯑tive; [134] on which ſhe exclaimed, Cler⯑ville is dead! and, ſinking into the arms of Adelaide, ceaſed to ſigh.

It is impoſſible to deſcribe the feel⯑ings of the ſpectators. Adelaide threw herſelf on the corpſe, and be⯑dewed it with her tears. The Ba⯑ron retired to the inn to give vent to his grief, whence he ſtirred not till next day. He then waited on the biſhop of the dioceſe and the lady abbeſs of the convent, who both con⯑ſented to his requeſt, and permitted him to remove Maria's body to Cler⯑ville, where it was interred in the ſame grave with that of her unfortu⯑nate [135] lover. On the tomb the Baron inſcribed the following epitaph, writ⯑ten by himſelf, having previouſly in⯑ſhrined the heart of Maria in a ſilver urn, and placed it, together with that of the Marquis, on their tomb.