THE CIRCLE: OR CONVERSATIONS ON LOVE & GALLANTRY; Originally in French. Now Englished. And since Augmented with several NEW SONGS, Illustrated with MUSICAL NOTES, Both TRIPLE & BASS.  
By Nath. Noel, Gent.  
Licenced May the 5th. 1675.  
R. L'Estrange.  
LONDON, Printed for the Author, and are to be sold by John Car at the Temple Gate, Richard Hunt in St. Paul's Church Yard, George Miller near the Royal Exchange, and at all other Music Shops, 1676.   

To her GRACE, ANNE, DUCHESS of MONMOUTH.  
May it please your Grace,  
THough I cannot but acknowledge my presumption to be great (since being a stranger to your Grace, I should thus aspire to a Favour I may have reason to fear the obtaining; yet when I give ear to fame, methinks I find myself not altogether a stranger to what is most Noble in so Noble a person; & as glittering Stars by reason of their glorious lustre are looked upon with wonder, and even worshipped by us mortals in several parts of the Universe; even so (dread Madam) your worth, perfections, and virtues shine so clearly and untaintedly, and strike such an awe into my amazed spirit, that I cannot but think how justly I have deserved your frowns for my Arrogancy in presenting to your Grace a thing so Inconsiderable, as is this ensuing Translation; yet with the same Reverence as the Ancient Heathens did offer up their Sacrifices at the shrines of the Deities they Adored with the same affectionate Ardour & trembling Zeal do I offer up this to your Grace, upon which if you are pleased to dart down a benign influence, you give both it and me life; the very Name of so Illustrious a Person (illustrious in blood, and also in parts) is of itself sufficient to strike the most severe Crittcks dumb. The Author had he made you his Copy, he had doubt less framed his Character of his person of Quality far more perfect than he hath done in the ensuing Treatise; but none but happy England is blessed with such Treasures as you are; therefore we must needs imagine his misfortune (in being a stranger to this Island) occasioned him the making him ignorant of many more qualities and perfections which are only to be seen in You; it is You are the true Character of a person of Quality; You have a Soul that knoweth both how to value Glory, to prise Honour, and cherish Virtue; You need not the false lustre of others to adorn You, when Fame sendeth her loud Echoes into the world in praise of Virtue and Honour, she seldom appears in disguise; she is a lover of truth, which in nothing can be plainer understood than by observing what she saith of You.  
If your Grace shall vouchsafe a favourable Acceptance of these my first fruits, my happiness is completed in having obtained the honour of bearing the unfeigned Title of  
Your Grace's Most Humble, most Obedient, and most Zealous Servant, Nathaniel Noel.   

THE EPISTLE To the READER.  
READER:  
THough to Ape-custome I should pass a Compliment upon you, (it being usual in such Epistles) to mollify your Critical humour, as thinking it may cause you to be less severe, yet I (who believe Compliments in this case to be like the Schoolboys Prayers to his severe Master when he's resolved to give him the lash in a cold morning for his Recreation) hope you won't take snuff that I don't say Gentle, Courteous, or Candid Reader; I do it not, because if I should perhaps I might abuse You, for you may take a Resolution to be contrary to the Title; I may give you as soon as you have heard that such a Book is published, and Damn it (as I have known many do the like by others) as soon, nay sometimes before they have seen the Title; not that I'll judge all to be enviously considerate; but you know every Body that will take the pains to read it, is my Reader, and therefore it were as great a folly to term them all Courteous, as it is to imagine it possible to find them so: I may as well term them all Honourable and Worshipful, though a Porter or Cobbler may have it for his money as well as a Gentleman; finding the world then to be thus stuffed with so many abominable Critics, and profound Judges of Wit, and experience having made it evident by the ingratitude of the Public in their usual requital of such kind of Presents, I cannot but admire at the liberality of so many brave men in almost all Ages that have freely appeared in the world, and exposed themselves to the most injust Censures of its disagreeing thoughts: I shall instance for one that famous man Sir Walter Raleigh, whose History of the world (a work as famous as ever was) hath been sufficiently censured, nay the World was so rigid in his time, that it took not as he expected it would have done, for he burned a second Volume of the same Subject, because the Bookseller (to whom he Sold the Copy of his Former, and would have Sold this) told him he had Lost by it. That Learned Scholar, and Valiant Soldier Sir Philip Sidney in his Countess of Pembrook's Arcadia, as well as in other of his Works is used severely to this day by some. Nor Quarles that ingenious Poet hath not escaped censure, and many more, which to mention here would be needless, and numerous. If then such excellent men as these (whose Works excel this as the Sun doth all inferior Bodies) have run in danger of shipwreck (by which we may judge of the world's inconstancy (must this Little thing think to escape Foul-weather? and the danger of being blasted? No, it shall expect all with patience.  
It oftentimes happens that he that sets out a Book does justly draw injuries upon himself without any Reason, and giveth cause of being told what he is by People that are sometimes worse Sots than he: But however I shall be as little concerned for what the Public shall say of this as Socrates, who when he was told one that one railed at him behind his back, his answer was, let him beat me too so I am absent.  
I have taken no small care in the Traduction of this Treatise, for having found the discourse of the first Chapter something tedious in the Original in flourishing discourses, and little matter according to the French way of writing, (a method generally disapproved by all English Authors) I have in such manner abbreviated it (though without diminishing the Matter) that it is now pleasant enough. But however give me Leave to tell you that this Chapter I speak of is but an introduction to what follows: I give you this item because I know some to be so squeamish, that as soon as they have read the first two or three Pages of a Book, if that please them not, they turn to Finis, and in their judgement they have read it out, which done, they throw it aside to mould, and curse the Author: Some may perhaps wonder to see the Songs herein set to Music, because it is not customary in such Books: To which I answer, that custom is not always to be followed, and that which doth not concur with custom, may sometimes be esteemed the greater rarity because not common; 'tis true the word Song I have seen in many Books over a few Verses, but what does it imply without the Musical-notes? put but (to the Tune of Captain Digbies Farewell over it, or some other of the like nature) and then it is not much unlike a Ballad: if some people do not understand the Notes, I doubt not but there are also some that do, especially Persons of Quality, and Gentlemen, for whom they are chief here inserted; the Music was set by several good understanding Masters of that Science, & the Songs have been added to it since it was Englished. The words of the Song in page 47. I mnh confess were borrowed, and it was placed here at a particular Friends request: But for the rest, I am certain they are not. The Female Readers I have reason to think may find cause of being less severe than others, especially when they shall consider with what civility they are used here; wherefore I need say no more, but shall invite them to what follows, as I do you; who am  
Yours, N: N.   

THE CIRCLE, OR CONVERSATIONS ON Love and Gallantry, etc.  

THe departure of the Grand Theodat (whom the Belgic Pride had caused to take up Arms to bring them to Reason) gave to the most part of his Courtiers, (who could not follow him to the War) the liberty of retiring into the Country; The Duke of Alban a person both for Birth and Merit, known of all the Court, being dispensed with from going with the King by reason of some incommodity, was one of the first that by this happy occasion desired to advantage himself by the enjoyment of repose and solitude; he had a dwelling about two leagues distant from Paris, very proper for rural Pastimes, wherein were seen in abundance of all things that might well contribute to the sweetening of a Country life. Madam, the Duchess remained not long behind him, who brought with her two Ladies her Friends, one whereof was the Countess d'Ancore, the other Madamoisele d'Armand, both persons of incomperable spirit; and to finish a part so well begun, there was yet wanting the Lady Sindals' presence, a Lady the most accomplished that ever was, and who in two or three days failed not to render herself with the Duchess, who had invited her. I swerve not from truth when I say that there were none in this House but persons well-chosen, and well-deserving, upon whose Visages one might discern to sparkle that mirth that produces the greatest Charm in a Company. 1. The first thing done, was to banish Constraint and Ceremonies, and to establish for a general Law, that every one should live after his own mode; in the mean time they were of such an accord in all things, that it seemed as though one Will governed all; the men had a free and civil commerce with the Women, they ever beguiled the time with nought but mirth, taking the fresh air, and dancing each as they pleased, and with whom they pleased; exceptin a certain particular respect they had for the Duchess, all the rest accompanied each other as Shepherds and Shepherdesses: The Duke by reason of his ordinary indisposition, was constrained to take himself to his rest something early, which towards the Evening gave the company more cause of freedom, not that he loved constraint, for his humour was so sweet and obliging, that it carried him rather to render himself familiar and complaisant to persons far beneath him: Nevertheless his illustrious Guests who were not ignorant in the art of civil Behaviour, could not forbear the manifesting of some Respect for his person; however, freedom waxing at least more general, he being retired, the custom was to walk in the garden, where with the Music and Dancing, were proposed some delightful Questions, witty Pastimes were played which were invented ex tempore, and which being intermixed with pleasing raillery, caused by Jocose contradictions, would produce such fits of Laughter, and such pleasures as are seldom tasted in all companies, and which augmented, daily the Cavalier d'Estapes was most acceptably received with Monsieur de Armenton, both very well esteemed among Persons of Honour, and very well known in the sphere of Gallantry. Madam d'Elus came also, with many other persons of the same disposition, which indeed did but pass by; but for the time they stayed, would be of the Conversations that were held; one Evening when the Guests of this charming Mansion in number above the ordinary, and when they were all wearied with having spent the whole afternoon in dancing, the Duchess after a small turn in the Garden, invited the company to go and repose themselves under a green Arbour, where the Conversations were kept, and which was called the Circle; where after she had performed the usual Ceremonies to oblige them all to sit down, she desired Mademoiselle d'Armand to be the first to invent some pastime, which after she had excused herself, she did, which she said, was, that every one in the company should invent a several Pastime, and we will afterwards make choice of that Person said she, whose merit shall claim the greatest right in Diverting us, and who shall be judged the most acceptable; there is already mine added she, and turning to the Abbot d'Arvuty, one of the best Humoured Persons in the World, and who stood just by her, she entreated him to begin to tell his Pastime; but the Abbot refused, as thinking she had not told hers, she avouched the contrary, saying what she had now done was well wor●h a pastime. But you (Madam, said she, in directing her Speech to the Duchess) who sees that Mr. Abbot will already not do what he is bid, be so good to us yourself as to command him to range him to his duty: The Duchess smiled, and told her she should be her Lieutenant, and that she should put all the Authority she had into her hands, to the end that her Orders may be the better obeyed; whereby the Lady prevailing, something better commanded him a second time to find out some subject of diversion; which after a long debate he did, raising his discourse upon the qualities of a Mistress, and upon the blindness of Lovers in not discerning any defect or blemish in them: He would therefore have the Pastime that Evening be, that every one should relate which of all the Qualities he could principally wish that person to be endued with which he dearly loved? and since it is a kind of necessity to have some failing, what then should that be he would give her? After Mr. Abbot had done, Madamoiselle d'Armand as Lieutenant to the Duchess, made a sign with her Busk to the Marchioness of Sindal, to let her know that it was now her turn: But the Duchess replied, that since she would not give herself the trouble of inventing some pastime; it were but Justice to let the other Ladies enjoy the same privilege; besides, that there were on the men's side persons so proper to relate any thing Curious and Witty, that they had no need to fear the want of Diversion, I am far Madam, (answered her Mademoiselle d'Arm●nd) with a little subtle smile from opposing any thing you shall find good; but if you will consider the wrong this silence will do the company, and the advantage these Gentlemen will reap thereby (who believe that none but they can recount any thing pleasant) you will find that for a small trouble from which you pretend to deliver these Ladies, you deprive us of the Honour we should get by confounding all those great and rattling Wits, with thousands of conceits which you should see us produce I say not (replied the Duchess) that the Ladies should keep silence, I only desire that the men furnish the conversation with matter, and we support it when we see it decay, or touch us any thing. Madamoiselle d'Armand without making any further answer, left Madam Sindal, and desired the Cavalier to propose some pleasing pastimes, and he obeyed. And his discourse was altogether concerning the Follies all people are inclined to in affecting some one particular thing or other; some he esteems Fools, for affecting Poesy above all other things; others he says are Fools in Music, in Dancing, in Playing, in Arms, in Dogs, in Horses, and in ; and therefore said he, it would be a very pleasant pastime to tell us every one our Follies, and let them begin with me first, and sincerely tell me in what manner I am fool, and the reasons they have to believe me so. This sort of pastime caused mirth enough, and there was no body but presently related after what manner he was believed to be fool; so that every one's discourse was of his folly: But in fine, the Baron d'Exorc who was a most gallant Person, and who had a pleasing Wit for Conversation, said, that this Pastime would last something too long, and that if they would make use of another, he would propose something that should be more Recreative, and less injurious; and he was justabout relating something to make them merry, when Madamoiselle d'Armond imposed him silence, and entreated the Count be Lorme to teach them some pastime more diversive than the former, which without giving them cause to speak to him twice, he did, and his discourse was altogether touching Lovers, and the several sorts of them, and their Comportment with a cruel Mistress; which after he had a little enlarged upon, his Proposition was to relate, whether it may be possible to sweeten the Rigours of a Cruel Mistress; if it be, in what manner it must be done? But Madamoiselle d'Ernand, without whose permission none had right to speak, not fixing upon this pastime (though they were going to speak their thoughts of it) spoke to Monsieur d'Armenton to propose another, telling him it was now his turn: So many Sports said he have been already proposed, that I will beg the permission of you to remain at some one that hath even now been named; for there are enough not only for this Evenings diversion, but for a whole week, and if you please I am for that of the Court: No, no, said Mademoiselle d'Armand, we can exempt none but the Ladies from that trouble; tell us then if you please what your mind conceiveth; since said he, I am condemned, I should do what you would have me do? The Count with his Question hath furnished me with another design, which may serve us as a pastime. He would know if there be any thing can sweeten the rigours of a cruel Mistress. I think that order and reason doth first require that a Mistress be described, and that every one relate the qualities they could wish to be in a person by them loved, it will be the means of knowing every one's inclination: ●nd I believe that the Count who is so particular and delicate in Love-matters, will doubtless give us pleasure enough to hear him, for he will delineate the Picture of an admirable Mistress; the Count was going to answer him, but Mademoiselle d'Armand who instantly had a mind that this Pastime shoul pass, prevented him, and told the Duchess that if she pleased, it should be by this they would begin, and that it was too gallant not to be preferred before any other. Hereupon the Duchess took the advice of all the company, who were of the same mind, and without delaying any more, they desired Mademoiselle d'Armond to command some body to begin which turning herself to the Count de Lorine, she did, saying, it shall be you then Sir that must begin; and tell us after what manner you would have a Lady made and qualified if you had one that might be for your own appetite: I know not continued she how successful you will be, but I imagine that you having Opinions so different from the rest of the world, especially in this, will assuredly give some cause of contradiction: There was already begun a hot dispute; but the Lady Sindal interrupted them, and told them it was already late, and that they must in good earnest either begin then, or defer it till the next mornning: that the Count might also have the more time to prepare himself: I said the Count pleasantly,) shall not do like these Lepers who leap yet worse when they are naked, than when they are clothed: If it be too late, it is so much the better for me because not having much time, I shall not have much to re●ate; and what I shall then say, ex tempore, will be much more excusable than what I might have studied for, though it were better. I will without waiting till to morrow, give you my thoughts upon this subject, which you will discern to be without either method or choice; yea must grant (continued he) that the matter is altogether delicate, which you have put into my hands. Nevertheless, since my business is not to form a Lady to the mind of the whole world, but two make one after my mind, I will tell you in few words how I would have her adorned and beautified, to esteem her perfectly; imagine it not to be one of those fine Women, which ●hese Gentlemen would doubtless lay before you if they were in my place, that is not my design; that with which I shall entertain you shall be a Lady of Honour, whose principallest Qualities shall be grounded on the merit of her person. The first thing she must have is a good Birth, and not to ignorize the maintaining of her Rank as she ought, without being too much affected, as most Women are; my meaning is, that her whole person, and all her actions may witness her to be a person of Quality, she should have some of that modesty, which mingled with Majesty as doth give a glorious lustre to Noble persons, for her Wit let it flow naturally, and let her Body be well shaped; but let her have more especially a particular Grace in all her actions, that may render her Amicable at the first view, that it may be an Ornament to accompany all her actions; that is rare said Mademoiselle d'Armand, but methinks if you are not in too great haste to make an end, you pass over but lightly qualities that well enough merit a larger delineation. Tell me yet continued she, what this Grace is of which you speak? It is answered her the Caunt presently, what may be seen in you Madam; and if you please, I will not make any other Explication, since it is but to regard you to divine what it is. This answer caused Mademoiselle d'Armand to blush, and she was doubtless going to answer him, if the Duchess had not made a sign to her not to interrupt him any more, and the Count continued his discourse in this manner; since I am desired to draw the Picture of my Heroine at large, I will prepare myself to let you see her altogether. I have already said that her Body should be well shaped, I mean of a just and well. composed height, free and without affectation, though something above the mean, yet without the excess of being too Great; the Opinions are very different between the Brown and the Fait; for my part I am for the Brown, because they have commonly most Wit: As to what concerns the figure of the Visage, I have ever heard say, that those who have it Oval, promise most Friendship; as for the Eyes, they are yet disputable: but the Blaek are in my mind the most beautiful, if they are full and well divided, such a fair one whose Picture I draw, ought especially to have her Teeth white, and well ranked: the mouth small and rosy coloured, the forehead and chin proportionable to the Poriphyre of her Visage; and for her Qualities (proceeded he) I will not speak of those Virtues so common for all Women, it is to be supposed that a Lady so well made as I make her, wanteth not those Virtues, but to distinguish her from the Vulgar sort, she ought to have some particular Qualities, as much civility, much sweetness in all her words, but in conversation especially; together with a certain ready way of never saying any thing but to the purpose, according to the place wherein she is, and according to the humours of the persons to whom she speaks, her actions ought to be very obliging, and she should have a good nature so charming as might surprise an esteem in the hearts of persons of Honour; she must have a lively Wit that may cause her to be admired, but a spirit liness accompanied with something of gravity, that may show in her as much soundness in judgement, as promptness of wit: She must beware praising herself, for there is ever too much vanity and indiscretion in doing of it in what manner soever, she ought to have the same regard in speaking, which must be but little, & to the purpose, and let affectation be avoided in discourse as well as carriage, and in all things else, such qualities will cause her to be considered, wherever she is, while others fall more or less into the opposite Errors. Let her not neglect Instruments, Music, and Dancing; let her also make some esteem of Poetry, History, and of that we call Literature.  
There the Count made a stand, as if he would have made an end, or taken breath, which having done, the Abbot said that the Count had drawn the Picture of so rare a Lady, that he could scarce believe there were any like her in the World. Nevertheless said he, if we comprehend what he has said, his discourse was of things altogether in general, and notwithstanding a few Lessons will he give the Ladies. I cannot believe that his hath yet all she should have. I could answer you said the Count, that I am not obliged to do more than the order of the pastime, which required me to describe a Lady to my liking. But you Mr. Abbot continued he, who imagines what I have said to be so extraordinary, that you cannot believe there are many such in the World, although I have not yet done: You have said methinks something too much before a Company where there is not a Lady but may be compared to her; I have described, and I may truly say that they were my pattern. I see your design replied the Abbot to him smiling, you would make a difference between me and this Sex, and cause these Ladies to be my adversaries, while you in the mean time intrude yourself by your flatteries to obtain their good wills; but they are so just, that they love truth better (though it might seem to be against them) than the false praises that you give them. Nevertheless if my misfortune should cause it to happen otherwise, I cannot but say that it is not only rare to find all these qualities in one only Woman, but that the like can be said but of few men, notwithstanding that they are capable of a far greater perfection than Women, to hear Mr. Abbot discourse, said Monsieur d'Armenton one would imagine that he hath a mind to speak against the Women: but if the Count will give me leave to answer him, I will have the honour to serve him as second on the behalf of these Ladies. You oblige me said the Count, for I likewise think that I have already done what I was obliged to do; and the Lady's quarrel cannot be ill in the management of so gallant a man as you. Mr. Abbot was going to speak, but the Duchess prevented him, and bid him keep those injuries he had to say against them, till the day following, that it was now too late to have time enough to relate them; that she would give him the whole Night to consider on it if he dare be so bold to expose himself to so great a hazard; all the Company smiled upon the Duchess, who had turned the subject of this new dispute in so gallant a manner, it was referred till the next day.  
Here the Pastime ended, and the Violins (that were placed round about the Arbour) having begun to play, at a sign the Duchess, made them, they all arose, and danced as they went till they came to the House, whereafter some Civilities the Duchess made the Company, and which is usual on such occasions, they all walked to their Chambers, and gave the remainder of the night over to sleep.   

CHAP. II.  
THree hours had the Sun's beams enlightened the whole House, when none of this illustrious company were stirring but Mr. Abbot, who was walking alone in one of the Garden Walks. Madamoiselle de Armand (the windows on that side whose chambers are situate in this manner, she called to her Madam d'Elus) with whom she lay, and beginning to laugh, do you not see (said she a loud to the end the Abbot might hear) Mr. Abbot, who is preparing his Talons to tear us to pieces this Evening, he is up very early; but I hope before the day ends, he may recant, or that he'll repent; Ladies, answered the Abbot, if you have no greater an adversary than me, you have no reason to fear. I shall (perhaps) be obliged to keep my word if I am urged to it: Rutilio it shall be to say nought against you, than what I cannot forbear to relate: We shall see that said Madam d'Elus to him; however it is not of so small a Consequence, as not 〈◊〉 deserve the pains to think a little upon it. I counsel you (proceeded she) as a Friend, to betake yourself to a place of safety in time, for you know it is natural to us to love revenge. As the Abbot was going to answer her, a great dog that crossed the Walk, chasing a Fowl, run against him with such violence, that the fright of it had like to have made him fall all along: it is to be imagined how the Ladies laughed, the Lady Sindal, whose Lodging was not far, came at this noise, and asked what the matter was? see you not (answered Mademoiselle d'Armand, (still laughing without measure) Mr. Abbot there against whom the whole Universe is set since he hath declared himself against us; a dog but even now had like to have devoured him; and I believe that it was upon out account that he hath spared him; for my part said the Lady Sindal, I am pleased that Mr. Abbot is still of one mind, and to see him resolute; for in lieu of a few injuries which he will invent against us, we shall receive from Monsieur d'Armenton a thousand praises; and I die with desire already to hear this dispute. The Chevalier d'Estapes, and the Baron d'Exaxe upon this came to the Abbot, and added to the conversation. But it continued not long, because the Duke sent to them to know if they would be for Hunting, that the weather was fair, and that they had nought to do, but to get themselves ready. The Ladies had a desire to be of the number; they were most agreeably received; nought else was thought on but breakfast; the Horses and Hounds were soon in a readiness: insomuch that in less than two hours, breakfast was done; they mounted on Horseback, and into the spacious Fields they went. Days are not always fortunate, nor always proper for Hunting: however this was, and they relished the pleasure so well, that they returned not till the Evening to Supper; our Hunters were almost starved: The Ladies had good stomaches, and there wanted not wherewith to content them; for the Table was so sumptuously adorned, that I can hardly believe Paris can show better cheer; they begun with little or no discourse, because every one did his endeavour to feed well; about the middle of Supper some discourse passed concerning Hunting: But at the last they fell upon the dispute that should serve for the conversation this Eveniug; Mad●moiselle d'Armand failed not to set hpon Mr Abbot, nor he to defend himself well. The Duke took extreme delight in it, and observing, that not only the Ladies were against the Abbot; but some of the men, also he told him that he must needs have a good opinion of his own strength to hope to resist so many Enemies. It is not now Sir, (answered him the Abbot) that the Women have seduced the men, and that these unfortunate Creatures have turned their own Weapons against themselves to please their Enemies, for so it is (continued he) we should call the Women since truth makes it appear, that they bring upon us the greatest part of our misfortunes. But when by their allurements they should get the whole Universe to themselves, none should never persuade me but that the men are far more perfect than the Women, and that he had that saith (Woman) doth but name a work which Nature had forgot to nnish. The Duke which had a desire to see how the dispute would pass upon so gallant a subject; between two persons that had as much wit as any in the world beside, entreated the company for this time to continue with him, you may believe that there was none but who did willingly consent to the Duke's desire: so that when the Table was taken up, they sat round him as in the form of a Circle, and Madamoiselle d'Armand (who had ever the Office of Lieutenant to the Duchess) told Mr. Abbot that it was time to begin if he had any thing to say against them, and that Monsieur d'Armenton was prepared for their defence, the advantage is already large enough on my side (answered her the Abbot) and I'll willingly resign that privilege to Monsieur d'Armenton, if I once begin I shall be troubled to make an end; and there is too much to be said in favour of my party, that he will not know what to say, nor answer Triumph not so much beforehand (replied his Adversary) lest you be overcome two manner of ways: I am to make it appear, that the men are not more perfect that the women, as you pretend they are, and without amusing myself with any more Ceremonies. Since you will have me begin, I am going to set upon, see it; and will place the Women, and carry their Glories even to a degree of perfection, which the men shall hardly be able to attain to.  
This perfection (continue ●he) that you will give the Men above the Women, must be remarkable either in body or mind; and I 〈◊〉 that in either, the Women at least do equalise the Men; they have in truth the Body more strong, more light, more expert, and more capable of hardship than the Women; but you yourself will own, that this quality is no perfection, since among men themselves, they who have strength in a higher degree than other, are not the more esteemed for that; as to what toucheth the mind, it is constant that what a man understandeth, a woman understands, or can understand, and that the apprehension is equal in both. After he had said this, he kept silence, to hear Mr. Abbot's answer; but because he made none, he proceeded in this manner: You know said he, that there is an argument maintained in Philosophy, that these are the delicatest bodies who are looked upon to have the promptest Wits, and in this manner the Women ought to have the most esteem wi●h their delicacy, since it is a ma●k of their liveliness. But let us forbear Philosophy, and hold in (if you will) with experience. I know there have been Philosophers enemies to women who said that Nature ever endeavouring to make ●hings more perfect, if she could produce none but men; and that it was through error she brought Women into the World; but you must confess that there were poor Philosophers, and that Nature will bring forth a Woman, when she produceth something, because it is a subject so necessary to the end she tends to, which is to conserve the kind. We need not read any History, either ancient or modern, to know that there have been Women that have waged War, and that have obtained Victories; that they had been seated upon Thrones, and governed States and Kingdoms with an admirable prudence, and administer Justice with as much rigour and wisdom as the first Judges of the world. I dare say more, and I'll maintain that the men have not done any thing worthy commendation, but what the Women have done also; they have made it evident enough, that Sciences were not secrets for the men alone; they have penetrated as far as possible into them; and you are not ignorant that there have been of them that have understood Philosophy very well, and that have instructed men therein: Others that have been very expert in Poesy; yea they have gone even to the knowledge of the Laws, of which Study they have rendered themselves very capable; it would be something tedious to relate all that may be said upon this Subject, and to report that which an infinity of Authors have said for the Woman's advantage. It is true said the Abbot, that if you once enter into History, and when I am not permitted to interrupt you, these Ladies will doubtless believe you have conquered; but you are not yet where (perhaps) you think you are; believe it sometimes a dangerous consequence to pursue an Enemy, that maketh a feigned Retreat. It would be no difficult matter for me to answer to what you have said; but I will only bring one Reason in opposition to this pretended Female perfection, which is, that the man resembling the Form, and the woman the matter; and that as the form is more perfect than the matter, the Man is also more perfect than the Woman; but there is one thing which all the world knows, and which makes the advantage that we have above the Woman evident; it is that there are but few Women but would gladly be men; and very few Men that desire to be Women. If you have no better Reasons replied Monsieur d'Armenton smiling, my glory will be but small in having vanquished you, they are such cold ones (continued he) that they are capable of freezing our understandings in the hotter weather of this season. This unhappy Sex have reason to have these desires, not for their being more perfect, but to deliver themselves from the unsupportable Yoke of men; and for the enjoyment of Liberty, which their only Tyranny hath ravished from them. But I pray tell me what comparison is there of the matter and form with the Man and the Woman? the matter hath its essence from the form, and cannot be without it; whereas the man and the Woman receive from each other an equal perfection; and if the Woman cannot be without the Man, the Man also cannot be without the Woman. I pray Gentleman (interrupted them Madam d'E●us, I leave these terms of matter and form, which make us sick at heart, and speak us in a more intelligible manner, since it is our process that is in action. I must necessarily defend myself, answered Monsieur d'Armenton) in the like manner I am set upon, and fight with equal arms; but let it not seem tedious to you, I'll not leave o●… before I have made myself well understood: What you say there (said the Abbot) is not because you judge your cause so good, that injustice you should come to what you say; but it is the good Opinion you have of your own understanding, that causeth you to promise yourself success in things the most difficult; you may notwithstanding be deceived: in the mean while I pray tell me, if through their natural qualities the man is not already more perfect than the Woman, since he is hot of completion, whereas she is cold: You see said Monsieur d'Armenton, turning to Madamoiselle d'Armand, how Mr. Abbot returns again to Philosophy? Answer me only (interrupted him the Abbot inconsiderately to what I ask you, if the heat that acts of itself, and which is capable of production, is not more noble than the cold, which can do nothing without the heat? If Women who are hardly composed of any humour but this, can do any thing, where feebleness and timidity be not? I I know not (said the Lady Sindal) whether Mr. Abbot useth Philosophy or no? but I apprehend that what he saith is not to our advantage: I tell you said Monsieur d'Armenton, that he useth his strongest Arguments, and in a small time you will see where he will he will be reduced. I agree (proceeded Monsieur d'Armenton,) that Heat in itself is more perfect than Cold: but it is not the same in things composed, and which we call mixed, as Men and Women are for then it would fall out, that the hottest bodies should be the most perfect, which is fal●e, sin●e there is nothing but what is temperate hath a true perfection. Let us add, that Women are in e●…ect of a cold Temperature, in comparison of Men, who for being too hot, stray from perfection, which is not found but in things that are temperate; but Women as to themselves are not too cold; and they approach nearer to that perfect state we speak of than men; for they have in them this moisture which is proportionable to the natural heat, that the too great dryness in men dissipates and consumes too soon: but if timorousness in Women be as you say, a mark of imperfection, it is not from their constitution that it cometh, but from a too great liveliness of wit, which instantly representing them the objects in the understanding, is the cause that they are so easily terrified; because they have not the leisure to consult their reason upon that which strikes them so suddenly; and this cannot be termed imperfection, since it proceeds from so fair a cause.  
You may see many men that have neither fear of death, nor any thing else; and yet they may not be termed Valiant men, because they know not dangers, and go amazedly where the Career is open; These actions proceed from a fiery Brutality, and from a cloudy Understanding; and without know ledg fools are not people of a great courage. True valour depends upon a man's proper resolution, and upon a will determinately bend to do something; and to esteem Glory and his Duty above all things in the world; besides, a man like this will meet death in necessary occasions, although he knows the peril to be evident; his mind will be constant, and heart-couragious to pursue (without trouble) an enterprise even to the end. We have seen many Women act with this force and courage. We know that they have done actions so full of Glory, that the Men have been nothing comparable to them, and I believe I shall not say so much, when I say, that antiquity cannot show us any of considerable merit. But it may be made appear that his Wife, his Daughters, or his Sister's Fame hath equalised this. Will you have more? The Company shall see when they please, that there have been a great number of Women that have brought Honour to their Families, and that have withdrawn men from their faults. All those Reasons (answered him the Abbot) which experience contradicts, me thinks are not good: and certainly if I asked you who these admirable Women were from whom the Men have received some Honour: I believe I should entrap you if there be any thing (said Monsieur d Armenton) that might entangle me; it would be the too great number of Examples that there are of what I say; and if I feared not to say those things which the company already knoweth, I would begin with the History of Dctavia Wife to Mark An honey, Sister to Augustus; there is no Body her-but knows this History, as well as that of Porcia, the Daughter of Cato, and Wife of Brutus: Who hath not heard of Caja Cecilta the Wife of Tarquin Prisens' of Cornelia, Daughter to Scipio, and of I know not how many others, that are not only known among our Ladies, but among the strangest and most barbarous Nations. Was there ever a worthier action seen, than that of Alexan dra Wife to Alexander King of the Jews? how she saved two Children she had of this King from the fury of the People, and in the same moment delivered the body of her dead Husband from the most calumnious outrages that enraged people are capable of committing upon the Body of a Tyrant.  
You will oblige us extremely Sir, (said the Councess d'Ancyre inter rupting him) if you would take the pains to recite this History to me; for I believe that it is not come to the knowledge of these Ladies, no more than it is to mine. This Queen, re●…ied Monsieur de Armenton, seeing all the people in an uproar and ready to tall upon her two Children to sacrince them to bondage, where they had kept their Father: She cause I the Body of her Husband herself to be brought into the middle of the place, where he Citizens being tumuituously a semble I to see what she would do; this great Queen spoke to them after this sort.  
I know but too well, O ye Jews! the Reasons that you have to be thus animated against my Husband: I know how much your Cause is just, and that he hath used you too illy while he lived, not to be punished by You in his death. I entreat you only to call to mind what I have done for you; if I have not taken your parts as much as I could possible; if I have not endeavoured to withdraw him from his Tyrannic Humour: and how many Evils have my tears and prayers saved you from? and yet all this is nothing in comparison of what I would have done for you, had Heaven seconded my designs, I believe you doubt it not: But to give You more certain tokens of it, I'll be the first that will revenge your Cause for the injustice and tyranny which you have suffered; here's the Body upon which You must pour your Choler and Revenge. Let us exercise all sorts of Cruelties upon him; only if it can be, let us pardon the innocence of two poor Creatures, whose crime is no other than in being the Unfortunate Offsprings of too cruel a Father. These tender Babes never did you any harm. It would be a sttange injustice to make them suffer for their Father's Crimes, and methinks you should owe some mercy to the tears of a Mother, who hathso often obtained it for you.  
These words proceeding from the mouth of this wise and generous Queen, wrought such effect upon the people's spirits, that their fury was converted into Love; the same men that shoule have been these children's executioners, became humble and affectionate Subjects. The Mother's tears of sorrow were changed into tears of joy; and the respect which she inspired into all this people, was so great, that for her sake they Erected a Famous Sepulchre, for the same Body that should have served for matter to satisfy their hatred upon.  
Mengeur d'Armenton because he would give the company leisure to speak their thoughts, upon this action made a small pause and afterwards proceeding again in his discourse: Who can be ignorant (said he) how the Wife and Sister of Mithridates outbraved, or at least welcomed death, more generously than Mithridates himself; and how the Wife of Asdrubal had less fear of it than Asdrubal: You know too that the Daughter of Dierom of Siracusa would have no other Tomb than the incendiary of her Native Soil. Who contradicts you Monsieur d'Armenton (said Mr. Abbot, interrupting him) where doth his obstinacy lead him? done't you imagine you see this Woman, who not knowing how to reproach her Husband with more injuries (who plunged her in a Well, that the water covered her head, yet made a sign to him with her hands, to let him know what he was.  
This explication gave the Company cause enough of Laughter, insomuch that Monsieur d'Armenton took up the word, as a man ever ready for an answer. Obstinacy says he, merits praise, and may pass for Virtue when it is to maintain the truth; the Women have given us a thousand Examples of this rare Obstinacy; or to give it its proper Name of this Constancy, which in my Opinion is the most difficult of all Virtues. What do you think (Mr. Abbot) of Epicaris that famous Courtesan of Rome, who knew of the Conspiracy against Nero, and who had the forceand courage to endure the cruelest Torments that this Monster of Nature could invent against her, rather than she would reveal any of the Conspirators, wherees so many Great men, as well Noblemen as Senators at the sight only of what Epicaris had suffered, accused even their own Parents, Brethren and Children. Who is it yet that will not admire the virtue of Lyonida, to whom the Atheniaus dedicated a Lion of massy Copper, without a tongue, to honour the Secret that she had kept at the sight of all the Torments imaginable; and which she likewise endured rather than she would reveal the conspiracy in hand against the Tyrants. Methinks (said Madam d'Elus) that Monsieur d'Armenton passeth but lightly over such Heroical actions as these are, especially before such an Enemy as we have here, who would perhaps rejoice that no Body knew them. In effect added the Lady Sindal, Monsieur d'Armenton should relate these Histories something more at large: That our Glory may shine the brightter, for there are in the world a great many women slanderers; it shall be none of my fault (answered her Monsieur d'Armenton) that you are not saitsfied, so that you will but lend me a patiented ear. It was (continued he) a custom at Marseilles, (which it is thought was brought from Greece to keep publicly a certain sort of Poison made with Her, purposely for those that could prove to the Senate, that they had lawful means to quit this life, and so to give themselves death: Some because they were too unfortunate, would seek by death to deliver themselves out of trouble; Others being in the height of Prosperity, for fear their Fortune should happen to chance if they lived long; it happened in the time that Sentus Pompeius.— Hear (said the Abbot interrupting him) is the beginning of arm Fable: You see Ladies said Monsieur d'Armenton how Mr. Abbot doth always endeavour to interrupt me; if you were not a party concerned, I would entreat you to inflict some punishment upon him; ●ut the greatest prejudice that I can do him (I believe) is to continue my S●ory without amusing myself with what he saith. In the time thereof Sextus Pompeius a very beautiful Lady presented herself before the Senate of Marseilles, to obtain this Tra●…ical Grace, and having made them see the necessity there was for her Repose, to be delivered from the miseries of Life, she took the Cup where the Poison was, and spoke so resolutely, and with so little fear of death, that Sextus Pompeius himself was troubled to the heart, and the w owl Senate could not forbear weening after they had agreed that she should die. If this story be true, said Mr. Abbot; alas! how many poor Husbands have there been at Marseilles that have gone to demand of the Senare permission to die, to be delivered f●om their Wives. A●as! (replied the Countess d'Ancyre to him, instantly in the same note) how many unhappy women are there would drink this Poison now were it the custom, for to deliver themselves from the cruel bondage wherein their Husbands keep them. What can a miserable woman do (added Madam d'Elus) where this must not remedy; when as the weakness of women obligeth them to sutler all without murmuring: It is true replied the Abbot to them that the men are not a little obliged to this weakness, without which the women (who lova them but little) would put more weight upon their shoulders than they could be able to bear The Duke was the first that laughed hearty at this Reply; and the Ladies laughed so, that the dispute was some time delayed; after which Monsieur d'Armenton who had a desire to give the Abbot an answer to what he had said, viz. that the women's love was but small to the men: when is it (Mr. Abbot said he) that you heard or read of a Husband's testimony of his love to his wife, like to that of Comma for her Husband Sinnatus. I know no more answered him the Abbot abruptly) what you mean by Camma than I do by Sinatus, and all that I c●n say to you is, that if I would here recite the lamentation of poor Husbands, you would soon confess that the women were Female-devils: There was not one Lady of the company but was set against him, and each did their endeavour to evil-treat him, one with her Busk, another with he● Fan, the third with a Cane, that the poor Abbot cried out like one in despair and complained that he was martyred for the Truth's sake. He would notwithstanding this, not reucak what he had said, only to sweeten it; and for ●eparation of Honour he Named them charming Devils. The Ladies at last let him be at quit; the Noise ceased, and they gave ear to Monsieur d'Armenton, who went on with his discourse as followeth.  
Camma (said he) was a very beautiful woman, and there was nothing did equal it but her virtue; her duty was, that she esteemed above all things Signorix a principal man of the City where she lived, became in Love with her, and he used all the means he could to endeavour to persuade her to yield to his desire, and to give his Love content: but it was all to no purpose, nothing could shake the fidelity of so discreet a woman. Signorix believed that Sinnatus her Husband was the only obstacle that spoilt his pretensions, and that if he caused him to be killed, he should overcome half the resistance his Mistress made. It was easy for him to find the means, but it made him not the happier; and all his addresies after this Homicide gave him less encouragement than before, which caused him at last to resolve to demand her of her Parents in marriage, who fearing the power of Signorix, used all their Arguments to persuade Camma to it; and they importuned her so much, that she condescended, or rather seemed to do it, they conducted her to the Temple of Diava, where Signorix waited to do the Ceremonies of Marriage. You know I fuppose what these Ceremonies were, and that a Cup is presented to them, out of which the married Couple drink in token of Alliance and Friendship; Camma had prepared a drink which she had by her, which was no other thing than a violent poison that she had given her Maids with order to bring it to the Temple to her; and having demanded it, when she came to drink, she drank half, and presented the rest to Siguorix, who drank it without difficulty, not imagining that the Ceremonies of his Marriage would be those of his death. After which this Woman was so transported with Joy, that her design had so good effect, she cast herself at the feet of the Statue, and pronounced these words.  
Great Goddess thou knowest my heart; thou knowest how often I would have died to follow my dear Siwnatus! Thou knowest with what grief I have outlived him, and that the only hope of revenge hath kept me alive till now; and now I have done my duty, I die contentedly, and will go to the only man I loved while I lived, and will love after my death if the Gods will give me leave; and then wicked wretch (continued she in addressing herself to Signorix) who thought to have supplied the place of him whom thou hast murdered, thou shalt go to the Sepulchre after thou hast sacrificed to the shadow of my dearest Spouse.  
Signorix furiously amazed at their words, and being already cruelly tormented with the effect of this Poison, presently commanded remedies to be brought to him; but they came too late; and Camma was so happy, that as she lay upon a bed expecting death, she understood that the Tyrant was departed; then was it that her joy redoubled, and that lifting up her eyes ro Heaven, she thus invoked her dear Sinnadus; Dear Spouse (said she) now since I have given thee the last tokens of my Love and Fidelity, and that thou hast received my tears and the revenge I owed thee, not having any thing else to do for thee in this world, I avoid it, and bid adieu with a sincere heart to this life, which without thee is insupportable. Come my dear Sinnatus! O come to my Soul! that denres nothing more than to embrace thee.  
In ending these words, she ended her Life, and spread her arms abroad, as if she would really have embraced her Sinnatus: I believe said the Abbot to him, that you have a mind to make these Ladies weep; What I say to this is, that if this History be true, I know very well, that there are no more Cammas now in the world; but if there were such to be found, yet these Examples do not prove that which you did say, that there should be women from whom the men have received great advantages. Is it possible (answered him Monsieur d'Armenton, to relate all at one time I was to let you see first, that the women loved their Husbands better than the Husbands loved their Wives; and the example of Camma maketh it plain enough; never did man show the like love for a Woman. It remains now to make appear that the men have received Honour, and great preferments by means of Women, nay and that they have themselves corrected them for their defects. It will be as little trouble (proceeded he) for me to maintain this Second Proposition, as it was for the first ancient times (said he) furnish us with matter ample enough, and these modern times do no less; there are none of you I suppose but know what the Siutlls were formerly, by whose mouth God did reveal many things that must and are come to pass. You know how many of them have had for their Desciples men of great Authority; as Arpatia Diotima, and so many others which we can not be ignorant of: The last of those which I named caused the Pestilence to cease for ten Years which should have raged in Athens, by means of her Sacrifices which she Offered. I could recite to you the Story of Nicostrata Mother to Evandra, who taught the Latins the knowledge of Letters: and of another woman whose Name I have forgot, who was Mistress to the famous Poet Pinddrus. How many have there been that were very well skilled in Poesy, as Corinna and Sapph; but we need not go far, we shall friend if we will but give ourselves the trouble, to examine things more nearly, that the Women have been the original cause of the Greatness of Rome. This (said the Abbot to him) I knew not before, and you will oblige me extremely to tell me how: You shall hear replied Monsieur d'Armenton; you know that the City of Troy being taken, many of the Trojans left their Country to seek a better Fortune elsewhere. They embarked in Ships, a great many of which after they had been beaten with the tempests, and ran a thousand dangers upon this terrible Element; they came at last to take Port in Italy, upon the Coasts where the River Tiber glides into the Sea; they landed, plundered the Country, and by the management of their weapons they got wherewithal to keep them from want. While they were busied with these actions, their Wives, who sea read nothing so much than that they would to Sea again, being one day gathered together in a held by the Seaside, determined by thane swasions of one of the principal of them whose Name was Roma, to put an end to their troubles, and in good time to deliver themselves from those hazards they should venture upon the Seas, and from all those incommodities that are to be endured in that wand'ring Life that they lead, since they had left their Country to follow their Husbands.  
They as soon found out the means as the design, which was to set fire to their ships, which they did after they had taken all those things out of them that were necessary for them: It was to be feared that this strange action would cause their Husband's displeasure, as being a considerable loss for them; they prepared themselves to appease them, and prelented themselves before them to prevent them; they made them so many Feasts, showed them so much Friendship and used so many Caresses and Dalliances, that in the end they disposed them to receive this News with mildness. These unhappy Fugitives seeing no other refuge, after the destruction of their vessels, were obliged to make themselves an abode. The Land where they were appeared very pleasant; they found the Natives to be of a good and civil behaviour, and they believed that after all, it was not the worst part their wives had constrained them to take; they built them a City then which was afterwards called Roma; the name of her that first gave the counsel : I need not add to this the History of the Sabines, since it is too well known. Thus far said (Mr. Abbot) you have done very well; but You tell us nothing of that woman that betrayed Rome, and who showed the Enemies the way to the Capitol; which thing was enough to have destroyed the City and all the Romans together. Is it not unseemly done of you (answered him Monsieur d'Armenton) thus to allege one only action of a Naughty woman, among such an infinite number of Glorious ones, which I could yet mention besides those I have already spoken of. Do you know why continued he, that Temples have been Erected to Wenus, armed to Wenus the bald head. Do you know why a Feast was ordained for the Goddess Inno, and celebrated by none but Maids. You see where I am, and how I could entertain you thus a great while, if I would make use of all that I know in favour of the part I have taken; but I must leave that to some other that may do it better than I, and to whom it would be no difficult matter if they would, to let you see that the women have not only corrected the men for their sailings; but that they have conducted them the way to their duty. What! (Monsieur d'Armenton said Madam the Duchess) after you have gone thus far, would you leave the victory to the power of your Enemy; you have it in your Hands, and it will be your fault if it be not wholly obtained. It is true Sir, (added Madam Sindal) that you should consider that if Mr. Abbot, or any other of the Company think it troublesome to give you attention, there is never a Lady present but will keep silence to hear you with extreme delight, and will give you those praises you merit: His Generosity is the greater (added Mademoiselle d'Armand) to fight thus for us against himself. What you say there, Ladies (replied Monsieur d'Armenton) is doubtless very obliging on my behalf; but you will pardon me if I tell you, that the truth nearer looked into, will make it seem otherwise because methinks a man deserveth but little praise for doing what his duty required; and when he Combats for that Sex that Honour and Glory obligeth him to serve: Although the Scales may be equally balanced in the maintaining either your party or mine when the price of both is known: It is easy (said the Lady Sindal) for a Person of your knowiedg to turn things how you please. But as Generous and witty as you are, you cannot forbear praising yourself extremely. I'll assure you Madam (answered her Monsieur d'Armenton) that being far from any such design, I should rejoice to have you always continue in the same belief, and that the little service I have done you, were altogether worthy of your esteem. With all our esteem (said the Duchess) I can scarce believe, that we can sufficiently require the Obligation we own you; but if you will persuade us that our esteem is worth esteeming; make an end I pray to merit all that which we are capable of giving you. After such Obliging words (Monsieur d'Armenton) could not longer defead himself from going on with the rest of his discourse; insomuch that looking upon the Abhot, and beginning to laugh, it was not my design Sir, (said he to him) to draw all your hatred upon me. But since I am engaged by these Ladies, Honour obligeth me to serve them to death itself. Philip (continued he without giving the Abbot time to answer him) Lieutenant to Demerrins, lying before the City Cia, which he had long Besieged, caused his Herald to proclaim under the walls of this City, that he would give liberty to the woman, and slaves that would come and take resuge in his Army.  
The women of Cio were so enraged at such a shameful Proposition, that was to much against their Courage and Honour, that they took up Arms, made a sally out upon them, and fought with so much valour, resolution, and good Fortune, that they constrained Philip to retire from under their Town-walls where they lay encamped, and from whence their Husbands could never drive them. The same women did another Action no less considerable, than that I have already told you, it is that Philip at last becoming master of Cio: The Inhabitants were permitted to retire where they pleased. The woman would accompany the men in this voluntary exile, and the greatest part took up their dwellings in Leucrnia; they were not long before they were troublesomly engaged in a new war, which the Critheans their Allies raised against them, and who besieged them in their City; and they were in such great constraint, that they were reduced to the point of accepting an insamous composition; it was that they should march out of the City only in shirt and breeches: their wives had no sooner heard the Articles of this unworthy composition; but they began to reproach the men with their barrenness of spirit. The poor unfortunate men answered that it was now no time to revoak what they had said, that the Treaty was signed, and that they could not violate their Oath. Nevertheless the women learned them their duty, without breaking their word. You have sworn said one of these Heroines to them) to march out of the Town in your shirt and breeches; but you promised them not that you would carry no arms with you; let them see then if you are men, that your hearts are not below ours; take up your weapons, and at least follow us; for we will show to our enemies, that we were not capable of the composition which you have accepted. These men remained confused, and knew truly to their shame, that their women were far above them; they took (at their example) a better resolution, they put themselves in Arm, went forth of the Town in shirt and breeches, followed by their women, and fought with so much valour, that although the Enemy's number was extraordinary, they failed not to sell the victory at a very dear rate; these feeble-hearted men became Lions at the sight of their valiant Women, who did actions worthy of Heroes: and if they triumphed not, it may at least be said that they gloriously repaired the shame of that infamous composition. Let us come said Monsieur d'Armenton to another action, in which we may yet see that the women have caused the men to return from their errors, and that they have showed them the way to Glory. Cyrus' having met the Persian Army, against whom he had war, and being willing to make use of the advantage he had over them, gave them battle, and put them all to the rout; these unhappy Runaways were returning with all possible speed to their City, when their women (who from the walls did spy them thus basely to fly) came forth before them to ask them whether they went? and If they would like Infamous Creatures hid themselves in the same Entrails out of which they sprung. These reproaches, which the men to their confusion heard, wrought so much rigour upon their spirits, and so much power in their hearts, that they rallied, turned their faces, and pouring upon the Enemy (whom they found scattered in the pursuit) overcame them. After these two Histories, Monsieur d'Armenton entreated Madam the Duchess, and the rest of the Company, that they would give him the permission to leave the party for another.  
It is (said the Abbot) because he hath no more to say: do not urge me (answered him Monsieur d'Armenton) I am so much upon this matter, that you will run the danger of hearing me longer than you may desire, I shall find (proceeded he) in the only City of Sparta more examples of the Heroical virtue of Women, than what I have yet mentioned; in Saguntum that famous City which was destroyed by Hannibal; the women bore arms, and fought more valiantly than the men did: Some time after Marius made war against them, and overcame them; the women demanded the liberty of him to retire to Rome to the Vestals which they had a desire to serve. Marius who was a proud and haughty Conqueror, refused them this Grace, for which the Women were so hearty grieved, that having no other remedy but despair, they began with the Massacre of their own Infants, and afterwards to kill one another: You see (said Monsieur d'Armenton to the Abbot) whether I have no more to say. It is so long ago (replied the Abbot) since these Ages, that there being so many Fables to relate, you need not fear my doing my endeavour to answer, nor contradict you. If you will take the pains (answered him Monsieur d'Armenton) to measure the merit and valour of women in all Ages, you will find that they are nothing inferior to the men; and not seek into past Ages to hold to those things which we are not permitted to doubt of: Consider but the prudence and courage of Amalazonta Queen of the Goths: the Generosity and Courage of Theodelenda Queen of the Lombard's; the wisdom and piety of Theodora Empress of Greece: If you will yet come to Ages better known, without departing out of Europe, only tell me, I pray you! what may not be said of so many great Queens that have Ruled in France; so many others that have Governed Spain, as this incomperable Isabel, whom Gonsalvo Fernando (one of the world's greatest Captains) esteemed so greatly, that he was accustomed to say, that there was nothing more praiseworthy, than by the hand of this illustrious Queen to have him chosen for to be General of her Armies. Queen Elizabeth of England may well eranked with this Spanish Queen; she who in her time disputed for the Glory with two of the greatest Monarches of the Earth, I mean Henry le Grand, and Philip the Second: I know you are not ignorant of the merit of these two mighty Queens; he must be Enemy to Truth that will not yield to such ra●e examples, for Letters, Music, Limning, and Sculpture itself: Who can say that the Women have not excelled in our Times, or at least been equal to the Men. But once more Mr. Abbot do not urge me where you may see me in a humour to entertain the company afresh. If sufficeth that you are convinced in your mind, maugre all your subtleties, that the women are capable of as much perfection as the men. That they have done them Honour, and that the advantages they have reaped by them are considerable: If there are now none of these Queens that went formerly to Conquer strange Countries, that build Towns, that raise Pyramids, and who busied themselves about other works of the like nature, as a Thomyris Queen of Scytia, Artemisa, Zenobia, Semiramis, Cleopatra; there are also but few men like Cesar, Alexander, Scipio, Lucullus, and so many other Famous Romans, Say not (said Mr. Abbot to him smiling) that there are now no more like Cleopatra and Semiramis; it is true that they have not Commonwealths nor Kingdoms as these Illustrious Queens had; but they are not less bend to their pleasure. The Ladies who heard Mr. Abbot speak in this manner, and who immediately comprehended his meaning; and that he might go no farther, they put themselves in a posture to assault him for the second time: Mr. Abbot was terribly amazed, and said (with an air not a little pleasant) that if Monsieur d'Armenton overcame him, it was not with reason, but because he had more force; and that they used weapous against him which were forbidden in conversation. The fear and the manner that Mr. Abbot turned these words, made the Duke laugh heartitily. (Monsieur d'Armenton answered him) that if there were women like unto a Cleopatra and Semiramis, there were notwithstanding many more Sardanapales, whose character was much more infamous. What you say there (replied the Abbot) is doubtless contrary to what you think; for there is no Body but knoweth that the women have ever been less reserved than the men; but if that were not, who can say that there is not an extreme difference: You know that by the miscarriage of one woman, a thousand misfortunes follow; whereas by the disorder of one man, there happens nothing, or very little. These are very strong arguments (said Monsieur d'Armenton to him in raillery.) I wonder you have been so long on thinking of nothing else but that to say to me. But yet I pray, why would not you have Vice to be as much and more condemnable in men than women; since it is from them that most Virtue is expected. Let us us speak the truth (continued he) and confess that this Tyrannical Empire which we have usurped over them, authorizeth our Crimes, and that the same actions which in us are esteemed Honourable, were they in them, we would condemn them to death, or at least to an Eternal Infamy. The Abbot answered him nothing, because he feared that if he should adventure to say any thing too bitter against these Ladies, he should bring some new misfortune upon him: but they discerned in his face the violence he did, to hinder him from speaking his thoughts, which gave a very pleasant subject of Laughter: At length when they had done their mirth, the Company entreated Mademoiselle d'Armand to give them a Song, which she did in the ensuing words with much skill and judgement.  
SONG.  Mr. Turner 
O Love how all the World's inclined, by love how led a╌stray, that though the God himself be blind we dare not dis╌o╌bey. Laws for our hearts to be betrayed, the God of Passions gave that such a sot a Fancy made, and Reason such a slave.  

Where resolution is forgot  
To struggle wih the flame,  
It does the judgement quite besot,  
And makes the reason tame:   

For when our blind desires have sped,  
And to ill fate we are given,  
It will at last be poorly said,  
It was decreed in Heaven.   

Thrice happy he, whom conquering Love  
Has eased his very Soul,  
And in that Agony can prove  
His power to control.   

That Mortal did I once but know,  
I'd more than Love admire,  
That could as easily forgo,  
As entertain the fire.   
After which, (and the due applauses, the company gave Madamoiselle d'Armond for the same) it being late, and the Duchess fearing the Duke's sitting up too long, the Conversation ended; the Company parted with the usual Ceremonies, and each took their way to their Lodging.   

CHAP. III.  
THis day passed no less pleasantly than the others; there were Plays, Dances, and many other Diversions to entertain the Company with from the morning that they were dressed, till eight of the clock in the Evening that they went to Supper; after Supper they failed not to go into the Garden, where they fetched some turns in the walks, and afterwards resorted to the Arbour, where the Circle was kept. The Abbot had been so evil treated the day before, that he had no mind to renew the dispute. It was the Duchess that began the discourse, and who said to the Count de Lorme, that the Lady whose Picture he had given, was a perfectly fair and civil Woman; but that there were notwithstanding persons in the company, who think that for a Court-Lady as he would have made her, there was something yet wanting; and that he should make an end. I know not said the Baron d'Epare what may be said of the Count's Lady; but in my opinion a Lady cannot be made better qualified; and that is all can be desired in a Woman. However you shall see (answered him the Duchess) that if he pleaseth, he will give her new perfections; and that he will add to this piece some Features above the rest that shall not spoil her: I know not Madam, said the Count, what there yet is wanting in this work; but for my part I confess that a Lady like her would please me very well; and he that is not contented with her, let him leave her to me, I know very well where to bestow her: The pleasant Air with which the Count pronounced these words, made the Company to laugh. But what (said the Countess d'Ancyre) would you not teach a person so accomplished, how she ought to behave herself in matters of Love? for I imagine you would not have her incapable of those sentiments; and beautiful as you have made her, it is at least impossible for her not to inspire it. Tell us then (continued this Lady) how she ought to comport herself with a Gallant Person that doth sincerely love her. It is true (said the Lady Sindal) that these are two things which a Court-Lady ought not to be ignorant of, especially the last, because it oftener happeneth that the men make show of Love, than to Love in reality; he must first tell us (said Mademoiselle d'Armond) with what Air a Woman must receive a declaration of Love, and whether she must not dissemble with all Lovers, or answer some of them? We must first (said the Count) rather learn a Lady to know Lovers, to know how to distinguish the true from the false: As for answering or not answering their Love, I believe in that she ought to take her own counsel; this then (added the Duchess) is wanting in your Heroine, in which if you please you must instruct her, or I will be the first myself that will say she hath failings, since she is not yet skilled in Lovers; you must tell us (continued she) what are the most certain marks to know true Love, and what it is can convince your Lady to persuade her to love; for in fine it hath been a saying a great while, that a Woman beginneth to love when she believeth herself loved; if her Lover be endued with these Perfections that may deserve Love. What you ask of me Madam (answered her the Count) is cumbersome enough; for if we must speak the truth, the men are now such Cheats in this, that the prudentest Women are the first that are deceived; we see them sometimes complain, weep, and sigh when they have a mind to laugh and the most part are so accustomed to it, that in one and the same day they will let fall Tears at at the feet of two or three Mistresses, and will promise them a fidelity not to be paralleled; and if I might be believed, they should make an example of these falsehearted sighers, and a good part of them should be sent into some desert Island. However to the end the Lady whose Picture I have given you, and of whom I must take a particular protection) may not be deceived in the choice she shall make of a Lover; I am obliged to give her some counsel, by which she may regulate her Carriage.  
When the Count had gone thus far, a Lackey belonging to the Duchess (who had been sent to Paris to fetch some Letters which he was to take at the Posthouse) brought some for many persons of the Company, and put them all into the hands of his Mistress: There was at first a little confusion in the Circle: the impatience which they all had about the Letters, occasioned them to rise from their places, and every one endeavoured to know if there was none for them. The Duchess who had a mind to engage herself from the trouble, put them all into the Lady Sindals' hand to take care to deliver them; but this Lady who had a desire to partake of some mirth, desired them immediately all to betake themselves to their places again, and that she would give them all satisfaction. I see well said the Duchess, that how gallant soever the subject was which we even now proposed, the curiosity of Letters will carry it, and that there will be given but little attention to what the Count shall tell us; wherefore Madam continued the Duchess, in addressing herself to the Lady Sindal; if you will believe me, you must quit yourself of these Letters as soon as you can, and deliver them to the Owners; we will afterwards begin the Conversation. If you desire so answered the Lady Sindal, I consent; but it is certain that we shall have but little time left for a matter so gallant as is that which we have given the Count; and besides, you will see that they will be prevented after they have read these Letters, that they will scarcely answer the discourse; and the Count will have the discourtesy done him of relating curious things to persons that will not hear him: For my part added she, if I may be believed, a Conversation might be made even from these Letters, and the Count might retain his for another time; I may have some here as well as the rest, for truly I expect some that are witty enough too; if you please we will make choice of some of the company that shall read them out; but without naming from whence, nor from whom they come, except the persons interessed order otherwise. There was no Body but approved the design of the Lady Sindal, no body would oppose it, for fear of giving the company leave to think they had some private Intelligence. The Duchess nevertheless, according to her ordinary prudence would have some order kept, and that they who should be chosen to read these Letters, should first let the persons see them to whom they belonged, to ask them whether they might be exposed, or whether they would give them permission. This refervedness served for little; there was nothing in these Letters that might not be communicated to so judicious and reasonable a company as this was; however it was judged necessary to do thus to avoid troublesome inconveniencies. Madam d'Elus who was a Woman noted for wisdom and discretion through all the world, was the person chosen to take this care. The first Letter which came to her hand, (for it was through hazard she took them,) was for the Cavalier d'Estapes, and without naming from whom, nor from whence it came; after she had showed it him, and asked him the permission to read it, she found it as followeth:  
SIR,  
IN two month's time I have received none of your Letters; Why so? am I by you so much forgot? or is there some misfortune come upon you? how cruel are you? tell me if there be any one more interessed in your Concerns than myself; and if you ought to neglect me so far, as to believe you own me not at least so feeble a satisfaction, in truth you love me not; since you can let so much time pass away in silence: I perceive very well that all those marks of tenderness which you have given me, were but a mere effect of your spirit, your heart had no part; there was at least more of complaisance than amity; it was through Exchange, and not through inclination; for I know not how one can love after the manner as I mean, and live as you do: You know what you promised me when you parted hence, and how you would render me an account every eight days as long as you lived: I did let myself be flattered so patiently, that the only hope of this caused me to endure the first days of your absence with patience; there is nothing easier than to abuse the credulity of a heart that loves us; but there is nothing more base or more black neither. I endeavoured to comfort myself for the Regret that I had of your absence after I had been so well accustomed to it through the pleasure I hoped to have had by a small commerce of Letters which we should read together: You have not let me enjoy this pleasure but a small time. What have you done? Why did you not tell me that absence with you was an unavoidable adversary to all sorts of friendship: I should (it may be) have propared myself, and I should not have found myself in that strange necessity wherein I am driven, to make Complaints to you. If you can, endeavour to justify yourself, or deceive me by some false Arguments. I am in despair to find you guilty, and not to see any thing whereby you can justify your ingratitude. Farewell. Omit nothing to make me believe you innocent, and that I have done you Wrong. Adieu.  
The Cavalier said Madam d'Elus (after she had read this Letter) need not fear that I will tell from whom it came, for there is neither Date, nor Name: I believe said Madam de Armand that I could guests if I would. You cannot answered her the Cavalier; and I aver more, that none of the company know the person that writ to me, and that she is above fifty leagues from this place: be it what it will said the Duchess, methinks this Letter is very tender and passionate, and that the Cavalier is the unjustest of all men if he can forget a person that hath such inclinations for him; it is also Madam, answered her the Cavalier what I have never done, and which is beyond my power to do, for it is truth that the esteem and tenderness which I have for this person is of a Character never to be effaced. Into that (said the Countess d'Ancyre to him) we will not penetrate; but however you show yourself strangely cruel; and it may be said, that you do not act gallantly in maintaining the sentiments you say you have for her so illy; it is not, (answered her the Cavalier) for having failed in doing my duty. And if this Lady received none of those Letters I writ, it is not me she must blame, but some naughty Daemon that endeavoureth to cross us. See said the Lady Sindal how these Traitors of men cover their seditiousness so soon as they have got at a small distance from their Mistresses; all they endeavour is but to make Love at new costs: besides a relic of goodness that there is yet remains in them, will not permit them to write them Treasons, no, they will rather forbear all correspondence with them, & at the first reproaches they shall receive from them, they have presently recourse to that commanding pretence that their Letters were miscarried: for my part (I doubt not continued she) but the Cavalier is one of these, I have known him long for a person very wavering in the greatest engagements. Perhaps (answered her the Cavalier) that if you knew.— Alas, (replied the same Lady presently interrupting him) I know but too well of your infidelities, and if my advice might be followed or to punish you for the injustice which you have done this Fair-one that writes to you, the company shall oblige you to recite to us presently all the particulars of this story. This sentence was approved of by all; the Cavalier was condemned without appeal: he did well to excuse himself, all his Arguments were misunderstood: at length he obeyed his Judges, and in this manner.  
It is some time since (said he) I traveled in a Province that is none of the farthest from Paris, and where some certain affairs called me, it being the first time I had been there; it was not very difficult for me to lose my way: this misfortune happened to me late in the evening, and when I least thought of it, I conceived my error, when it was too late to seek a remedy. I found myself upon the closing up of the night in the middle of a wood, where the farther I went, the more I found myself encumbered, and there was no hope of getting out; it was in the winter-season, the weather was very rough, and the ways very bad, and that time of night, it was as impossible for me to turn back again, as it was for me to pass further in, but I armed myself with resolution, and comforted myself with patience, waiting under a Tree for the break of day, which I thought better than a thousand hazards that there is in crossing the ditches, which we should every moment meet with: I forbear telling you the small pleasure there is to be reduced to this extremity: but this I thought should be the last adventure of a Knight-errant that should happen to me any more. I entertained myself with these and the like melancholy thoughts, when by good Fortune I espied a peysant not far off of us, who was going homeward: I sent my Valtet to him to bid him come to me, and who followed him only by the noise, for we could not see the night was so obscure; he overtook him, and engaged him with fair words and promises to conduct us to some shelter; at first he told us that we were at least two leagues from the right road, and that he knew no place nearer to lodge in than a league from thence, where we went the most detestable way that is possible to be imagine; at length we came to a small Village, in which was but one Cabaret to drink a pint of Wine in. God knows how we were treated, after we had knocked at the door an hour to oblige the Host to let us in, who would not, but upon the Faith of our Guide, who swore to him we were honest people. The Peysant stayed with us, eat, drank, and lay in the same Cabaret; for my part who had for my bed nothing but a miserable , and two thin rugs; I passed not the night so well as he, but better nevertheless than I should have done in the middle of the wood. The trouble, melancholy, and weariness that I had had, served me at length in lieu of a pillow, insomuch that about the break of day, I fell asleep. I had not reposed two hours, but this Peasant enters my chamber, and waking me very rudely, telleth me, that Madam the Abbess waited to speak with me in the Parlour. I received this Compliment with a very bad air; I knew not what he meant by Madam l'Abbess, and thought in the same instant to have forgot all the obligation I owed him for the last night; the poor man knew very well by my reception of him, that he had done me no very good Office, although he believed he had done me service: he departed, and went to carry the answer I gave him, to the party that sent him. On my side it was not possible for me to recover my sleep again, and I thought only upon what this man had told me, that an Abbess asked for me: I knew no body in the Country, and I did truly imagine that there might be (some abiss of Religious persons at the turning, but I could not divine why I should be sent for; I did effectively believe that they took me for another: Be it how it could, I was troubled that I had so illy answered this Civility; and if the Peysant would faithfully report the unpleasant manner of my sending him back, this Abbess had as much reason to blame me, as I had to praise her. This reflection made me something sad; but it happened very well to the purpose to deliver me: This Lady's Miller came (after this Peasant) to tell me with an air a little more ceremoniously, that Madam l'Abbess (since this Village belonged to her) having understood by her Shepherd that a perspn of Quality having mistake his way, had been constrained to lie in a miserable Cabaret, did send him to entreat me to accept of a place less incommodious than that wherein I was. This Compliment banished all my melancholy, and I would not harm to my Peasant now, because it was he that procured me the Honour this Abbess did me. I answered him with as much Gallantry as it was possible for me, and prayed him to assure his Lady that I had the most acknowledging resentments in the world for the Grace she did me, and that I would not be long to come and testify them myself to her, which I did after the manner I am going to tell you.  
My man being already up, I caused him to give me an indifferent handsome Suit of Apparel, and I put me into an Equipage Cavalier-like, enough for this Visit: The Peasant who served me as my Guide, conducted me also to Madam the Abbess. I went first into the Parlour, where she made me not to stay long for her.  
I believe before I proceed, it will be better for me to make a description of this Abbess to you, which it may be will not displease you.  
Imagine it to be a Maid of about 28 Years of Age, of an indifferent height, but well shaped in her Growth; she had a good head of hair, and flaxen coloured, the Eyes black and fair, the mouth admirable handsome, the Teeth passable, the Nose well shaped, and the turn of her Visage round, and so pretty, that for to speak the truth, she was fit to inspire Love, than Devotion: she had likewise an air so Sweet and Modest, that in charming did imprint I know not what respect, which did abate the Courage; her very Voice had something of particular; and one cannot say how much without affectation; she had the Countenance of an Abbess.  
I saw this person, and if I must disguise nothing. I'll confess I loved her from the very first moment I saw her▪ I thought no more on the night I had passed with so much trouble; nay I forgot myself so far, as to surrender myself Prisoner to this fair one. It is true that the knots were not so strong as not to be broke, or at least to stretch; but however, in such manner that it would cause one to feel them when one hath a desire to serve a person that pleaseth one extremely. This fair Abbess Conquered all that Country; at my first Visit she told me very obligingly at first, that she could have desired that I had passed my time less incommodiously than I did in that Cabaret, and that she would pray me to abide this day with her, that I might repose myself for the last night's weariness: the prayer was obliging; and as in civility, I could not but refuse her proffer; I did it with so much constraint, that it was easy for her to discern that I had yet no mind to be going. But as she had a gallant piercing wit, she made use of this pretence, in telling me, that if she had not the power over me she would have to cause my stay, she was certain that two or three of her Friends would engage me at my first view of them, and that I should not have force enough perhaps to refuse their request as I had hers, which said, she as soon called the Ladies she spoke of: But I that pretended the Honour wholly due to her, assured her that she should tempt me in vain on her Friends parts, in a thing which she herself could not obtain of me; and that I believed there was nothing in the world had so much power over a rational spirit as she, nor that could cause themselves to be better obeyed when they desired any thing; the Abbess gave attention to what I said, and received my Caresses as I desired, she was endued with virtue intermixed with modesty: Nevertheless flattery always would find resistance, and seldom would she stand upon her defence, but with much violence and passion; she knew she was fair, and although she would not make use of her Beauty to captivate hearts as a person of the world, yet would not she be so negligent of it, but that she would rejoice in private that she was not esteemed unhandsome: the other three Nuns her Friends, whose company she had sent for, came just in the instant as she was going to answer me; but her mind presently changing, here is said she (turning herself about) that will make you evoak what you said but even now. I shall eve you with them for an hour. I have some small business, and I hope by the time of my return we shall see you in another opinion. I swear to you Madam (answered I softly, because I would not be heard by the other) that this shall be the last opinion I'll carry from hence; and that if I could imagine the least cause of alteration, I would instantly departed. She answered but with a smile, which was doubtless for fear she should explain herself too far before persons that would not have been suspicious, had they not been interessed in what she said to me. I began a something freer conversation with these Ladies than I did with the Abbess. I knew already that it was not ●illy taken by them that I was not over serious, and that they used it only to those from wh●m they fear envious reports, and causeless censure: But with me who was but a Young man, and a lover of mirth, and who only was there for some time, and who delighted in nothing more than rejoicing; it were time lost to use formalities in a first Visit; in effect they received my airy humour not illy, and ranged themselves to it in a most agreeable manner: In my life I did never see more wit than were in those three Ladies; all that they spoke sparkled, banishing that Monacal Humour, that poisoneth all the best of a Religious Lady's discourse that is infected with it. I believe it will not seem tedious to you if I delineate the Pictures of those I speak of, as I did that of the Abbess, especially one of them which was her Sister, who is she that hath the greatest part in this History, and who writ the Letter you just now heard.  
It was a Virgin of an admirable stature, whose skin was extreme white, and the turn of her face Oval, the eyes fair and fiery; if she was defective in any thing, it was that she had too much perfection; her voice was very sweet, and she would sing divinely; never was anything better shaped, nor any thing of a purer Vermilion read than her lips; the whiteness of her ivory teeth did answer admirable well to that rare Carnation; and the air which proceeded from that amiable mouth was something of such sweetness, that there could not breathe a purer; we must add to these lovely Features, that she had as much wit as any could have, and an understanding that knew always what to say; and that would say nothing but what was worthy admiration; her Soul was the fairest that ever virtue had a hand in forming.  
The piece shall here end: they are grown troublesome since they are not A-la-mode; I'll only say, that this Lady had nothing common in her, and that all was rare and perfected in her: The other two Ladies were two persons very witty and handsome, the one had something more of lustre and fire than the othea; but this in exchange had something more of sincerity, which thing hath rendered her also a more particular Friend to the Abbess her Sister. I discoursed for sometime with these three Nuns upon matters almost indifferent, where I endeavoured to produce what wit I could; they for their parts did miracles to sustain the Conversation, especially the Abbess her Sister; this charming Maid said nothing but what I thought so particular and clear, that I believed there was but her in the world that had so much wit, and that knew how to turn it in so admirable a manner; the Abbess at length reentered: and truly in good time if she had the least desired to conserve what she had won of me, for to tell you the things as they happened; the merit of her Sister seemed too great to me than to dare to give her less than a heart; and I was just upon changing my mind as she foretell me; I had been perjured indeed if her presence had not rekindled the fire, that the first sight of her had excited in my Soul: Her Sister did nevertheless prevent the farther progress; and I confess to you were it not for her, I should have loved the Abbess very well; all my esteem was in her divided, and tenderness had followed this esteem if I had seen her first; and it her Sister had not seized upon the better part of my heart. I left not the Parlour almost all that day, but conversed sometimes with one, and sometimes with the other of these two aimable persons: insomuch that these beginnings of acquaintance increased so much in tenderness through the succession of time, that I may in truth say, that I never loved any thing like them. I believe the company don't desire that I should make too long a rehearsal of this adventure, nor that I should recite every small circumstance: Go on with your story answered the Lady Sindal, who spoke for all the company; we will not have you omit any particular that may be of any small consequence; and you must use as much fidelity in your relation, as gallantry. We may permit him (added the Duchess) to omit a great many small circumstances which he may relate to us at other times, for we have now no remainder of time. I would continued the said Lady in speaking to the Cavalier) have a little knowledge how and with what air you managed your affairs with these two Ladies, and being as you say, in what manner they could suffer this division; for I have ever thought it a thing very difficult to deceive two Mistresses, with much more reason two Sisters, which you almost always see together. I'll tell you (answered the Cavalier) what hath happened to me in a Year and a halfs time, in which I had the honour of their acquaintance; for the first time of my seeing them was but a day and a half; but there was cause enough left behind for my speedy return; and to tell you in a word, all the time of my abode in this Province, I ever left them the later, but it was to return the sooner: At first I would consult with myself about the different sentiments I had for the one and the other; and I found (at least it seemed to me) that I loved the Abbess, and that I had a very great esteem, and a very tender Friendship for the other; and although it be not ordinary, yet it is true, that being charmed with the Beauty and Mildness of the first, I was in the same instant powerfully concerned at the rare merit of the other, and had for her a strange longing to see her even in the presence of the Abbess. I needed not to have overstudied my actions yet, if there were any one of them remarkable in favour of the Elder, the Younger would attribute it to the Quality she had above her; and the Elder would take for gallantry of wit all the obliging language I passed upon her Sister: it is true, that this simple Error could not long continue; the more we love, the clearer is our eyesight: insomuch that both of them having taken a little esteem for me which before they had not, they then began to mistrust one another, and to regard my actions, and examine my words with a deeper consideration then before they did; sometimes one would tell me that I praised her Sister with a certain Exageration proper to nothing but love; the other would reproach me that I always sought the company of the Abbess, and that I was seldom in a good humour, but in her Conversation. All these usual complaints are but the Overtures of a clearing Evidence; it must appear after a great many wind, and you shall hear in what manner. The Abbess her Sister, who if you please we will call Cuidia was the last that put the question, who prospered the better; however she sought the opportunity of a particular converse with me, which she found in a time when her Sister was busied about some affairs elsewhere, from which she knew she could not be dispensed; and looking upon me with the tenderest look that Love could paint out, or delineate in a Visage apt to receive its impression.  
Sir, Cavalier said she; it is no longer time now to dissemble with you in any thing: you want not wit, and you know but too well that you are not indifferent to me, these five or six months have I seen you? I never was yet so positive with you upon this matter, but now I'll do more for you than you can expect from a Maid of my humour. It is to assure you that the esteem and tenderness buried in the Cabinet of my Breast for your sake is none of the smallest; if you know me you will find that a declaration in this manner is no trifle; and if you do own me any small Obligation, it is for having told you what I might have lain hid in the obscurity of my heart all my life.  
In these joyful Raptures, where the effects of the Grace she did me did lift me her hand I saluted, (not knowing how to forbear) a thousand times, and testifying by the access of my joy, even to what point of happiness, I considered a declaration so charming and favourable had brought me. But she interrupting me, bid me in retiring her hand let her make an end, saying it was yet no time for me to answer.  
If you believe, said she, that the favour I did you in opening my heart to you meriteth any acknowledgement from you, let me know in permitting me to look into yours, what I am going to demand of you: You are a person of Honour, and it would be too low-spirited a thing of you to deceive people, especially those that have both esteem and friendship for you. It is not now that I perceive Madam the Abbess to have some inclinations for you, she doth not hid her thoughts from me, because she knoweth not that I have the like Sore: But she imagineth not that you love another person besides her, and if I may believe your eyes, your heart hath not a little Intelligence with hers; tell me, and tell me truly; Do you sincerely love her? to the end that without making any further progress, I may Sacrifice to her in the moment I now speak to You. All that I have that tendeth towards You.  
I have still so much reason in me as to render Justice to my Rival, if you would have me call her so; and to acknowledge that she doth very well merit your whole heart; she is too mistrustful, and too well persuaded of her own worth, to permit you to divide your heart with another; and to speak the truth, although I am her youngest Sister, I am so jealous of these sort of Treasures when I have them once in my possession, that it would be no little trouble to me to surrender up that place to her wherein I should be established. Consult a little, and— Madam, (said I to her interrupting her) not being able to contain myself any longer from not answering her, I had not need to consult any more It is not two days since I explained my intents to your Sister, would she had understood me. I acknowledge that her good Nature and Civility hath engaged me in many things which I rob from you; but if I must pay these Obligations I own her with a heart, believe me, I were the most ingrateful of all men; and that I have given it to you in such manner, never to be separated be it for who it will: it was on Thursday in the evening when you were in the Garden, that she took occasion to tell me there was no more than one step wanting to gain the entire possession of her heart, which was to break with you. What mean you by this Proposition Madam (said I) being surprised at what she said: Will you be so unjust as to make me buy your heart with such baseness. Can I myself be so weak as to obey you? you will pardon me if you please: But I believe it is not in earnest you would make me thus criminal. I understand you answered she presently, and I perceived the fault that my imprudence had made me commit; you do not esteem my heart at such a rate as to engage you in a loss like that of my Sisters; but however, do you know the sentiments she hath for you, and is there any one that possesseth what you may pretend of her esteem? I know not Madam, (answered I) what passeth in your Sister's heart; but in sine, I never received any thing from her but Honour; and I should be the sorrowfullest man alive if I had given her the least occasion of repentance; however you must resolve replied she with a coy and disdainful look, or think never to pretend any thing in my heart, I'll not resign it, but on those terms; after these words I endeavoured to explain myself to her all at length, because I would not give her any more cause to doubt of the inward passages of my heart; but she left me with out so much as giving me the leisure to answer her in giving me the longer time of thinking. Thus continued I in speaking to Egidia: this Conversation passed, whether it be that She would find me alone, or that she apprehended me too soon, knowing of what she would be ignorant of. The Lady Abbess hath not spoke any more to me of any thing, to tell you the truth, I thought her Fair; her charms surprised my tenderness in the beginning, and what for her I suffer, a true friend is not unworthy of, that rank I cannot refuse her; and if you should order me to the contrary, I could not do otherwise. This charming Lady did so rejoice at the sincerity with which I spoke to her, and at what had passed between her Sister and me, that she willingly consented at that part of my Friendship I bestowed upon her Eldest Sister, and believed that being assured of enjoying my heart entirely, it would but ill become her to ask more: We left one another with much content, and more love, at least on my behalf. This sweet tenderness I had for her at first, had already taken the form of a very strong passion; and this passion increased daily, while the love in which I first scorched, for the Abbess was half diminished unexpectedly; this so obliging and tender confirmation which Egidia had manifested to me of her love I thought so charming, that by this means she finished her Conquest in subduing the remainder of my heart, and hath left for her Sister only so much as could make me say I I did not ha●e her, neither did I look upon her more than as a Friend whom I had a desire to conserve, and to whom I owed some Obligation; she perceived it presently, and whether she found out some alteration in me by my behaviour towards her, or whether she apprehended her Sister since the time I had told her; I perceived that she took very great notice of all my actions, and that she had not that confidence in me as formerly she had been accustomed to have, she took pleasure even not to believe me any more in whatever I said to her; but with her Sister it was not so: However, jealous she was of her, nothing was visible, and she would mention me to her as one whose heart she feared not the loss of; she would sometimes cause herself to cast Jests upon her, when she would endeavour to do any thing for her sake, in telling her the care she took was unprofitable: So that at last one day when Egidia was troubled that her Sister would by all outward circumstances bear the Conquest from her, when she knew she had no reason for it, told her that it signified little to her to make a Trophy of a heart which she so illy kept, and that others perhaps possessed in a better manner than she. I believe answered her the Abbess with a voice no less scornful, than full of disdain, to have so good a part in it, that it were folly for any one to dispute it with me, or if they did, it were in vain if they dared to do it. Egidia wanted no reply: And this difference went so far, that they not being capable of being Judges where they were parties, they were content with a common consent, since they could not read those Characters that are writ upon the heart to refer themselves to what I should say, and to engage me to explain myself before them in such manner, that she that ●ound the hardest usage, would willingly sacrifice her interest in me to the other. I imagine that this conversation had something very singular in it, & that there was pleasure great enough for one to have heard them: this resolution being made, Egidia, who was a prudent I ady, and who saw in what she had engaged herself, would have been glad to have revoked it, and would rather have renounced all the Joy she could have promised herself in such a Victory, for she was in very good hopes of obtaining it, than to expose me to the trouble that this Declaration would cause; wherefore the same day she writ these Lines to me.  
SIR,  
I Have laid a Wager, which whether I lose or win, I am furiously interessed: We are to demand of You an Explanation of your mind, where it is pretended that you must, and before Witnesses you may have reason to fear; after Dinner declare towards which side your heart leaneth; if I consult with myself well, I know what's due to me from you; but alas how know I what may happen! I cannot renounce my Wager, since I was urged to it, the Glory had been too great for my Rival had I refused; I consent, rendering Justice to me in your heart, that you speak in favour of my Sister. Adieu; tell her You love her better than me; but however love me better than her.  
This Note bred some small disturbance in me; however, since I was to take one part, I took a resolution without any more balancing the matter in what I had to do, and answered this Note if I remember to this effect.  
MADAM,  
I Beg your pardon that I am constrained to be disobedient when I am obliged to it, the passages of my heart shall be open to You, and Your Generosity shall not be paid with infidelity. It is true, by outward appearance it may: Nevertheless since it is You that is engaged, I will even in appearance do all things on Your behalf; but after such a proof of my Love, will You be persuaded that I love You as I ought. I beg the permission of You after I have undeceived Your Sister, to let me retreat at some distance for a small time, for there is no doubt but Your Wager will breed evil Consequences: it lies in your power Madam, to cause a remedy, and so in my place to bear the ill-luck that may ensue, since it hdth been Your pleasure to trouble yourself hitherto. Adieu.  
I gave this answer to the Lackey that brought me the Note, and in the same instant bid my Valett do all things in such good order, and without any noise, that we might if it were necessary be ready to departed just after Dinner. I passed the rest of the morning in the Garden, where while I waited for Dinner, I was meditating on the Question they were preparing to ask me. I omitted telling of you in the beginning, that this is one of those Covents where the Religious enjoy a civil Liberty, and where their Parents or particular Friends have the permission to enter, and see them in their Lodgings, which is a most sweet Commodity for Gallants to pass for particular Friends, it being indecent for the Religious to permit declared Lovers without a scruple I dined with the Abbess as I ordinarily did, and appeared very much cast down and Melancholy at the Table, contrary to my usual custom; for commonly I used to divert the company with much delight, and seldom failed of that heat that giveth the best relish to a Repast: The two interested Ladies were the first that observed me. The Abbess began to discourse very obligingly to me, to put me into a better humour; and seeing I made her no answer, she at last asked me what I ailed that I appeared so dull? I told her it was a great pain in my head that I had been taken with ever since the morning; she had neglected nothing this day to set her off, and although the Ornaments of the Religious are almost all alike, I acknowledge that something I found in her so particular and so pleasing to me, that with her sweet and winning carriage which she used, the resolution I had taken to break off quite with her, began to perplex me; and had not her Sister been present, she might perhaps have been enough to have made me revoke it: There was ever two or three more Religious, her Friends that commonly dined with us, but after Dinner they absented themselves. We needed no body to witness the Scene that was to pass among us three, I mean the Abbess, her Sister, and me; for in the humour I was in, it was almost a trouble to me to keep my Teeth asunder. The Abbess touched again upon the Melancholy she saw in my Visage, and told me that she never see me in so ill an humour before; and that if I would do her a pleasure, I should tell her the cause of it: I answered her as before, that I was troubled with a great pain in my head; but such a small Indisposition would not pass with her, judging by my eyes that there was something more in it; and she prayed me to relate the truth to her, adding withal with an air full of assurance that I was not before suspicious persons, and that if there was any thing tha● could cure my distemper, that I would oblige her so far as to relate it, that I might be assured that she was a partaker, and that I wronged her in denying her so small a satisfaction: I believe not said her Sister (to hinder me from answering her) that he hath any thing troubles him more than what he hath said: It is often seen said she, that persons endued with Wit as is the Cavalier, are subject to these terrible pains of the Head; and they pass by these evil moments from one extremity to another, I mean from eucessive Joy to excessive Melancholy. You believe Sister then replied the Abbess very coldly, that You know very well the Gentleman's distemper, because You take upon You to answer for him; in the mean time I'll not imagine it to be what You say, but I'll believe no otherwise than what he will say: However said Egidia if he would be advised by me, he should not discover his pain to any; I know it, and it is so much the worse for people that know not how to judge of it. Believe me said the Abbess with a malicious smile, that if I should ask the knowledge of him, it is not that I am ignorant of it; but it is to disabuse some body; and I wonder they will make difficulty of understanding the truth now which methinks they have so much desired to know; I was in the right too much continued she, since I see some repent for being engaged so far. By your leave Ladies said I interrupting them on a sudden, let me alone as I am, let my pain be what it will, and from whence it will, I neither will nor can be cured; if it could be, I would only desire to suffer less; for my part said the Abbess who meddle not with Divination, and who do not penetrate so deeply into Hearts as my Sister. I would fain desire him to explain to us the Nature of this pain; and for my part since I am not infected with the Vice of insensibility as many people are, I might give him some ease if it lay in the Circuit of my power. Nothing could be more gallantly and favourably said on my behalf than this was; and I was just now going to answer her according to her desire, had not a sudden look which Egidia cast upon me put me in mind of my promise, which made me silent, not knowing what to say: This admirable Lady perceived my trouble, and took up the word very well for the purpose: it is true said she, that there are certain sorts of Distempers that for their recovery the parties afflicted must have Recourse to those persons that caused them; but the Cavalier is not sick in such manner; however it is continued she, I acknowledge myself so sensible of all that concerneth him, that I hold not willingly suffer him to relate his pain before me, nay though I might be capable of giving him ease. For your part Madam said she in speaking to her Sister, if you are in that mind you may give yourself that content; but you shall give me leave to retire then if you please: And after she had said these words, she went away; insomuch that I remained alone with the Abbess, who thinking she had triumphed, told me with a Joy she had much to do to conceal that she saw well that her Sister had resigned up my heart since she quitted the party, and that it was she that must cure my Distemper; but that this was not yet all, she would know of my own self after what manner she was established in this heart, and how much beyond her Sister, that she had given me time enough to consider on it, and that one part I must take, which was either to despair the obtaining any thing of tenderness from me or else to resolve not to divide a thing which she desired the entire possession of, that she would grant me a small tender esteem for her Youngest Sister, but for the heart she only must have it, and that she knew how to use it; after she had said all these things with much Gallantry, she was silent to hear my answer; but I answered nothing, and I believe that my silence alone spoke enough to be understood by her, and that she took it as an evil Omen: some moments after she seeing me prepare to speak as one that had been musing what to speak, she did it before me to hinder me from explaining my meaning, thinking it would not have been very favourable on her behalf: Oh Heaven! said she, how little reason have I to be satisfied now? Were I not in an Humour to forgive you every thing, and had I not some pity to see you thus melancholy: Go into your Chamber, and there repose yourself, that's all the headache requires: I'll take care that none shall trouble you: I retired with this permission, but confused like a man that knew not what to say; but I was no sooner got to her Chamber door than she called me back again, and said with an air full of sweetness, Sir Cavalier, hark you, I will meet you this Evening at Eight in the Arbour that is in the last Walk, I shall expect you there with one of my Friend; if you love me you will not fail. What do I say replied she presently; if you did not love me you are too gallant to miss a Rendezvouz that I appoint you; there's nothing that I know of can make you dispense with it; Adieu and do not fail then; in ending these words she smiled and entered into her Closet, there to hid from me a small blush which did instantly ascend her Visage, but for what I'll not tell you, but in this manner said the Cavalier, endrd this conversation which I so much dreaded. I believed nevertheless that I was rid of this encumbrance better than I did think I should, and that I had avoided very much trouble in not being constrained to explain my mind before these two Ladies upon the choice my Heart should have made of them. But yet I could not forbear to fear the Evening-meeting I apprehended her design by it, and to be the last act of Grace; however since I must, and since I was resolved to hid nothing from her, through unworthy Equivocations; I thought it better to make use of this occasion when I should see her alone, to disabuse her wholly, than to stay any longer. The Honours and Favours I received from her augmented daily and rendered my ingratitude the greater. I determined than upon this Declaration, and was the remainder of the day; after Dinner preparing myself for it in my Chamber; they went to Supper a little after six of the clock, that they might have the more time to walk in the fresh air; I seemed less Melancholy at the Table than I did in the morning. Egidia took notice of it, and she who had sought me a very great while with extreme patience, for to demand of me how the case stood with me, and her Sister judged not well on her own behalf, seeing me in another humour, and did effectively believe that I had betrayed her. I took notice how discomposed she seemed, and how little she eat; this thought so perplexed her, she had ever her eyes upon the Abbess or me, to endeavour to surprise our looks, and penetrate into our hearts, to see whether we had no intelligence one with another to deceive her; she had not the patience to rise from the Table with the rest, but at length upon a light pretence she left us, and retired into her Chamber, from whence she sent one of her Friends (who quitted herself very handsomely of that Commission) to tell me that she stayed to speak with me as soon as I had supped, I failed not, and took so good a time that the Abbess who was entertaining two or three Ladies that came to Visit her, did not in the least perceive it: I found this Lady in a very melancholy posture leaning upon a Table, who presently told me that I was not a little obliged to her for having helped me out of trouble at her Cost, and that she doubted not but her Sister had reaped the advantage, but that for my sake she would not repent it; and when it was for my Repose, she would sacrifice all things, even to her heart itself, and afterwards suddenly changing her discourse; but by what Charm said She? or to speak better, through what engagement hath Madam the Abbess rendered You your Jovial humour; for methinks you seem to be very pleasant this afternoon: Alas! you were so melancholy this morning, have You some gage of her heart that gives You so much Joy, speak Cavalier, and conceal nothing from me! You have betrayed me, and doubtless You knew not how to save yourself from the hands of my Adversary, but in this manner. What do You say (Madam answered I) that I have betrayed You? Is it possible that You can have such a suspicion? pray vouchsafe to tell me what grounds You have for it? believe if You please that far from having thought it; I—No, no Cavalier said she interrupting me, I see well that You know me not: I know better how to Love than You think I do, Your heart I aimed at, and I have sometimes doubted whether I should come to the end of my aim in the manner I desired or no. My Sister I confess hath given me many causes of trouble upon this Enterprise, and I have been all arumed at the smallest cast of her eye, and a continual trouble hath not let me enjoy in quiet the pleasure there is to believe when one loveth that one is loved again; but after all these assaults I begin to be now something persuaded that it might perhaps endure thus a great while, were it not for the resolution I have taken to make You change: You must then Cavalier (continued she) settle your Love wholly upon the Abbess, and endeavour to please none but her; perhaps it will not be so troublesome to you as to me; but however she must take this as an Obligation from my hands, and let her know that I was the first that spoke of it to You, and that entreated you to it. I acknowledge said she (in making a sign to me that I should not interrupt her) that I find it troublesome enough to me to lose you, and that what I do now lies heavier upon me than death itself; however I'll conquer it, and if I have any power over You, You will do as I say, and will look upon me as no more than one of your good Friends. As she was proceeding to persuade me to this alteration, some few Tears which fell from her Eyes maugre he betrayed her; and I saw her so strnngely burdened with grief, that my heart was ready to burst with pity; neither had I power to answer her but with a tender embrace. I admired in myself at the Generosity of this Lady, and to what extent the Love she had for me would reach that tender passion which I discovered through the midst of her Tears, pierced the very bottom of my heart, and made me with facility to determine rather to lose the light, than to make an alteration. I also made a thousand Oaths to her, and in the condition wherein I was, not being capable of any cold Expression; I expressed myself so tenderly, that she had no longer a mind to lose me. I entreated her that this might be the last time of her speaking to me of a thing which she neither must nor could ever obtain of me, that my heart should always tend towards her, and that I would break off with Madam the Abbess, she endeavoured to dissuade me, and assured me that it would but precipitate myself and her too; but it was all said to no purpose; and with this design in my head I quitted the Chamber, excusing myself upon some small business I had, for that I stayed no longer with her, and told her before I slept I would Visit her again. I would not give her any Notice of my private meeting, lest knowing the resolution I had taken she had not took a Fancy to detain me, and done her endeavour to hinder this meeting; it was already past the time that I was to meet her; and the tears of charming Egidia had so well disposed me to do all things on her behalf, that I died with impatience to render that testimony of my Love, after she had given me that of the tenderness and goodness of her heart. I was then at the place the Abbess appointed, and found her where she expected me with one of her Friends who left us by ourselves; as soon as I came, she told me she began to be weary with staying for me, and that if I had tarried a minute longer, she would scarce have pardoned me. I believe Madam said I (coldly enough) that I should come at any time in time enough for what you may have to command me: she was very much surprised at this answer after those obliging words with which she accosted me; she endeavoured to dissemble it, and without sticking at my unjust coldness, she used me he sweet liest in the world, there was no engaging art which she did not use, no charm with which she served not herself: it is easy if a Woman be but fair, and not indifferent to You, to find a thousand charms in her if she have a desire to please. This of whom I speak did presently present to my view the power of her Beauty: This great resolution which I had taken against her, became by little and little if not unprofitable to me, at least very weak; she did rend a thousand tokens of inward tenderness from me without knowing from whence I drew them: it was no more the person I would forsake, she had such full possession of me in that moment, that I had scarce any room left in my thoughts for the idea of amiable Egidia: To speak the truth, this Abbess was well skilled in the art of rewarming a heart when she pleased; it was impossible to defend one's self from her: One would think that she had employed her whole Life in the study of Charms; the most faithful Lovers deserve to be excused at those infidelities she causeth them to commit, for it lies not in the power of man to do his duty when she pleaseth to seduce him. But not to keep you longer in a place where there are too many things to relate: I acknowledge that she is the only person that hath made me know myself best, no one can be assured of any thing against a Woman that useth complaisance. If this Fair-one was not fully satisfied with me she had also but little reason to complain. There is one thing which perhaps may some hang surprise you; after the design I had taken and which might cause your i'll opinion of me, had I not told you that this Abbess had Charms, against which there was no resistance; it is that I prayed her myself not to press me to declare to her what she desired to know of me, and that she would content herself with the power she saw she had over me, it was such (that to speak the truth, she might if she had pleased have made me commit the blackest perjury in the world, but by good chance she was glad to go no farther, because she perhaps feared the not prospering, neither was it a time convenient for her; she had had advice by those she constantly kept, to spy me with her Sister of the Conversation I had with her, and how the tears were seen in her eyes; she cast some railleries upon me concerning it ', and told me that she knew when I first accosted her, that those Tears had made strange havoc in my mind; but however she would pardon me, hoping that in the end I would be accustomed to see Folks weep; she spoke all this, and many other things, with so winning a Behaviour, that it was impossible for me to be moved; in the mean while it grew late, which I hinted to her; but she took it not well, and told me I was the impertinentest Gallant that might be in the the world; but yet I was constrained to retire, and a tender farewell which we took each of other made up the business as well as ever; all that sweetness with which she had loaded me with could not resist those smokes of repentance which charged my heart with a horrible Gall when I was from her presence; this is yet nothing I deserved it for a punishment for those minutes I stole from Egidia, and with whom I had so failed in my duty: The Abbess met her, and maliciously asked her where I was; I know not answered her Egidia, but I believe that being a little indisposed, he is retired some hang early to his Chamber: You are mistaken Sister, answered her the Abbess, and I told you but now that I knew his distemper better than you, I have advised him to come and take the Air in the Garden and told him that would cure him, as indeed I believe he findeth himself now better: You may know of himself it is not a minute since I left him: Egidia was the most surprised of any in the world, and so confused that she knew not what to answer her, she knew not how to hid a part of her resentment from her, with which the Abbess triumphed with unspeakable Joy, and so left her in that cruel condition. This poor Lady knew not what to imagine after what I said to her not two hours since, and the Oaths I made to her, she had to good an opinion of me to have lightly believed what her Sister might have told her on another occasion to my disadvantage; but in this e could neither doubt nor excuse me. The Treason (was too manifest, and all things stood against me; she was at first shaken with a thousand different passions, so much oppression lay upon her at once, that she was no more the same person, we soon believe what we fear most: The first thing she had a mind too was to see me, and presently sent for me by her Lackey. I came to her, and by the eageruess I perceived she had to speak to me, I suspected the truth; I imagined that this meeting had not been kept so secret but she must have had notice of of it, but not that the Abbess would have revealed it,— my Curiosity invited me to dive into the truth of it; I found her by herself in a small Parlour, and where in approaching her I saw her so troubled and changed, that I no more doubted her knowledge of my being in the Garden with her Sister; at first she did not speak to me, and for my part the grief in which I was to know myself culpable, caused the same effect in me, as anger and jealousy did in her; so that we continued some moments without speaking one to the other; but at length she broke silence; where have you been said she with a low Voice (without so much as casting her eyes upon me?) I answered her that her man had met me as I was retiring to my Chamber. Why would you commit (replied she raising her Voice a little, and looking upon me with eyes fuller of pity than Choler) a new Treason: Did you make so many promises to me this Evening but to deceive me with the less difficulty? what have I done?— After these words excess of grief stopped her Voice, and she was going into a Swoon I am not able to represent to you the condition wherein I found myself to see the person I so dearly loved die a dying. How cruel are these moments? what happiness were it for me to die also, if Heaven would but hear me, and not smile at those Evils which Love maketh me suffer: I looked upon this Lady as a man , not having, the power to help her, nor to cry out: This weakness which took her, and which was no formal Swoon in giving her the liberty though but dimly) of her sight, she saw upon my Face a grief, which spoke to her on my behalf, and nothing (as she told me since) did raise her from this her cruel displeasure, than to see how much I was concerned. This silence and my condition made my peace with her, and all her grief had not the power to resist the satisfaction she received from mine. By good Fortune there passed by in the mean time two Nuns, who seeing her in the condieion I before told you, they ran towards us, believing that some one of those Accidents had happened to her, which the Nuns are frequently subject to, there came more people; and this News raised a disturbance in the Covent; Madam the Abbess was one of the first that heard it, nevertheless she endeavoured nor to run and see: for my part I retired as soon as I saw there was people enough to assist her, and although the Abbess sent twice or thrice to speak with me; I desired her to excuse me, and to stay till the next morning to tell me her pleasure. Egidia whom they had carried to her Chamber, and who was already come to herself, not seeing me by her bedside, in a time wherein she believed that if I loved, I would be least absent from her, softly asked a Maid that waited on her if she knew not where I was: This Maid who saw me go into my Chamber at the same time that I left her Mistress, and who had seen the Tears run down my eyes, made her a faithful description of it, which did extremely trouble her; and she entreated her Sister who was set down by her to send for me, but she refusing, said, that she had done it twice already to no purpose, and that she should make no more unprofitable entreaties to me. Egidia who had a great desire to see me, and who could not endure that I should continue all the Night in the sorrowful condition wherein I was, had a mind to try whether I would come sooner for her, she believed she should not venture too far, nor that it would not signify much to her, though she could not obtain more from me than I had granted her Sister. She sent then the same Maid to me, in whom she had no small confidence, to tell me that if I had the least desire of her amendment, I should see her before she slept, and that she would expect me i● I had any small love for her: I am not able to tell you how ready I was to Obey her Commands, those that have loved may with ease imagine. I entered her Chamber, where was no Body with her but the Abbess, and who waited with impatience to see how this scene would pass; they both presently perceived how my countenance changed: I know not what the Eldest thought, but I know that I raised pity from the other; and this poor ●ady beheld me with an air so tender and piercing, that I could not forbear though in the presence of her Sister to cast myself at her feet, and to take her by the hand and Kiss it with innumerable Kisses, which I also bathed with Tears which I could not retain: I doubt not but the Abbess saw such sensibilities with an unwilling aspect, they were cruel strokes, for which she could not forbear declaring her resentments, though she used her utmost endeavours to hid a part: sure Sister said she (with a Note which surprised us) the Cavalier must have committed some great injury against you, by the manner of his craving your pardon; you cannot refuse such speaking Tears. Nevertheless, if you will take my advice continued she in rising to be gone, you should do nothing before he hath promised you, that he will neve fall again into the like Crime. I'll assure you he cannot promise it, but he will be perjured; make this soft peace; I will retire to leave you by yourselves, for I imagine you do not desire me here for a witness: I turned my head to answer her, but she was already gone out of the door, and she spared me the displeasure I should have had in wand'ring by some words from the respect I owed her. I remained alone then with Egidia, and more perplexed than if the Abbess had been present, for although I had many things to tell her, I knew not how nor which way to take, and silence was the  Language I used. But she who suffered to see me afflicted, although it was for her sake, after she had endeavoured to re-assure me with her looks she broke silence, well Cavalier said she in clasping my hand, don't you repent that you have betrayed your best of Friends! think well upon what you said to me just now! how had you the heart then to deceive me? Speak, are you not the injustest man living? She made a great many more reproaches to me; to which she added a hundred of things which I cannot repeat to you in the manner she spoke to me. In a word, to come the sooner to a subject which in the very relation of it to you doth mollify my inclination: I justified myself to her as well as I possibly could, and I confessed to her the Rendezvous, and what had obliged me to meet her, and the reason I had to conceal it from her, that at length she became well satisfied with me, and mhre courteous than ever before; and she shown me more tokens of tenderness than ever I received from her before; and thus we most agreably acquitted each other from the pain and trouble which we had had this Evening, we never loved better; and this small intervale of time served for nothing but to kindle the fire the more that devoured us; the time was already past in which Civility should constrain me to retire. I desired not to enjoy the displeasure of staying till the Abbess sent to me, which she might do: But my ill luck would have it, that all the doors of the Convent being shut, except that of her Chamber which I must of necessity pass through to go to mine: 'Tis true that in the condition wherein I was, being fortified with the powerful Charms of her Sister, I made but very little reflection upon what I had to fear: I examined not the danger that might be, and I felt Egidia so firmly seated in my breast, that I was even glad (at least it seemed so to me) to find an occasion to outbrave all the Enchantments of this fair Abbess. I guided my steps, than since I could not avoid it that way, and went into the middle of the Chamber, where I saw her alone and undressed; she at first desired me to stay a moment with her: I excused myself, pretending that it was something too late, and that I might incommode her; she answered me that she knew very well how much I was persuaded that I should never trouble her at what hour soever; but to avoid the Ceremonies which I might have made her; upon this she commanded me to take a seat and sit down by her, that she had something to say to me, and would be obeyed: if Madam (answered I) you will be pleased but to stay till to morrow. I tell you no replied she abruptly: I will once more have it now: and know said she, that to punish you for the smallness of your Complaisance, it is not so much to oblige You as to trouble You. I turned this Constraint into Raillery, which I termed a sweet Violence, because it was also impossible for me to disobey her, for she had shut to the door, out of which I should go: I told her then because I would not seem uncivil, not having a mind to break off in this manner with her, that the Violence she used to cause my stay, was exceeding charming, and that there was no man living but would take it for a favour at that Hour: I do believe answered she that it would be esteemed one in the thoughts of many civil people, but not with You, and unless one swooned away, it were in vain for one to endeavour to Oblige You, and to let You see that one hath an affection for You: we must expect in requital nothing but indifferency and disdain itself: I believe it were unnecessary to make a longer Relation of what the Abbess said to me, and, of those things which I answered her: it sufficeth that You know in brief that it is but my seeing of her that must shake me in my strongest resolutions. Once again I know not what feebleness I received in her presence, but 'tis certain that she rendered me quite different from what I was before, and that I remembered no more the design I had made to forsake her, she was so full of Charms that Evening without her Ornaments of Apparel, that in her negligent Garb appeared a thousand Artifices. I must say no more to You, except I have a desire You should think me the greatest Deceiver and Traitor of all men. I stayed more than two full hours with this Fair Enchanteress, and left her like a man that had hardly the power to go: How great was her Joy? and how pleasing her triumph? it was no more one indifferent that despised her Favours, it was a reconquered Lover that left her with regret; it is nevertheless certain that I passed the rest of the Night with much sorrow, and that I made myself all the reproaches imaginable the Charms of that Fair-one had this in them, that they never possessed me but in the time I saw her; but a moment afterwards, when I was deprived of her sight, I would come to myself, and would see my Crime, and could not repent enough: in the first Visit I gave her Sister, I rendered her a faithful account of all that had passed between the Abbess and myself, confessing to her part of my Perfidiousness towards her, which seeing with what air I confessed them, she did in truth but laugh at it; Nevertheless she had a mind to be revenged, and to render the like to her Sister: I shall tell you what she did, I have already made You to understand that the apartments of these two Ladies are not for asunder, which was the reason that they would be almost always together although they loved each other but little. Egidia knew how her Sister had a great mind to seize upon a Picture she had of me, and which I had gave her, she kept it close looked up in her Closet for fear she should be deprived of it; and as in effect the Abbess waited but the moment to find an occasion, Egidia gave her a fair one, but it was after she had taken this with her; she left her Closet open, and went to walk in the Garden, and gave her Sister time enough to satisfy herself if she had found what she looked for, and had not that which for her Repose she would have desired not to have seen: The poor Abbess perceived not the malice her Sister designed her: She went as soon as she came in to search for the Picture, but in vain; but however she thought she had not altogether lost her labour, having found her Sister's Casket open, which was full of Notes and Letters which he had Writ to her; she locked herself in her Closet to take leisure to Read them; and to prevent a surprisal, she made even Copies of two or three of the Chiefest, where I mentioned her, of which this is one; by which you may judge of the other.  
MADAM,  
I Am in despair when I hear you say I Love You not, and that the Abbess hath the possession of my heart; render me justice if You know Yourself well, think that there is nothing to balance between You; if could divide my heart as You say, I would at this instant deprive You of one half of it to punish You for Your incredulity; fear nothing, possess this poor heart in Repose, and let the appearances alone for Your Sister, which I cannot refuse her without passing for the most ingrateful of all men as I am in effect. Adieu.  
You may perceive that this Letter was not over-obliging for the Abbess, and I suppose it is not necessary for me to tell You how much she was enraged, the shame, despite, and jealousy to see herself so slighted by one to whom she had showed so many Tokens of her Goodness, did at first inspire her with the cruelest designs that ever any Woman was capable of; she forsook the Closet in a Fury, having first torn all these Letters in a thousand pieces as she would have done my heart; and were it not for a Lady who was one of her Friends, and her Confident in all things. I know not to what point she had brought this her resentment.  
This Lady who was altogether endued with prudence, advised her on this account with good intentions, and endeavoured to bring her to herself again: She told her that she should be careful of her behaviour, and that the noise which she might make upon such a business could never turn but to her disadvantage, and that she should manage her Conduct according to the rank she held; and that it would be no good example for the other Nuns. But what means is there to digest so cruel an affront? All that this good Lady could obtain of her was, that she would not see me all that day for to have the more time to consider what she had best to do. Egidia returned after her Walk, and entering into her Closet, she found all things disordered, and the Letters in the condition ; the pleasure of Revenge which in a Woman's mind is the greatest living, made her to taste (upon this occasion) contentments, which to comprehend, you must be Woman and Lover together, she could not long continue before she had declared to me all this Adventure, for which she rejoiced, as thinking it a good part she had played, she endeavoured however to prepare myself to hear the News without anger, and calling me into her Chamber, she asked me my Opinion, and whether she had spoiled my designs with her Sister? I answered her that on condition she was not too much concerned herself, I took it not illy. At length she related to me the effects of her Sister's Jealousy and showed me in what condition my Letters and Notes were; I seemed to take little notice of any thing, but in truth I approved not her Conduct, and when I came to make reflection upon all that I had writ to her, I could have been glad if she had made use of another means, and that her sevenge had taken up other weapons: I doubted not but that the Abbess was in a strange passion, and that this business would produce some ill consequence, in which Egidia would be the first that should suffer. I could not refrain from saying something to her, and assured her nevertheless that I would not in any-wise contradict her pleasure, because her will was so bend, but that knowing so well as I did her Sister's humour, all I feared was from her behaviour, and that she sought not some way to revenge this upon me. I spoke this to her in a way tender enough; however Egidia did not take it so, but looking on me with a spiteful smile, I see said she what it is that alarms you, and that I have not used you well: Go Sir Cavaleee said she in rising from her place to be gone, go cast yourself at her feet, and swear to her that you adore her, and ask her pardon for all that you have writ to me. I Madam (answered I her!) will you forsake me thus! and thus disown my Heart! Ah give me leave if you please to tell you, that you know me but too illy, and that I am ready to avouch to her all that I have of passion in my breast for you. Observe, if you please require of me the greatest token of my Love, You may, and I will give You the whole day for You to take this pleasure in, for to morrow I shall be gone, and you shall see how little I will be concerned whether I be well or ill with the Lady your Sister; this resolution so suddenly taken, did a little surprise Egidia, and she was troubled that she had proceeded thus far, she embraced me tenderly, and did what she could to cause me to change my design, but with much trouble, and I left her at length without promising her any thing very sure: The rest of the day I spent in considering what I should resolve upon; all things perplexed me, and I could discern no better way than to be gone. But one thing which I found very difficult was, how I should take my leave of the Abbess, which was a duty I could not well omit: I must do it, and I took my time when she had most company with her, to avoid a number of evil reproaches which I knew she would not do before witnesses. I went then towards the Evening to her apartment, and asked the Religious, whom I met, and whom doubtless they had sent before me, if I could not obtain the Honour as to Visit Madam the Abbess: She presently answered me no, and that she was something indisposed: But having once again made me some instance for that; she whispered me softly in the ear, and told me that this Order was given expressly for me, and that therefore as a Friend she counselled me to retire. I confess that this adventure did not so much surprise me as it would have done had I not prepared myself from being kindly received by her; but yet it is true that I resented some despite in my heart for this refusal, and that I had not been comforted but by the means I obtained to acquit myself in another manner of the respect I owed her; it uva by writing I would take my Farewell; and see here in proper terms the Letter I sent her.  
MADAM:  
I Know not whether You are truly ill, that we may not be permitted to see You, or whether it be because I am thought a troublesome Guest here, both the one and the other would have perplexed me enough; but for fear of being too knowing in learning what I might be glad to ignorize, and that I might not be more miserable than I am, I have designed never to urge You more to declare it to me, and to morrow to be gone. Were You visible, I would enjoy the honour of taking a Formal Leave of You; and I beg the permission of You if You please to let me make use of this last way to bid You adieu in Writing, and humbly to Kiss Your hands.  
This Letter as you may see was neither too gallant nor too well fashioned, my mind was not very busy when I began to write it and to speak the truth I must have seen her to have manifested any testimonies of tenderness; she received the Letter, and made me no answer. Egidia who saw that I did really intent to leave her, & who had a desire to try the whole storm entreated me before I went that I would make some sort of peace with the Abbess, and to give no cause of talk to the other Beligious, who doubtless would upon such a departure; she added further, that her Sister would infallibly believe that it was her that had precipitated me to be gone in this manner, and that she would be glad to make use of this pretence, to find subject to turn all her Besentment upon herself; for my part who seared this interview more than death, and who represented to myself all the reproaches that she might make to me to which I could answer nothing, I knew not how to resolve to see her; but she found a Medium, and we agreed between us both that I would absent myself for only some few days, waiting the time only until the Abbess her mind was sweet ned, and that I should return if occasion serve, at the east note she should send me. I prepared then to be gone the next morning to Visit one of my Friends that lived in the Neighbouring Village; I was just ready to mount on Horseback when a Lackey brought me a Letter, wherein I, found these words.  
SIR:  
ANd dare You go and not see me, thou most ingrateful and lowest-spirited of all men! But no, go! for the favour would be too great to suffer thy sight after thy  actions: However choose what You think best, to the end I may see to what extent thy black ingratitude reacheth, and if You can, forget even that you own me at least this Civility in going from hence.  
Never was man more amazed, nor more cast down than I after I had read this Note: I saw that cost me what it would, I must see her: I asked then the Lackey where his Lady was, and he told me that she expected me alone in her Chamber; I went thither, but in what manner? as a Criminal that was going to present himself before his Judge: I found this Lady so sorrowful and changed, that it was enough to move the most barbarous heart. I know not how I found myself then, but truly I could not enjoy myself, and the confusion wherein the sight of her put me is not to be expressed. She beheld me some moments without speaking to me, and breaking at length silence, what do you here said she? and why are You not already gone? I did not believe Madam answered I her, that I ought so to have done, since I knew I might have the Honour to see you: I come to take my leave of You, and beg the favour of You in the same time to tell me what it is You have against me. What I have against You replied she with a sigh; ah Traitor! You know but too well. Well Madam, said I to her, since You will that I know, I come to know what the Crime meriteth I have committed against You; if it be death, my Life dependeth wholly upon Your Commands: Death replied she, alas! You have but too much deserved it, and in that consisteth my greatest misery. What do You then desire Madam replied I very eagerly, if a Sword You want to give it me, see here is mine; and in saying so, I presented it naked into her hand, and opened my breast to her for her to pierce it; but she only turned her face another way with these words, which in pronouncing she something, raised her Voice: Cruel one! You are but illy acquainted with my heart! if you think that my Revenge extendeth so far as to bereave you of Life, I could wish only that my Life were dear enough to you, I would then deprive myself of it to punish you, but I should miss the joy I should have in my death to see You breathe a deep-fetched sigh. In ending these words, a great number of Tears covered her face, and the sobs took from her her speech in so sad a manner, that my heart was choked up with pity. I knew not what to say to her, I feared that whatever I said she would take for new infidelities in the trouble I was in to see her in this condition: Nevertheless, since it is no difficult thing to appease a person that loveth us, and desireth to be loved. I brought myself at length to overcome her anger, and left her not till I saw her in a condition to forgive me all. I will tell You what caused her to be so soon won; she had a desire to stay me, and it was no policy for her to use me rigorously, I was not yet so indifferent to her, but that she thought it troublesome to forsake me quite; she did not so much as doubt (as in Love we often flatter ourselves, but one day to bear away the Conquest from her Sister, she knew not that my Journey was but for two or three days; she believed I would be gone in earnest, and I did her an Obligation. I entreated her to permit me at least to mae a small Journey into the Neighbouring Village; to which she consented so much the more willingly, because she had no desire to to have notice taken how easily she was returned to herself again after so manifest an injury; she was glad to make use of some means whereby to hid her weakness, and to make the world believe than she was not appeased but in process of time; she required of me more especially, that I would not acquaint her Sister with our reconciliation, and that I would in no wise see her in parting, if I would not give her cause torepent for the too great indulgence she had over me; I promised to grant her desire, and although Egidia had sent to tell me that she would speak with me; I begged of her by one of her Friends, that she would dispense with me for some reasons which I would write her, and with which I was assured she would rest satisfied; to speak the truth I owed this satisfaction to a person to whom I was so much Obliged, and who had so much reason to complain of me: I departed then, and went to see this Friend, from whence I writ many Letters to these Ladies, and received also many from them in the last which the Abbess sent me, she entreated me to meet her the day following in the same Arbour I saw her in before, and that it should be in private, especially that her Sister might not know it in the least, and that she would be there at Nine of the Clock, and would stay for me till Eleven a clock, I clearly saw by this Letter that the Abbess was appeased, and that she was merrily inclined, I believed I could not handsomely refuse it, and that I must by Policy in Love advertise her Sister of it, because she might not complain of me if it came to her knowledge as in the last Rendezvous. I answered the Abbess than that I would not fail to be there at Nine according to her appointment; and this is the Letter I wrote to her Sister.  
MADAM:  
IF You were in my Place, you would doubtless do the same I am now going to do; notwithstanding I'll assure You it is with all the regret imaginable: I received Yesterday a Letter from the Lady Your Sister, wherein she prayeth me to meet her at nine in the Evening in the Garden, and forbiddeth me above all things to acquaint you with any thing: I believed You would not take it ill, & that you would counsel me to it yourself, if You were here only to appease her, at least fear nothing, and be persuaded that nothing shall touch You; my fidelity is proof against all her Charms, and I shall never be better with You then when I am with her. Adieu.  
I gave the Abbesses' Lackey the answer I wrote her, and my man carried this Letter to Egidia; I sent the Lackey first, and sent not my man but a while before me, to the end he might be at the Convent before day; and that he might give her this Letter privately, he entered the Parlour and no body took notice of him, and as he heard a noise, and it being too dark to discern any thing, he asked at a venture if there was no body there would vouchsafe to call Madam N— You must note that even then the Abbess herself who was walking alone, and without light in the Parlour, because nothing might hinder her from this appointed meeting, she waited in this place with extreme patience till the hour of her appointment was come; she instantly knew the Voice of him that spoke to her, and told him that if he would any thing with this Lady, it was she herself; these two Ladies have the Voice so alike, that their most familiar Friends are sometimes deceived: My man who knew not what danger there was to be mistaken, and who effectively believed that this was the party he demanded, he gave her the Note without scrupling, and did even imagine that he had very justly acquitted himself of this Commission, and that he could not have given it to her more privately as I had instructed him. The Abbess after she had taken the Letter, sent my Man away again, and told him that if it were requisite, she would send an answer. We may with ease imagine how great her impatience was to see what I had writ to her Sister; but it were hard to tell you all the trouble she resented after she had satisfied her Curiosity; she was not naturally of a bad humour; and had not Jealousy intermixed, she might perhaps have contented herself with converting her Choler into injuries: But this passion is not accustomed to use such weak sorts of Revenge, it carrieth its design even to an extremity, and injured Love is the terriblest of Enemies; the Abbess went to seek her Sister whom she found in her Chamber and as it is common for them to talk of me, it was easy for her; after a small winding of their discourse to make me the subject of it: Let us acknowledge after all, Sister said the Abbess after she had spoken very indifferently of me, that we are both very much deceived in those advantageous Opinions which we have had of this Gentleman, who hath paid all those tokens of good will he hath received from us both with nothing but Treasons: For my part added she, I am now undeceived enough; and truly part of this Obligation I own to you, for had it not been for those Letters I found in your Cabinet, I might yet have been in so strange an error: If you desire I should render you in exchange the like service: But dear Sister, You are so much for his advantage, that you will ever believe let me say what I will, that there can be nothing more Civil nor faithful than what he telleth you: What is it you will do? answered her Egidia coldly: I see not the Cavalier do any thing to be esteemed culpable, but whereby I may see that he hath a great respect for me, and I have even Reasons for the contrary, I am too just to every change that good Opinion I have of him. But suppose I should make you to see said the Abbess to her, that you are deceived in your Opinion, and that he betrayeth you, and that he is the basest of men, I should perhaps (proceeded she) not have all that acknowledgement that such a piece of service meriteth; for not to speak falsely to you, although commonly we take but little pleasure to be deceived; I confess my weakness in this, that I love better to continue in my error; an evil is no evil before we feel it and know it; and if in some certain things I might have my choice, the sweet est for me would be to remain in Ignorance. How you are to be pitied replied again the Abbess, and how little you deserve to be undeceived: But you are my Sister, and I must in spite of you yourself have pity on You. Know then that this civil Gentleman, this faithful Friend, how you will be pleased to call him, gave me notice by a Letter whicg he wrote me this day to meet him this evenine in the Garden, and entreated me as much ash could to let it be in private, and that you might know nothing: If You please You may not believe me continued she (who saw her countenance begin to be troubled, and that her colour changed three or four times) or rather it is but your going with me to give you cause to believe your own eyes. How steadfast soever this amiable Lady was, this blow caused her to reel; the infidelity was manifest, and her Rival assured her of the thing so positively that she could have no cause of doubt, since she offered to conduct her to the Rendezvous to be herself a witness; she agrees to walk with her to the Garden, she gives her a Sword to kill herself, and she will not stay a moment from seeing her death, because it was now their time to go.  
But all this time said the Cavalier (in breaking his discourse) while I amuse myself perhaps with too much pleasure to relate to you a story, where the greatest part of Adventures seem to flatter me; I do not consider that it doth but abuse people's patience; You ought not to imagine thus said the Lady Sindal, for till now no Body hath taken the liberty to Interrupt You, and the silence the Company hath lent You, is a visible Evidence that they are not yet weary of hearing you relate all these Gallantries. I acknowledge continued she in smiling that I have often said to myself, that there was but one man like you to whom one might pardon so much vanity, and who might have the confidence to entertain us with a History of which he is the Hero. You requite but Illy (answered her the Cavalier) the Obedience I have shown You in this thing for whatever You are pleased to say; Madam, never before this time had I the good Fortune to relate my Adventures; here is no Body here replied the same Lady but who knoweth you, and have learned even from your own lips a great part of the Transactions of your Life. Notwithstanding I doubt very much proceeded she whether or no all happened as you say. If that be your thought Madam replied the Cavalier to her, and if the rest of the Company be no more favourable to me, it was in vain that I took so much trouble upon me; this Opinion is an advantage to me, and I hope they will dispense with me from using any more superfluous discourses, we may find something better for the Conversation. The Duchess who was laughing with the other Ladies to see the Cavalier half defeated for what Madam Sindal had said to him, would have the Raillery go no further when she heard him speak to that intent, and told him that she pretended not to have listened to him thus long, but to know this History even to the end: She added further, that he should not be concerned for what the Lady Sindal said to him, and that if there was any thing to be blamed in what he had related, it was assuredly the conduct of these Religious Ladies. But that it is not now known to be the first time that Love dressed himself in all sorts of fashions, and was of all conditions, and that a man found no better delight than in the conversation of these Ladies.  
She prayed then the Cavalier to make an end, the Company also began to urge him to it; he refused, and told them it was now time to retire, and that he had yet behind too many things to relate: They judged it then more proper to defer the rest till the next day, and pass the time away with some Recreation. But the Cavalier answered to that, that it were not necessary for them to seek any thing that could divert them more than the Letters they had proposed to read, and that they could not without injustice favour others more than they had done him. Madam the Duchess told him that if all had a History like his, they would be long a reading; but nevertheless for satisfaction she should have two read, after which the Conversation should end; and the other Letters should be returned to their Owners. Madam d'Elus made choice then of two more, and the first was for Madamoiseille d'Armand who freely consented to have it read, and said in smiling, that the company might perhaps be scandalised, but that she cared not. These are the terms it was expressed in.  
SIR,  
ALl you have Writ is so gallant and so Wittily expressed, that it would Charm me if I already knew not that you know better how to Write than love. Love doth not in spire so much art, and the heart speaketh much more innocently than the mind. Those restless hours and Clouds of Grief of which You speak of, and which You have suffered for my long absence, are but imaginary Evils, and which molest You not: I know by experience that You pass away the time very well where You reside; You must not have the pleasure to find me deceived; and if You desire to know how it is with me in Your absence, You may come hither and learn. I was perhaps something too soft in the beginning of our Engagement to let myself be persuaded that You Loved me, You who never knew what Love was; but it is easy for a Person adorned with so much merit, and so many Charms as You have to deceive such Credulous persons as I am; however make no abuse of it: I am not so much Yours, but I may be carried away by some other, more especially in Your absence by which many persons endeavour to profit, and do present themselves to take up the place You Occupy in my heart. Neglect nothing if You have any small esteem for it to think it worth the trouble of some Care; and if You will believe me, return as soon as You can. Adieu, etc.  
There was none of the Company but was surprised at this Letter, and who could believe that such a Letter might have been writ to a Lady so wise and reasonable as was Mademoiselle d'Armand; Madam d'Elus who knew her well, would not believe her eyesight, and asked her twice or thrice if it were to her they sent this Letter, and whether they were not mistaken? This Lady did but laugh at their wonder; but however from blushing she could not abstain, because every one's eyes was on her. I believe said the Cavalier to her, that there is not so much subject of Laughter, and that the Gallantries that they writ to you, gives us cause enough of thinking; however it is answered she him, it is from too gallant a man I receive them to cause my displeasure, and I am at all times ready to send him more tender ones. If we knew You not said the Countess d'Ancyce, we would interpret the things literally, and show you little Favour; but I believe there is a mystery in this Letter, and that You are not willing to partake of the Honour yourself in the manner it is turned; for my part said the Duchess, I comprehend nothing, and I confess that I want as great an esteem as I have for Madamoiselle d'Armand not to condemn her, but tell us however continued she in addressing herself to that Lady what You smile at? and what there is we understand not in this Letter? for I have no mind to change the Opinion I have of You. Mademoiselle d'Armand after she had thanked the Duchess for what she had, thus Obligingly said; related to her, that being sometime since with one of the chiefest Ladies of the Court, where a great number of Noble Gentlemen did ordinarily meet: They had proposed a question which had been very wittily handled, viz. to know whether it was more troublesome for a Lover to make a Declaration to his Mistress, than for the Mistress to receive it, and that she had maintained the Lover's part; and that it was less difficult for a man to say he loved, than for a Lady to suffer it; and that the Baron d' 〈◊〉 (who was Author of this Letter) having undertaken the contrary, the company thought sit that for the rarity of the act, that the Baron should represent the person of a Mistress, and she, that of the Lover, that they might have the pleasure of seeing how this business would pass; she assured them that this Gallantry had given way to such witty things as well in Prose as Verse, that thousands of Persons have been divertized by it, and that she did also in the like manner; so that this Letter must not be read as coming from a Gallant, but as from a sensible Mistress, and that the truth was, that they both of them had ill represented their Personages, because that the Baron had too soon submitted himself; and that for he part she did not use those Cares and Endeavours as passionate Lovers use. The Cavalier would willingly that Mademoiselle d'Armand had not justified herself so well, and that they had but doubted of what she said: But the rest of the Company had too good thoughts of her, not to render her that Justice as was her due: They found this Gallantry very pleasing and capable of giving much diversion: They enlarged no further upon this to obtain time for the reading the other Letter, but before they read them the Duchess pulled this Song out of her pocket, and gave it to Madamoiselle d'Armond, who she desired to sing the Triple part of it, and the Cavalier d'Estapes she desired to sing the Base with her, which they did in the manner following.  
SONG.  I. B. 
Bear witness now you silver streams & pleasing shady groves whose harmony and solitude can sweeten harmless Loves. How loud the Echoes of my sighs do ring for her whose scorns can me no comfort bring: Ye powers above, grant she may love and feel those pangs which I already know.  
Chorus. For if Love once dwell in her breast, for if Love once dwell in her breast, such pleasing relief will drown all my grief, & make me a lover that's bleft  

Fly Echoes fly,  
And in your gentle murmuring whispers bear  
My languishing and deep Complaints to my dear Phillis ear:  
Tell her, Oh tell her! 'tis for her I die,  
And ask her when she'll leave off cruelty  
Oh powerful Love!  
Come from above,  
And in her chaste heart go take up thy seat,   

Chorus.  
For if Love once dwell, etc.   
After this Song had been most harmonioufly Sung by these two Persons, they returned again to their Letters, and the Second was for the Baron d'Espare. with whom Madam ●…lus observed the same Ceremonies as with the rest; and she had without trouble the permission to let the Company hear it: See here what it did contain.  
SIR:  
THe Question You propose me would better have been your Business than mine; I should have been willing to have heard how You would come off in it; You who never fail to prosper in these witty sorts of Gallantry: Nevertheless since I am not permitted to refuse You any thing, and as your Friendship desires of me a blind Obedience, I shall tell You I'll or Well what my Opinion is in what You demand of me. You would know whether ajealous man may be termed a Lover? Whence jealousy proceeds? and what difference there is in matter of Love between Fear and Jealousy?  
I First must tell You, that I believe not that a Jealous Man Loveth; but on the contrary say, that he hateth with a terrible hatred, as it is easy to discern by his Actions; and therefore it were very improper to give him the title of Lover, since he deserveth it not. I must according to the Order of things, First tell You whence jealousy springeth: For my part it is my Opinion that a man is not Jealous; but then when he believeth himself unworthy to possess the Esteem of his Mistress: And I dare myself believe that one that is Jealous, doth not imagine himself Loved, for else he would not afflict himself as he doth: 'Tis folly to say as many do, that this Viper Love is but a mere Fear to lose what one Loves; a Jealous man would proceed aster another fashion: Fear is an unprossitatable Passion which truly molesteth the Soul, and causeth it to apprehend the Evils that may disturb him; but it never bringeth a man into despair, as doth Jealousy; because that it breedeth in us these things which may come to pass, and yet not happen neither. A searful man doth not altogether lose his hope he endeavours to prevent by all the means possible the misfortunes which he apprehendeth, to the end he may escape the storm. I say further, that the Fear in Love is a sort of Virtue between the two extremes; it is easily discerned that Jealous men are not possessed with this Fear, but rather with a Rage, which causeth them to believe that they have absolutely lost what they adored; let us but take the pains to examineone of these Fools we shall see that he acteth not like a man that feareth, nor like a Lover that desireth to be loved, but like a desperate and declared Enemy. Every one naturally hateth that which giveth them displeasure; and what greater displeasure can one imagine than to think one's self forsaken and slighted by that which one esteemeth and loveth more than Ones life: A Jealous man who is persuaded that he is thus evilly treated by his Mistress cannot love her more; hatred must succeed this love, and oftentimes Fury: What trouble to this unhappy man in the time of this alteration? What Combat is there in his mind? I believe there is nothing more terrible, and that the least Council his mind suggests to him, is to have recourse to death. When Love is once departed from the heart of a Jealous man (which departeth as I said before) in the moment that Jealousy is introduced; this last Passion doth wholly Occupy him, ruleth him, tyrannizeth over him, and loadeth him with that affliction which always followeth it: If You would yet more clearly see that there is no Love in the heart of an unfortunate Jealous man, take more special notice, You shall see nothing in him but high-carried designs, and full of Revenge, he is never contented, he talketh of nothing but death and despair; he will lose all, he calleth her he adored a little before unfaithful and ingrateful, full of Cruelties and Treacheries; and in fine, the least suspicion he hath to the disadvantage of this Fair-one, he maketh a truth of it, and assureth it as a thing that he hath seen; he seeks no more to please her by his cares, discretion, and fidelity, he seeketh nothing but her ruin, and acteth in such manner that his Rivals who were perhaps incapable (of Ravishing her from him) profit by his going astray, and endeavour to establish themselves to destroy him quite; if his Mistress endeavour to cause his return to her, he taketh all these advancements from her for Treasons, he publisheth them to let the World see that he is not so unwise as to trust her; he committeth daily new crimes against her without giving any Reasons wherefore; for which a moment afterwards he repenteth a thousand times. Pray tell me how a man of this humour can be called Lover; and whether it be the fear he hath to lose what he loveth that leadeth him to these Extremities; for my part I believe it not. If he loved he would use other means; if it was nought but fear that molested him, he would use some means to re-assure himself, and not to make him despair: I believe certainly that the first effect of Jealousy is the last sigh of Love; here is at length my thoughts in the Question You have proposed; let me next know what Your Opinion is upon which I will govern myself in all things. Adieu.  
This Letter pleased all the Company extremely, and I believe they had enlarged this matter eurther, for the Company thought it handsome, and very proper for a Conversation; but at the Hour it was they were all for deferring of it for another time: The Company departed after their leave taken of the Duchess to go and seek their Repose.   

CHAP. IU.  
THe Fourth day began by an agreaable surprisal; The Duchess had caused by the arrival of two of the Fairest Ladies of the Court; the Countess d'Ermond, and Madam d'Eyrac they had notice that there was a great company at this Ladies; they owed her a Visit, and were glad to make use of that opportunity while they were pleasingly at their Diversion: Monsieur d'Arignan was of the party, and accompanied them in this Visit; he was a brave wit, and who had a gallant way with him for Conversation, and who fulfilled his duty very well in the Circle; as the Company enlarged, so the Duchess did augment the expenses; if it were possible to add any thing to the magnificense with which she treated her Guests. We must acknowledge that since this day it was but a mere profusion that appeared in the smallest Collasions which she gave them in Basins full of Comfits, in most exquisite Wines, in other Liquors, and in all that a man could wish that was most delicate. A Ball was their diversion for some part of the afternoon, and if I had undertaken to relate all that passed in this House, I should have somewhat to amuse the Reader from time to time with in particulars that perhaps might not displease him; but since I am tied only to the conversations of the Evening, which were kept in the green Arbour, I must (not to leave my design) refer myself to what they have said. The Duchess who had taken great delight in the History of these Nuns, and who had a desire that it might serve for this Evenings Conversation, had entreated Mademoiselle d'Armand to relate to the two Ladies which were newly come, that which the Cavalier had already told them: This Damsel acquitted herself faithfully and wittily of her Office, and gave much delight to these two Ladies, especially to Madam d'Eyrac, to whom this History was not unknown, and who consequently told the Countess d'Ermond that she knew it; they had no sooner took their places in the Circle according as they came, but the Duchess addressing herself to the Cavalier, told him that he must make an end of what he began the day before, and that no other question should be proposed, nor any other Pastime before he had ended the recital of this Adventure; the Cavalier endeavoured to refuse it by a thousand subtleties, and instantly entreated the Duchess that she would dispense with him, and he would not submit at last but by compulsion; that which vexed him most of all was, that the Lady Sindal, and Madamoiselle d'Armand told him that what he did was only because he desired entreaties; but however they could not do him a greater kindness. Notwithstanding all these Raileries he must proceed in his History, he had very many Reasons not to continue it because of Madam d'Eyrac, who was not ignorant of the least circumstance as he knew very well himself. This Lady smiled in her heart to see the trouble he was in; she had her Eye on him on purpose to discountenance him; at length he began his discourse at where he had left off, but with so great a negligence, and so little regard to all what he said, that it was no more the same thing, but a weak and light recital, which was nothing like what he had accounted before; there was no Body but perceived it, the Duchess was the first that told him that it was pity to hear him relate it in that manner, and that he had not this day the same wit as formerly: The other Ladies made him the same reproaches, except the Countess d'Ermond, and Madam d'Eyrac who took his part; for my part I believe said the first of these two Ladies with an agreeable smile, that the Cavalier never wanteth wit, but that he yet hath more discression & that is it that obligeth him to touch but lightly upon things which may injure the reputation of a sort of People whom we ought to respect more than others. And what is this discretion answered the Lady Sindal that he hath not taken care for till to day, and before a company who knoweth not so much as of what Countries those are of which he speaketh. I ask your pardon Madam replied the Countess d'Ermond to her if there were none here Yesterday that were acquainted with these Nuns, there may be to day who can inform you better than he of the particulars of this History. Ah Madam replied presently the Lady Sindal, it is you then! I pray tell us what you know in it: The other Ladies made the same request to her; but she answered that they must address themselves to Madam d'Eyrac, who was a witness of part of these Adventures: The Cavalier was confused; the Ladies laughed, and the Duchess told him that instead of troubling himself he ought to be glad of this Rencounter of ●…nding some body that can relate a History which would not seem so well in his mouth as in another's: she consequently engaged Madam d'Eyrac to take upon her the trouble of relating it. This Lady did it very obligingly: she first smiling asked the Cavaliers permission, and she afterwards began in this manner.  
Since the Cavalier said she hath had the discression not to name the persons of whom he spoke; I believe you will not require more of me than you did of him, a thousand Reasons forbidden it me, and it would be no great addition to the History, nor augment the pleasure in any thing which you will have to hear that which I am going to tell you.  
There is perhaps no Body here but knoweth it is now two Years since the misfortune that happened upon my Family, which obliged Monsieur d'Eyrac my Husband to absent himself from the Court. In this great subject of affliction I went to one of my Friends who was a Nun in the Monastery of which we speak to seek such Consolation as I might find by a retreat from the sight of all things that might cause any trouble.  
I'llnot tell you whether what the Cavalier hath told you be true or no, because he had known these Ladies above a Year when I came thither, and to speak the truth what I have understood is not much unlike what he hath related to You, but I will warrant you for the truth of what I shall relate to you in what passed in my time.  
I was very lovingly received in this Monastery, there was no civility which the Abbess shown me not, and every day they would strive who could oblige me most, it was almost a month that the Cavalier had not been there. I had heard speak of him sometimes as a very civil Gentleman, for whom the Abbess had a great esteem, and from whom she often received Letters; he came a few days after me. I presently perceived that this esteem had something of much tenderness in it, and that this Friendship had some resemblance of Love. The Abbess who was endued with much goodness, and who put much confidence in me, would conceal nothing from me; she would exceedingly commend her Cavalier to me; she would rank him above the pitch of all men, and would not only have had me to applaud him, but to have judged her not indiscreet in these Concerns so long as things seemed to me not to go too far: I dissembled, but when I came to know that this friendship wrought the same effects as Love, and that it excited jealousy in the two Sisters, that it caused sigh and languish, that they let fall Tears, I could not for bear declaring my thoughts to the Abbess, and to represent to her that this Engagement might one day do her a prejudice, and that an Amorous affair ought not to enter into a Monastery. She outwardly seemed to take friendly the freedom I used to her, but in truth this good advice caused her to carry herself but more coldly to me; she could have desired something more of Complaisance from my Friendship, her Disease being almost without remedy, she could have desired at least that I would have supported her in it; this occasioned my having less correspondence with her, and that I saw her no more than by duty, because I would not altogether break off with a person who hath command where I lived, and to whom I had already been very much Obliged; her Sister managed it something better, she concealed appearances, and although she had no less esteem or tenderness for the Cavalier than the Abbess, she notwithstanding acted before the world like a Maid almost indifferent: She had also something more of wit than her Eldest Sister, but not so much beauty: I'll begin the recital of these Adventures if the Company think it requisite where the Cavalier left off Yesterday; for what he hath told You to day is but a feeble Crayon of what You shall now hear; It was when his Man had taken the Abbess for her Sister, and when he had gave her the Letter which he should have given to the other, into what a rage and fury did this Fair Lover enter when she had seen the Treason of this Letter; the least thing her passion suggested to her was to be revenged on the Traitor to cause him to be killed, a Maid in whom she trusted most, and who was too Young to take the liberty to give her advise, would come every evening before she went to her rest, and repeat to me a part of her Follies, at which in truth I did but divert myself: The Abbess then as the Cavalier hath told You brought her Sister with her to this Rendezvous, where the Gentleman failed not to be at the hour appointed; his Surprisal was great as we may imagine, to see the two Sisters together, after what the Abbess had writ to him how she would not have any one know of this Interview, more especially her Sister; he also remembered what he had writ to the other, and the entreaty he made in the Letter he wrote her, she should not be concerned at this assignation how nothing should prejudice her, he knew not at length what to believe, and of a thousand thoughts he had remaining in his Brain in the moment he saw these Ladies, there was not one which came near the truth, so incredible was it to him to imagine that such an accident should befall him in the midst of that cruel anguish that despite and jealousy made the Abbess to suffer, she relished a most extreme joy to see the Cavaliers trouble; but her Sister was filled with nothing but grief for her part, the Violence she used to contain herself was the rudest thing a heart could endure, she could abide no longer there, she must retire, but it was when she had considered him from head to foot with a look full of disdain, choler, and indignation, and without speaking to him: the poor Lover who began to waken out of his first surprisal, fell into a second much more cruel when he had seen in what manner she looked upon him and had fled from him; I know not said he in speaking to the Abbess what I have done to your Siner that in my presence should cause her to flee, I expected not this Rigour; it is because answered him the Abbess coldly, we also expected not to have seen You make so quick a return, and because we have little occasion for You here. Ha! if it be so as You say Madam replied the Cavalier to her presently, I swear to You You shall not keep me here much longer, for I hate above all to incommode people. But how ever Madam added he presently, I hope You will not take it I'll if I go to know of Your Sister herself if this be the reason that Obligeth her to treat me thus: after that I shall continue with You no longer time than for to bid You adieu; and in saying that he ran toward the Fair afflicted one whom he overtook just as she was entering into the Monastery. What's the matter Madam (said he to her quite out of breath) that You fly me? say rather perfidious (answered she him) that I should not see thee; but at length thy Treacheries are discovered, and thou shalt deceive me no more, for while I live I'll never see thee more: After these words she went in, shut the door upon her, and left the sad-hearted Cavalier in the pitifullest condition a man could be reduced to; he will tell You himself that he was a hundred times ready to kill himself, and that he would have sald a thousand Injuries against her, could she have heard them; his Conscience reprcached him not of any Infidelity, he thought he had done nothing against his duty in this assignation, since he had given her notice by a Letter, and he knew very well that his heart towards this Fair-one did not deserve the name of Perfidious: So rude a treatment made him take a resolution to be gone, without staying any longer, hoping that time would make his Mistress know the wrong she was in, or that despite and absence would cure him of his Love: The Abbess who had followed him close to have hindered an explanation, came in the same instant; he accosted her in a manner which testified his despair, and scarce beholding her; what you told me Madam said he to her, is more true than ever I thought, and the air with which I am here treated is so strange, that it maketh my wonder so much the greater, for that I know not the reason of it; there is no other way left for me then not to remain a minute longer in a place where I am so ill received. Just so (answered him the Abbess) all Traitors ought to be recompensed for their perfideousness: It is now no time replied the Cavalier to her to ask you what reason you have to call me by this name, because I must now be gone, and deliver you from a man who is more than importunate to you. It is enough for you to remember that it was You that caused me to come hither to day: I came according to my promise, and you have permitted, and perhaps also called your Sister to come hither, whom you charged me so much to keep ignorant of this Interview. Yes Traitor! answered she him, all overcome by her passion, and it is in what thy base heart hath failed: Tell me, base one? whether thou didst not write what I desired thee to conceal? The Cavalier was so strangely surprised at this, that he remained confused, and did effectively believe that his Mistress had revealed the Letter he had sent her. Nevertheless not to fall into a greater confusion; if it should come to a clearer Evidence, he would break off upon this occasion: I know not very well Madam said he to her very unconcernedly what it is you mean: but if all these reproaches, and all these injuries tend only to drive me from hence, I assure you you give yourself a trouble without cause, and that there need not so much to deprive me of the desire of ever setting my foot here again. I am going to take my leave of You continued he in going to leave her, and Madam Farewell for ever. The Abbess stayed him, and told him after she had become something milder, that whatever reason they had to act (although) worse with him than yet they had done, they would not let him go at the hour it was. Whether You have reason or not replied the Cavalier to her abruptly, I am so little accustomed to be received thus wherever I go, that I very impatiently can bear all the minutes I abide here to get out of the trouble I am in: I pray Madam permit me proceeded he in endeavouring to get lose from her, to take use of the time that yet remains: But I will not let You go to night said the Abbess to him, and if You think I have yet some power over You to oblige You to do any thing for my sake, You will make it appear in this. I have somewhat to say to You, and it will be time enough to morrow to do your pleasure. The Cavalier prayed her not to stay any longer if she had any thing to say to him, and that on any other occasion he would testify to her the respect he had for her, but that he could in no wise stay. We will see that said she, and they separated the one from the other in this manner. The Abbess was like those unfortunate Lovers who in their despairs know not what they would have; she who but a moment before would have been glad not only to banish the Cavalier from her presence but to ruin him, had not the power to see him leave her. What a weak thing is Choler against an Object that hath known how to charm us: How illy can a heart be revenged on what it loveth? It is commonly the Lover only that suffereth, and one seldom punisheth that which is loved: She gave order to stop the Cavaliers Horses, but something too late, for he was ready to be gone and he seeing the means they used to hind him, and that he must yet have some time to make up his baggage, he chose rather to leave his man behind him, and to go and lie the same Evening about a league from the Monastery, where he was to meet him the next morning: The Abbess heard of this departure with a sensible displeasure; she in words misused those whom she had sent to stay him, because they let him go; she knew not what to become, nor do; she was informed that his man was left behind; she sent for him, and by force of presents pumped out of him all she desired to know; her trouble was half diminished when she knew that her Lover lay but a mile from her; her passion which would have made her try all means at this instant, furnished her with a design which in a Religious Lady was not pardonable, unless one would pardon all things in Love: This little god is never accustomed to Inspire any thing too just, nor to consult Reason; there is nothing that he will not make any one do when he designs any thing: The Maid of whom I have already spoken who was her particular Confident entered into her Chamber just as she was thinking on this; and seeing her in a profound study, she believed she was busy, and would have excused herself for coming to interrupt her privacies: No not my dear Companion said the Abbess to her, (for thus she called her) You come in a better time than You think, I wanted You, and I may say that there is but You only from whom I may hope for relief in the trouble I am in: This Maid answered her with much acknowledgement for the favour she did her, as to consider her even to that point, and assured her with a thousand respectful protestations of fidelity and tenderness, that there was nothing which she would not do for her: The Abbess embraced her five or six times most tenderly, sighed, wept, and did in such manner move the heart of her dear Confident, that she saw her in a condition to undertake all things to serve her; insomuch that this poor Maid begged of her with the tears in her eyes that she would tell her the cause of this affliction: You know said the sad-hearted Lover to her, with a look extremely pitiful (You who know all the passages of my heart) with what Ingratitude the Cavalier hath of late requited the tenderness I have for him: This Traitor after all my tokens of Goodness hath had yet the baseness to leave me whether I would or no, and to go without so much as bidding meadieu. You may see by that Madam answered the Maid to her (wisely) how much unworthy he is of the favour You show him, and how he meriteth not any more esteem from You. I am resolved replied the Abbess to come to where You say, and I see myself enough disposed to it: But the trouble I am in at present, and which I cannot overcome, is for not having had the pleasure to reproach him of his perfidious actions, and for that he perhaps goeth with this opinion, that I am not undeceived in all his Treacheries. I would especially erap the joy of making him blush for the last he showed me, and which I have not yet told You: If thou lovest me my dear Companion, added she with her charming mien, thou wilt find some means whereby I may at least content my heart, and that I may at length break off with the most Ingrateful of all men, without which my dear Child I cannot promise thee to live much longer in the displeasure and Choler I am in, and thou wilt lose thy best of Friends: This Maid who in the Intrigues of Love was not the subtlest in the world, and who yet saw nothing of the Abbesses' design, proposed to her to write a Letter to this Traitor filled with Injuries: But this satisfaction was too weak for a passionate Lover; I can never express myself well in writing said she, and upon a subject so full of Injustice to punish a Criminal as he ought to be, the persons offended should with their own mouths make those reproaches to him he deserveth, that they may have the advantage of confuting him. Well Madam said her Companion to her, what will You do then unless it be to wait his return? The innocence of this Maid did almost make the Abbess smile. Can one replied she to her, contain one's displeasure so long against a man who is not indifferent to me? No, no, if You think good proceeded she with a blush that overspread her whole Visage, we will not differ so much in our revenge on him, thou art enough to execute the design; if thou hast the courage to follow me, we will find out this perfidious man who is but a small league from hence, and thou shalt see to what a height I will screw the thing, and if a man can be loaded with Injuries and Reproaches, I protest to You that he shall. So bold a Proposition at first did strangely surprise this Maid; she who was afraid to walk in the Night about the Monastery without a light, could not but think this a thing too dangerous and full of horror, to dare to expose them two alone at that hour to the troublesome accidents of a great high way: But the Abbess knew how to represent this Enterprise so sure and easy to her, and so uncapable of any ill rencontre in that little way they were to go, and in so fine a Night, that at length she over-persuaded her, and made her to Love even a Novelty: The Abbess extremely rejoicing for having o'ercome her dear Companion, thought on nothing more than getting of Horses, she would not use her own because of going forth privately, she chose rather to have recourse to her Farmer to let her have three Horses, and not to fail to send them the same Evening; the man went immediately, and left the Ladies who were preparing themselves to get on Horseback; the first thing the Abbess did was to give out that she was something indisposed, and that she would go to her bed; she took her leave of those that served her, and had none remaining with her but her dear Companion, as she had formerly; as soon as they were by themselves, they began to undress them to put on their riding apparel; those of the Abbess were extreme gallant, and in which they dressed themselves with as much care as if they they had been to go to some Assembly, more especially the Abbess who was unmindful of nothing she knew would handsomely a lorn her she was the last that was ready: But however there could be no Body in a more neater Garb than herself; her Chamber was not far from the Garden, they might get thither without noise, and without any bodies seeing them as they did, and as soon took their way towards the back door where the Servant was to meet them with the Horses; one would have taken them for two Amazons going to the siege of some place by the manner of their encouraging one another; they came to the gate of which only the Abbess had the Key, but no body was yet come; they already grew impatient by reason the man stayed so long, and that he was not yet returned; at length they heard the noise of some Horses which encouraged them, and gave them some hope of Joy; but we are sometimes deceived, and oftenest when we desire any thing to our advantage; the greater the noise grew, the greater was their fear that it might not be their Horses, as indeed the man they expected was not to come that way; insomuch that fear seized upon them so strangely, & perplexed them so much that they hardly knew what to do; the Abbess who had something more of resolution than her Companion, endeavoured to encourage her upon the small appearance there was that it should not be her man, and told her that he was doubtless come some other way, and so mistook his right road, and comes that way, and desired her to go two or three steps forward to see if what she said was not true: This poor Maid who was afraid of every Object, could never have the courage to do what the Abbess commanded her, and did most humbly entreat her not to put her courage to trial, that she could not go a step from her without she died; and that every tree gave her a mortal fear: The Abbess could not forbear smiling at the fearfulness of her Companion, and bid her that she should fear nothing for she would go with her; these two Fair ones then adventured some steps before those that were coming; but they had no sooner discovered that they were two Horsemen coming with great haste towards them, but they fled and got into the Garden without so much as thinking to shut to the door after them, and never ceased running as long as they were able; at length they approached the Monastery; both of them so spent, that they could scarcely breathe; when they came home they in some measure regained their courage, and being something come to themselves they began to laugh at the fear they had so improperly had for two men who designed only to proceed in their Journey; they took courage by the power of arguing upon the small subject they had to fear, and returned for the second time to that gate, where they found two Horses tied to the foot of a Tree, and no body with them; the Abbess after she had taken good notice of every thing, without discovering who it might be, found herself much concerned to consider why these two Horses should be there without a servant, and concluded after all (as it is easy to conclude things to one's advantage) that they might be her Farmer's Horses, and that they must expect her man who was doubtless gone some-whither hard by, and indeed that was not altogether unlikely, and it was unlikely that any other would leave two Horses thus; however this man came not again; the Abbess died with impatience, and the time seemed so tedious that she feared lest the daybreak might come, and that they might not have not night enough to execute their design closely: It was a punishment for her to stay, she would have Sworn a thousand times (if Abbesses swear) that they were her Farmer's Horses, that she knew them, and that her man must either be hindered elsewhere with the other Horse, or that he was fallen asleep somewhere else, but they might also be the two Horses upon which they had seen the two men riding; she would not consult upon that, because we commonly love not to confute ourselves upon those subjects that go against our desire, we rather endeavour to deceive ourselves; this Servant appeared not; the impatient and most truly lovesick Abbess told her saithful Companion that they must make use of their time, and that the Occasion was too fair to be neglected: That this Servant was not so necessary but that they may pass without him, and that he may follow them if he would: Her dear Companion agreed to all she desired, she was willing for any thing if they could have but any to direct them the way; so that without staying any longer our two Adventurers put foot in the stirrup, and made so great diligence, that in less than an hour without any ill Adventure they arrived to the place where the Cavalier was: It was the Abbess that knocked at the door and who asked for a Gentleman that lodged there: They answered her that truly there had been one that Evening, but that he was gone from thence an hour ago with a Lackey that had brought him a Letter; she still persisted in some questions to the Master of the House concerning the way they went, and the Livery of the Footman, whether it might be long before this Gentleman would return? whether he had eaten? and at length even to ask him whether he seemed melancholy or merry? but the man knew not what to say, all that he knew for certain was, that he would not return that night, and that he had left no Order with them; no body could be more sad than was the poor Abbess then; a thousand thoughts assaulted her at a time, of which there was not one but felt heavily; what heaps of grief and inquierness? O the cruel Jealousies well or ill grounded! O the rage! the despair! to promise herself so much satisfaction in coming, and so many sweet Fancies which she had, and to return more disconsolate than ever: Her Companion who was extremely troubled to see her so strangely sad, would have given her some consolation. Why do You afflict yourself thus Madam said she to her? it is true that the labour we have taken is a lost one, but who knoweth whether it is not better for us that we have not prospered in our design of seeing the Cavalier: You know him Madam, and as he is not the discreetest in the world, perhaps this Visit might have caused some rumours, we are at least assured that we have gone a Journey without any one's knowledge: Without any one's knowledge replied sadly this afflicted Lover; seest thou not my Child that wear betrayed, & that my Sister hath known our design, and that it was doubtless her that had sent this Lackey to the Cavalier to let him know what we intended, and to oblige him to shun me: how can what You say (Madam answered her this Maid) be true, if it be so long since the Cavalier went from hence, you then scarce knew of your design: what reason dost thou think then should use him to so sudden a departure (said the Abbess.) In fine, whatsoever her Companion told her after she had mused upon a great many reasons, she came always to say again that her Sister had done this thing, and that nothing had made him departed at that hour but her: This imaginatien troubled her furiously; her Jealousy increased, and she was perplexed with so many sorts of grief, that she saw none but subjects of sorrow no where for her: This entertainment was something different to that she had had in going to see the Cavalier; she scarce spoke to her Companion, and whatsoever the other said to her to cause her to leave these sad muse, she would answer her in nothing but profound sighs; they began however to think when they came home what they should do with their Horses, which they found not a little troublesome; but at last the best and surest way they judged was to let them into the Garden, and to tie them somewhere till it was day, that they might carefully seed them home again to the Farmers. After that they had no more to do but to go to the Monastery; however they were not got to the middle of the Garden before they found something to stay them, they both thought they heard people talk. The Confident who walked some steps before the Abbess, and whose mind was less busied, was the first that took notice, and told her in making a sudden turn, that there assuredly was some body in the Garden; the Abbess lent an attentive Ear, and found that her Companion was in the right: Here it was she put a Truce to her Trouble; so that she was now filled with nought but curiosity; whatever subject of Grief any person hath, if any thing happeneth to surprise them, and that may be capable to busy them they feel no more sorrow, & their troubles are as a sleep in them; her Jealousies were all allarumed at this noise; she knew that none beside herself but her Sister had a Key to come out of the Monastery into the Garden, and this only Reason was more than sufficient to make her think that it was she with the Cavalier who were entertaining each other in at Love-commerce, she would at least know the truth of it. Jealousy breedeth courage in Women, and Love leadeth them every where; she who on another occasion would perhaps have been afraid for a less cause was not fearful to go and discover who those were in the Garden; and bid her Companion who trembled with fear to come softly after her, they walked a while by the side of a hedge which hide them, for the night was light, and they might be discerned at a good distance; they approached as near as they could to an Arbour from whence they heard he noise come, till they began to discern the Cavaliers voice, but not to discover very well what he said; wherefore they crept something nearer, and so near that the Abbess did at length hear her Sister, who spoke thus: But you do not consider to what I expose myself, and in what you hazard yourself, for without making reflection on what hath happened to so many unhappy Women who relying upon the Faith of men, have lightly forsaken themselves, in which thing they notwithstanding found they were deceived; I imagine that You have more sincerity and honour in You than all those people have; consider the noise my flight will make, how furiously we shall both be sought for by my Parents, and into what strange misfortune I shall lead you if you fall into their hands: Oh Heaven! once more continued she, let us not try any thing so full of danger, and let me rather die here in sorrow, than precipitate our serves into so dangerous a gulf: You will then Madam replied another to her, whom the Abbess knew to be the Cavalier, have me to leave You to all the Cruelties Jealousy is capable of inventing against you to all the injuries and all the affronts that You will receive from your Sister, to a hundred other things which I consider, and which will make me tremble for You: You know I have no more the liberty to see You, that they retuse it me, and that I have been used too illy here to present myself without shame, You desire my death then: If You love me Madam— Alas! If I love You interrupted she, You know it but too well. If (proceeded the Cavalier) You desire I should not doubt of it, and if my love and services have merited Your doing any thing for me, as You have told me many times, You will leave considering on it any more and follow me. Let us make ourselves happy dear Lady of my Affections, since we may do it; our flight is easy, my Servant and Yours are both at the Garden gate who expect us with Horses; all things favour us, and I promise You in less than three hours to guide You to a place where not only any Body shall ever imagine where we are, but where You shall not have cause to fear any thing though it were known. The Cavalier said no more after that, to hear the answer his dear Mistress would make him, who beginning to sigh, be gone said ●he Cavalier, for I fear if You urge me much, that You will obtain of me more than I ought to grant; I pray departed hence before my weakness overcometh my duty. You yourself if you are more reasonable than I (as You should be) strengthen my heart against yourself: I'll not assure you I can resist You, and the trouble in which I am is so great, that I find my Virtue is going to forsake me to follow You. Adieu then; but grant I may: After these words they heard her weep, at which the Cavalier immediately cried out, no rather grant you may still continue Conqueror of my heart: Grant you may believe a Love thus tender and passionate, submit to my services and to my fidelity which are but too well known to you to doubt it; much more he said which was very tender and loving, which pierced the heart of the Abbess in the same time that he won that of her Sister. It were unnecessary to present to You the different Passions which Occupied these two Ladies at that time, (viz.) the love, languishing, and tender sighs of the Youngest, and the despite, shame and rage of the Eldest who had the patience to hear even to the end an entertainment as cruel for her, as it was charming for her Sister. Imagine than she saw her disposed to satisfy the Cavaliers desire, and that the Fair-one was making preparation to go with him, for she wanted  more suitable to travel in than those she then wore, and so went to her Chamber to fetch them: The Abbess let her pass by her, and came not out from where she was till a great while after, and then she fetched a great turn, and with her Masque on her Face came into the Arbour where the Cavalier was, who as soon as he saw her he embraced her with much tenderness, and manifested many tokens of his Love to her; How charming are You said he to her taking her for his Mistress, in that You have not made no long stay, for truly I was impatient to see Your Return: But what Violence did she use to conceal her displeasure, it being not yet time for her to make herself known, nor discover herself: You need not wonder at the mistake of the Cavalier; she seemed not so strange in the nighttime, for besides the little difference there is in the stature of these two Ladies, there was notwithstanding a thousand things which contributed to deceive him, and he had so little reason to imagine the contrary, that it was impossible for him even to see his error, unless he had unmasked her and had taken special notice of her, as this was no place for them to discourse in, he spoke but little to her, and he thought on nothing but to secure himself in the place of safety in which he had already designed to be; the Abbess answered him not a word to all he said to her, upon which he made even no reflection, having his mind busied about his enterprise; and in this sort they went to the gate, where he was not a little surprised to find it shut; but she presently eased him of that trouble, and took the Key she had about her and opened it; by what means, or rather by what good Fortune said the Cavalier then to her, (who knew that none but the Abbess had the Key to that door: Have you had this Key?) she answered him no more than before, at which he took as little notice as before, and went forth to get presently on Horseback, but the Horses were gone from thence, and his man who had been seeking them, told him in a sad note, that he knew not where they were, and that he had been two hours about them without hearing of them, that he was come to acquaint him, and that he was going again to see if he could find them, because he knew very well that they could not be lost, and that no Body had been that way. I could never tell the Abbesse's design, whether what she did was dexterously to confound this Enterprise, or whether she really desired to supply her Sister's place; but I will tell you that as soon as she had heard what the man had said concerning the Horses, she reentered the Garden, and shut to the door after her: Never was man surprised like this poor Lover; he could scarce believe what he saw, that his Fair-one should leave him in this manner, and that which seemed more strange to him, that she should shut the door upon him: I believe there is none but he that could truly represent what one might think in an Adventure so cruel, and so exttaordinary: He knocked five or six times at the door, he called his Mistress, he complained of Love and destiny, swore, cursed, threatened to kill his man, and in fine there was no rage like his, while the Abbess returned to her Companion loaden with joy for what she had done, and to hear the Cavalier cry out in that manner; she was not yet come to the Arbour , but she heard the noise of some body who walked with much eagerness, and who according to all likelihood could be none but her Sister as she doubted it not, and went before her very flowly the same way she came; this poor Lady who had not all the assurance in the world, and who besides the horror which accompanieth all actions of this nature, walked musing upon a thousand Obstacles which she might meet in her way, had no sooner cast her eyes upon the Abbess, but she believed it was a Ghost, and sadly trembling with fear, she began to make a dreadful shriek, and to run as as she was able towards the Monastery. The Abbess did most agreeably require all the cruel displeasures which her Sister had given her; she let her run to come again to her Companion, who waited for her with extreme impatience, being furiously troubled to be thus alone in the middle of a Garden exposed to all the noises she heard, which assaulted her with fear; she related to her all she had done since she had left her, and how she had deceived the Cavalier, and how her Sister was frighted, which made them both to laugh with much Joy; they stayed a little longer to see if she would return, but in vain, the fright of this Lady was such that she was like to die, and she kept her bed a very long time; at length they retired, and used good means that no body might go forth of the Monastery in having double locked the door. Here is said Madam d'Eyrac in concluding this History the greatest particularities I know of the Adventure of these Ladies with the Cavalier; he may now tell you what is not come to my knowledge; I will only add that it was no sooner day but the Abbess sent for her man, and asked him where he had been the last night? and why he came not to the door where she had ordered him to wait for her; the Young man told her how her Farmer had had no Horses at home, and that at his return he found two Cavaliers who were going into the Garden, and whom he dare not approach for fear of making himself known that he went away, and that being returned half an hour after to the same place, he had found the door locked: By the report of this man the Abbess was well and clearly satisfied in what she desired throughly to know; she did not further doubt but the Horses they used belonged to the Cavalier, she gave Order to this Servant to let them out of the Garden, and to let them wander in the fields, but in such manner however that they may be found: Madam d'Eyrac said no more, and turning herself to the Cavalier, it belongeth to You said she, to recount to us what You know more; the rest of the company did likewise entreat him most obligingly, insomuch that he could not refuse. Mndam d'Eyrac (proceeded he) hath told you so much, that I see myself constrained to satisfy you to the end; you must know then that after I was separated from the Abbess, and had left her in the Garden in the manner you have been told, I went to prepare all things for my departure, but before I writ a Note to Egidia, which was near these terms.  
MADAM:  
I Know not what I have done to You to use me thus cruelly as You do. Madam the Abbess had demanded an Interview with me; and although she had expressly forbid me to let You know any thing; I did not forbear to give You Intelligence by a Letter which my Servant should have delivered to You: Is this betraying of You? I see very well that You desire my death. Madam You shall be contented, but You shall not have the pleasure of it before Your Eyes, for I am going hence immediately, and You shall soon learn what success Your unjust proceeding will have. If the death of the most faithful of Your Servants is capable of moving a heart like Yours, I can well promise to myself that in a small time You may repent for having given it me: Adien thou too cruel Creature! for the last time Adieu.  
When I had done writing, the Abbess Servants came, who after they had entreated me as from her to stay this Evening, would truly have hindered my departure. Nevertheless when they saw I began to be angry with them, they made no more Opposition; but my man tarried too long, and I feared that the Abbess might come herself to Oblige me to stay: So that I saw myself constrained in the impatience I was to departed this place, and to leave it with my Baggage. I gave him this Letter with Order to give it into her own Hands, and to bring me an answer it she would send one. In this manner than I forsook a place which since more than a Year was the dear Object of my pleasures, and I abandoned it so silled with different troubles, that all the way from the Monastery to the place where I was to Lodge I was without coming to myself  and almost bereft of my Senses, and lost (as I may say) in sorrow. You may think that when I came there I demanded neither Meat nor Drink. True Lovers at the time they are reduced to the condition I was in, feed upon nothing but Tears, and sleep is their mortal Enemy. It was in the strongest of these cruel moments that I was advertized that a Servant waited to speak with me, I bid them to send him into my Chamber, and saw that it was my dear Egidia's who I embraced with my whole heart, and who after having Saluted me as from his Mistress, gave me a Note she had writ to me, which contained this.  
SIR:  
DO You think I desire your death? You know me too well, and you may be persuaded that though You had done me all the Injuries imaginable, You may in one word as soon make me believe I am deoeived; I know not of what Letter You speak, it is above three days since I received any from You; come and tell me what it is You mean, for I should die with displeasure if fearing that I am in the wrong You should thus departed: I lately have heard something which I shall tell you; it is reported that my Sister could never Oblige You to reside here with us this Evening: But if You love me more than her, would You not do something more for me; I pray return. I am in a humour to forgive you all, and if You desire to evidence to me a true testimony of Your love, it must be this Evening, or I shall not sleep till I have seen You; I shall expect You till two in the morning in the great Arbour in the Garden; I shall measure the strength of Your Love by the smallness of time You will give me to wait for You. Adieu.  
As soon as I had read this Note, I mounted on Horseback, and in a very little time came to the Garden wall, where I knew of a place that was not difficult to climb up, having notwithstanding found the door open, I made use without going further of so favourable an occasion; it is true it surprised me, and I did truly believe that Egidia had found out a way to open it: I bid her Lackey tie the two Horses to the foot of some Tree, and to make haste without any noise to advertise my man to prepare himself at the time given to departed with me: After I had given this Order, I went, or to speak better, I flew directly to this Arbour, where Egidia waited for me; it was at that instant when the Abbess returned to the Garden-gate that she found my Horses, that she took them for those her man should have brought, and that she used them to render me that extraordinary Visit. But not to continue longer in the relation of a small History which doth already begin to seem long: I will only tell You that Egidia received me in this Arbour with a joy which made me forget all the evil usage I had received from her, that we both of us passed some moments in very much tenderness, and that the brightest day that could be, never seemed so pleasant to me as did this charming night; I spoke to her of the Letter which I had sent her, she was surprised, and assured me that she had not received it; we presently thought that it was fallen into the hands of the Abbess, and that my Servant must have been mistaken, or have betrayed me. In fine, after many justifications on both sides, after I say many tokens of new Friendships, of sighs and languish where Lovers abound in a sweet reconciliation, I proposed to her to carry her away, as you have heard from Madam d'Eyrac; I urged her so much and in so many ways, that at length she consented, and prepared herself to follow me: I confess I was a little surprised to see her so soon returned; but who had then thought on the Abbess? I saw her Masked, she was in a riding Garb, she scrupled not to go with me; and in a word, if my Horses had been ready, there is no doubt but if she was willing, I should have carried her away for her Sister; I will not stay to tell You the wonder that seized me when I saw her re-enter the Garden, and shut the door upon me, I thought at first that she had a mind to jest; but as her raillery lasted something too long for people that had no time to lose, and that she came not although I called never so loud, I thought to myself that this was no jesting: I imagined that she feigned to follow me only to put this trick upon me, and that I had been the most abused of all men; then was it that shame, spite, and disdain excited terrible tempests in my Soul, which joined to the displeasure of not knowing what were become of my Horses, nor what might be become of myself, put me into such despair, that complaints, reproaches, and injuries came forth of my mouth in multitudes against Egidia; this Offence seemed to me the greatest that any Gentleman could receive. I considered it every way, and there was no circumstance but made it plain to me. I retired in this manner into the Village, for there was no other way for me, and I lodged at my Ancient Host's, where I passed away a much more cruel night than I did the first time I came there. I recollected in my mind all the services I had rendered to this Ingrateful One, all the false promises she had made to me; and wondering that I had not discovered the lightness of her Humour, I accused myself both of Imprudence and Blindness; and I joined to the first of my Despairs an Indignation against all that I had done that concluded my ruin. Oh, the extravagant Discourses I had this night! O the useless designs I made! in truth those that love extremely are subject to a great many Follies: It was no sooner day, but I asked my man for Ink and Paper to write to her, but it was with so much trouble and disorder, that I often blotted out what I had writ to her, nothing could content me; sometimes it seemed as though I complained too mildly, and sometimes I was afraid to offend her; I had sometimes a desire to take an eternal Farewell of her, and a minute afterwards I would repent it. This is the Letter I sent her.  
MADAM:  
YOu should not have showed me so much favour for to have revoaked it so soon, nor have come so near the Door to leave me so abruptly; it was my bad Fortune that my Horses were out of the way, You saw at least that it was not my fault, and You should rather have given me some Consolation, than to have used me with that rudeness and cruelty as to forsake me without speaking a word: But why above all did You shut the door upon me? Why flee away? did You fear any Violence from me? and why? however did You promise me so much happiness, if You had no desire to render me happy: I see well what I must imagine by all this, and that my gratest misfortune was not in having loved You too well, but in having believed that You loved me, the mask is now taken off, and without giving You the terms of Ingrateful or Perfidious, I will leave all reproaches for You to make to Yourself, while I pass the rest of a miserable life in a place happier for me than this, and bid Your adieu.  
This Letter was given her by a Lackey who an hour after brought me another from her, and told me that she was extreme ill, which I plainly saw by her writing, which I could scarce read, and where I found these words.  
SIR,  
ALl that You have Writ to me frighteth me in such a manner that I believe I shall die. I know not of what Gate You speak, all I can say is, that I saw You not since I left You in the Arbour, but a Shadow, or rather a Ghost which I met in my way, and of which I took such a fright, that it will cause my death; it was assuredly this Fautome of which You speak, and who had doubtless taken my shape: Thus Heaven chastiseth those who are unwise, I have not slept since, and methinks I always see this Spirit pursue me: I see what Heaven will do with me, and that I have offended it too long a time; let us take warning by this, for my part I am wholly resolved to lead another kind of life, and if You love me You will do the same. We went the way to ruin, and Heaven would Conserve us; let us render it those thanks we own it for this happiness: Do not see me for some days, I will think upon my Salvation. I Conjure You to do like me, and entreat You in the same moment to look upon me for the future as no more than one of Your simple Friends. Adieu.  
This Letter moved me, and surprised me extremely, but to speak the truth, were it not that she was very ill indeed, I had taken all she said for Chimeras, and pretences which she might use to excuse her levity. I do not think myself over-wise, but I scarcely ever did believe these stories of Ghosts; however, when I reflected upon what she assured me, how she had not seen me since she had left the Arbour, I began to be something afraid also: I examined in my mind all that happened to me with this pretended Ghost, and remembered very well that it spoke not a word to me; that it was sooner returned than I expected Egidia would: I fancied to myself that it had opened the door without a Key, and that when it left me it vanished: In a word, I insensibly gave way to my error, and that served to make me indeed think upon my Conscience, and to endeavour to reconcile myself with Heaven: I remained some days without so much at going to the Monastery to avoid seeing of the Abbess, who had sent to entreat me to return to the same Lodging I had before with her: I excused myself as well as I could, and returned not before I had received this Letter, which her Sister had sent me by one of her Friends.  
SIR:  
I Believe that Heaven will still do me the favour to allow me some time of doing Penitence; the Physicians have now better hopes of my Recovery; however it is, come and see me, to the end that if death doth separate us, I may at least in dying have the Consolation of having done my duty, in telling You of things which I am obliged to tell You: I expect You. Adieu.  
This place proceeded the Cavalier is but little proper to divertize the Company, for here is nothing but Tears; I gave her a Visit, and I avow to you that I found myself so insensibly moved to see her in the condition she was in, that I could not be Master of my heart, I could not refrain giving of it ease by a Torrent of tears which immediately trickled from my eyes; all that were present could not forbear weeping with me, insomuch that even the Abbess was concerned to see in what manner I was afflicted; this poor Lady who endured no less than me, used some endeavour to tell me some things of concernment in the world, and spoke to me as if she had been to departed that day, and truly most of them believed that she would scarce live much longer; but Heaven would preserve her to be an example of a most rare constancy, and of a most sweet and civil Friendship in which we have lived ever since: Perhaps you know not said Madam de Eyrac to him, that no body hath contributed so much to the recovery of her health than me, and you shall see how; this Maid, or if you will the companion of the Abbess, who as I have tol dyou more than once reposed much confidence in me, failed not to come and give me an account of this Adventure, and how your Mistress had been frighted, so that it was not difficult for me to know the cause of her Illness, and what might be the means to cure her mind: Every Body observed an extraordinary trouble in her Eyes, and such a disorder in her words, that she seemed to be in a continual dream: I took pity on her, and although it was to Sacrifice my Friend to declare the Secret which she had confided in me, I believed tha tin the extremity wherein this poor Lady was, there was nothing which I might not hazard to endeavour her recovery. I took the opportunity just when there was no Body wit her but a Young Maiden whom I did not mistrust, and I asked her boldly whether her distemper proceeded not from some trouble of mine? and whether she thought me not enough her Friend? to declare it to me. She looked steadfastly upon me and blushed, thinking that I would speak of the Cavalier: But having afterwards said that I perhaps knew the cause of her Illness better than she did herself, and that I could deliver her from the fear which she had in the Garden, she lifted herself suddenly up in the Bed, and taking me by the hand, Oh Heaven! Madam said she, what you tell me surpriseth me I Can it be possible that in my muse I should speak of any thing like that? no, no! answered I to her in interrupting her, I came to the knowledge of it some other way than by you, and I believe that no Body here ever heard you speak of any such thing; the Persons that frighted You told it to me, and I thought I ought not to leave you any longer in this trouble. I imagine that you will do so well that I may have no cause to complain of your discretion, and that you will make good use of the confidence I have in You: She promised it me, and I told her all that had passed in the Garden after the manner I had heard it related, and which did so greatly amaze her, that she could scarce have believed me had I not told her all that happened to herself, and even to the entertainment which she had had with the Cavalier; she blushed; and I perceived that she was ashamed that I knew this part of the story. But in fine, since this time by little and little her mind was resettled; she recovered her strength, and in a small time her Health entirely; I know not how she hath used it since with you; but I know that she had taken very strong resolutions, that not knowing how to forbear to love You, she would do it in a manner that she might not render an account to Heaven. I will assure you Madam answered the Cavalier to her that she hath also done it, and that it is no more than a Brotherly Friendship, to which in truth I had much difficulty to reduce myself, but she would have it; and at length I brought myself to it. I pray tell us a little said the Marchioness de Sindal how you afterwards did with the Abbess, and in what manner you put her off. I believe proceeded the Cavalier that the Abbess rebuked me furiously since the ●…t Evening, and that what she heard while I was in the Arbour with her Sister, finished her Cure. I ever avoided being alone with her, during the small time I remained in the Abbey; and when I ●epa●…e I took my leave of her before live or six Ladies her Friends who were in her Chambe, with her: Here the Cavalier ended his Story, and the Duchess Invited the Company to take a small turn in the Garden before they retured, they were all the rest of the time entertaining each other about this Adventure, and divers were their Opinions; but having done talking (according to their usual custom when each day's Conversation was ended) they applied themselves to Mademoiselle d'Armand for a Song, and she gave them this.  
SONG.  
By yonder purling Brook by chance, sleeping away all Care, I saw a thousand Cu╌pidss dance Le╌val╌toeses in the Air, but Venus in a Cloud descended, and with the boys seemed much offended: but Venus in a Cloud descended, & with the boy seemed much offended  

At length my Closis bright I found  
Near to a pleasing Grove,  
I saw her too, receive a wound  
From the Young God of Love.  
But Venus, etc.   

I slumbering blessed myself in mind  
For what the Boys had done,  
Must she who was so coy prove kind?  
And can she then be won?  
With that my thoughts Venus ascended,  
Then smiled and seemed no more offended.   
At length the Hour being come to go to Best, the Duchess took her leave of the Company, and the remainder of the time was spent by every one in taking their repose.   

CHAP. V.  
THe Fifth day although it was the obscurest, was not the less recreative; on the contrary the Sun is never more pleasant in the Summer, than when he showeth himself with less pomp than ordinary, and under the thick Vale of some Clouds which he cannot penetrate with his beams; the season was very proper to take a walk in. The Duchess used it to give some Visits to some of her Neighbours, and she was accompanied by this illustrious and most gallant company, and they returned not till about the Evening to take a magnificent Treat which the Duke had prepared for them in the same Arbour where the Circle was kept: things were no sooner taken away, but they had some agreeable discourse of Raillery was a prelude to something better, and which served only to dispose their minds to furnish a most agreeable matter of Entertainment, the Duchess who would give the Honour to the Countess d'Ermond entreated her to propose some Question; she excused it with a very good Grace, and immediately asked her that they might continue to do as they had begun, and not to have these particular regards, that when it should come to her turn, she would speak as the rest: The Duchess urged her no farther, and left this care to Madamolselle d'Armond who was ever in the charge of Lieutenant; this La●y said that it was not necessary to seek new subjects of Entertainment, since there were already two upon the board, the gallanrest of the world, and wherein she for her particular was too much interested to set it pass by. I have not forgot continued she how two days since it was proposed to us to learn how to discover the false and true Lovers, and how a Lady might receive a declaration of Love; and I remember still very well added she, that the Count took upon him to tell us these two things which are important in the world, and wherein he will not fail to be successful after he hath had some time of consideration. The Duchess said, that in effect these were the two subjects of Conversation, which they did not continue, and she prayed the Company to give it attention: I avow to You answered the Count, that although I had prepared myself, as hath said Mademoiselle de Armond for a matter like this with which I should entertain You; I find it so difficult, that I shall still have trouble enough to come off with the success I should do: but be it in what manner it will, I will notwithstanding perform what You desire of me, and prefer the honour of obeying You before the shame of being unsuccesful in my Enterprise. The first Counsel I pretend to give to a Lady, like that, whose Picture I drew three days ago, is not lightly to believe that she is loved, and to be the last to say it; there are I know not how many Women in the World who do not only believe all the protestations the men make them, but it rejoiceth them to hear what they will say to them when they sigh and complain by them; they endure with an artificial Vanity all the praises they give them, or if they defend themselves, it is so weakly, and in a certain manner, that they may see it is not what they hate, and that maugre all their Grimaces, that the secret to please them is to flatter them. My Opinion is that a Lady should always let them see that these sorts of Discourses molest them, that she loveth not that way to let them gain her esteem, that she knoweth herself, and whether she be Fair or not, that she knoweth it without giving any one the trouble to tell it her; she ought to imagine that a man hath not much esteem for her, who dares to speak to her publicly of Love: that true Love rendereth people respectful, and that they must at least have sighed long before they come to a declaration: All these maxims are Touchstones for the false sigher● and the least resistance sendeth them going, an● who are not Lovers but when a Lady is 〈◊〉 innocent to let herself be persuaded to tendernesses, transports to Tears and to sighs 〈◊〉 Comm●nd; they Swear that they alone hav● more love than all the met together, and they know not what this passion is, all their care tendeth only to make them believe what they say; but they are not always believed; and I dare aver that were all Women reasonable, there would be no false Lovers, the self-weakness of this Sex draweth upon them all these Treacheries; the men would seek to deceive, the less did they not find so much Facility in it. Now as in former Times, there will ever be Traitors, and Women abused. But what said Madamoiselle de Armand to him, interrupting him, must a Woman then do when a man is so very bold as to make a declaration of his Love to her? must she be severe, and treat him illy, and send him away that he may not see her more? On the contrary answered her the Count, I would only have her to give him an answer, whose discreet coldness might give him to understand that she taketh no pleasure in those sorts of Liberties, and if he be a Gentleman that knoweth how to carry himself with her, and who mentioneth not his passion to her, but in modest terms and under a hidden sense, which is the way that witty persons use, I believe that it may be very easy for this Fair-one to rid her out of trouble, and that she may give to his words what signification she pleaseth, as if she understood nothing, and turn the discourse upon another matter, that if it so happeneth that she cannot but give what he saith the true meaning, she might convert it all into Raillery, and attribute it to a certain custom which witty persons have when they are in company with Ladies, that they make it a necessity to praise them, and to tell them that they love them; there is more safety that way, when a Lady hath the readiness to use it ingeniously. You speak said the Cavalier as if all men were deceivers; and pray tell me to what torments should you not condemn a brave Gentleman that were truly in Love with a Lady; if they all followed your Maxims; should you be contented continued he to be in his place, and to be reduced to those afflictions which this passion is accustomed to make unfortunate Lovers suffer, when they find themselves with those that are insensible or given to Raillery, which implieth proceeded he, that if the Women would believe you, they shall esteem the services and tears of heir Lovers, as if they were mere trifles, and a subjection more assiduous, more careful, and more earnest than that of slaves shall be for persons who shall disdain and laugh at us; you give in truth such counsels that are but little humane; you should beware how you instruct this Sex in new injustices, for this is not truly just, and we commonly see them but too full of Cruelty. You are too soon moved answered the Count to him smiling; I have not yet spoken precisely of those that truly Love, but only in general of those who speak of Loving, and say they love. Here are many that say it too well to do it; 'tis commonly those who love most that speak it less; the eyes and silence speak in love, and one ever saith enough to those that revoyce to understand us; if I must speak the truth, I believe that it is very difficult to give certain rules upon what You now demand of me, for as many as there be of men, as many ways are there to love, the Proverb confirmeth it enough, that saith, Let every one love according to his Guise: How shall I tell you then the cautions, a Lady ought to have upon this without first examining the different ways of making Love; that which is most true, and aught to pass as a general Maxim, is that a Lady ought not to make it known that she loveth before she hath had great experiences of her Lover, and to wait till he discovereth it, because it is ever dangerous for a Lady to have discovered her fire, whereas the men make it their glory to have declared their passion. I perceive said the Baron that You will speak for the Married Women; for the Maidens I believe not that the most severe carriage can keep them from disclosing a hang so natural as is that to love, and to say that one loveth especially to those of whose sidelity and love they are persuaded; if it were so the Love might return and continue in the place from whence it sprung; there is no man that would engage himself to Love in that manner unless it were to hate himself, I know not what would become of us: I speak answered him the Count of all Women, and much more for the Maids than the Married Women to whose Virtue these sorts of Engagements cannot but do much prejudice. What You aver there replied d'Arignan to him is very austere, not to permit the Married Women to love as well as the others. I will assure You there are but few would Marry were it so; we must leave these things to a Preacher, or to those that deny love to the world that they may have the better part: There are continued he so many unfortunate Women who without reason are so illy used by their Husbands; so mamy others whom their Parents have Married to old jealous heads to Brutes to peevish Coxcombs that make them live in so strange a manner; if a Divorce was permitted for these Women, and that they could deliver themselves from their Tyrants, I would not pardon their weakness in loving elsewhere as long as they remained with them: But when by the effects of some bad star, or when their destiny will have it so, that in the bed where they should meet the pleasures of Love and Peace, they have these cruel Hangmen to torment them, and with whom they must perforce live (if we may call the time they pass with them life:) Would You have these poor Ladies deprive themselves of the only pleasure they have to oblige a Gallant Gentleman which an Owl of an Husband hath not only in disdain but horror. I agree added the Arignan, that a Woman who hath a Husband that understandeth Reason, and who knoweth how to live, should rather die than do him any Injury. But for the unfortunate Ones. I forgive them all, and they would do themselves wrong if they knew of a sure way to be revenged of their Domestic Enemies, and should not do it. The Ladies all laughed at the opinion of d'Arignan, and the Duchess told him that he spoke as one Interested, and that if he had been a Woman, and a Woman of Honour, he would have had other Opinions; she added further, that it was a naughty revenge to ruin herself to do her Enemy a displeasure, and that a Civil Lady had her actions to answer to others more than her Husband; however it is said the Count, to come to the Married persons, I say that it being a thing that doth not always depend upon us not to love, I would that when this misfortune happeneth to any of them, and that the Injustice of her Husband, or the desire she hath for another, bringeth her to some inclination; I would I say have her make no other agreement with him than for a tender friendship and esteem, and never to give him such certain tokens of what she suffereth for him, whereby the Cavalier might make it his glory: There is no man said the Cavalier but would Appeal from this sentence before the Women themselves: But after You have taught such a strange humour, and such severe maxims to those that are Married, will You at least not grant something more mild to those that are to Marry; and will You not let them have something more of Indulgence for those whom we may call true Lovers. If a Young Lady answered the Count must love a man, it must be those with whom she hopeth to be Married, and then I should not condemn her although she showed him some tokens of esteem. Nevertheless I would have it be with so much reservedness, that her Virtue might find nothing wherewith to reproach her heart: I will assure You a Lady cannot be too cautious upon this Article, and that the men have now so much presumption of themselves, and are so much accustomed to promise themselves all from their own merit, that the least favour flattereth them, and maketh them withdraw from their duty. The Count interrupted, the Abbot seemeth to be Feed by the Women to speak against the Men, as was Monsieur d'Armenton the other day to tell untruths in favour of these Fair-ones: I thought said the Marchioness, that Mr. Abbot had no more to say against us; but now his desire to be chastised is come again. Courage Sir added she in smiling, the Brave Ones like You are not amazed at stripes; You used me too illy (said she Abbot) the first time for me to dare to adventure any more: But however, were it necessary for me to expose my Life for the Truth's sake I would maintain it well that there hath been nothing said on Your behalf in all there hath hitherto been spoken. Stay replied the same Lady to him till Monsieur d'Armenton be in a humour to answer You, for I believe he is preparing notwithstanding he hath been so long silent: I Madam answered her d'Armenton, I swear I have not such a thought, because that all that the Count hath spoken I find so just and reasonable, that they must be Void of Sense who are not for him, and who dare to contradict him. For my part replied the Count, I expose here neither party, and I only speak what belongeth to Reason, and a good custom against abuse and self appearances: But to return where I was, there are I know not how many Women who desire nothing more than to be esteemed handsome, to have at their Train a multitude of Lovers of which they make a Trophy, and who serve as a Triumph to their Beauty; they employ all means for these Conquests, and make no difficulty to make advancements to their ruin; and these proceed contribute to satisfy their Vanity, they stray from that modesty and bashfulness to which their Sex engageth them, they enoure certain discourses, they permit some languishing Glances in sweetly closing the eye-sid, and keeping it half shut, by which they think that sweetness must enchant all those that dare to behold them; in a word, they are knowing in the art we call Gossipping; but these are weaknesses unworthy those Women we speak of. It is true also that I am not for thosenice ones, who are more than Savages and who bring their Virtue even to a point of delicacy, that for the least word they will discountenance people: I think there is a Medium to be kept, and which I would counsel an understanding Woman to follow. I say that a Lady; merit is much greater, when the Conquests she maketh are merely due to her own Virtue, and when the good Behaviour and Grace she hath in all her actions, draweth hearts to her. Love is much more solid when it is grounded upon esteem, than when it is upheld by Beauty alone: Esteem may ever continue, and Beauty fadeth, and a Lover who is tied to particular Features is subject to very many accidents and cannot Love but in Fear, whereas he that suffereth himself to be inclined to Virtue, loveth without molesiation, and ceaseth not to love till death; a man who shall love a Lady as I say will be satisfied with the least regard he receiveth from her: A simple civility shall in his mind pass for a considerable favour: I know not said the Baron who these men are who think their services well requited in so small a matter; and I know not said d'Arignan whether there are many Women in the world so good Housewives of their Favours: I believe answered the Countess d'Ermond, that You see none here who give You not a very true Example. I avow said the cavalier, that what the Count said is not so extraordinary, but some of it is practised by many Women: But it is also true, that he is something scrupulous in certain matters, and that there is even injustice in it, not to permit a Mistress to give some manner of Hope to a poor Lover that shall languish for her, that one day at least he may be Loved. I have seen Women added he, whom Beauty rendered them perhaps something too proud, who at the only words of Love would seem to be extremely angry, but in the end, these Obstinate Beauties have if not submitted, at least grown very mild, and the services, importunities, sighs, and tears have worked so upon them that they have also taken delight to love such a one were the most rigorous person in the world, that could resist at the sight of a languishing Lover whom she sees upon his knees to her: A heart though Obstinate, is not insensible, and it is a difficult thing to escape loving when one is persuaded of a persons merit, there is nothing sometimes that in, endreth truer Love than Obstinacy when Overcome, and those Hearts which are the difficultest to win, are those which are most moved: You imagine said the Marchioness to him every one to be like your Religious Ladies. Not so answered her the Cavalier: but you will confess that if all Women were as the Count would make them, they would not bevery amiable, and very few wne men would love them. Perhaps said the Count to him, that all people would not be of your Opinion as You are not of mine; but however if You took notice, I said not that a Mistress should bring a poor Lover to despair, I am not for such Barbarous Counsels, I avoid Extremities in all things, and my Opinion in this was, that a Lady ought to grant no other than a tender Friendship and Esteem, and it is with this a Gentleman may rest satisfied from such a Lady I spoke of. It is true continued he, that in Love the Palates are as different as there are difference in Beauties, and that one cannot Regulate all Lovers to one and the same point; there are of them who seeing a Lady of a humour something serious, and who is accustomed not to do any thing but what seemeth very civil, will be taken with a certain respect for her, that they scarcely dare bring their desires to love; they will rather love another, whose languish, words, and glances may give them leave to hope. I also know others who care little for the Artifices, and all the outward appearances of certain Beauties who ignorize nothing of Gallantry, they will sooner engage themselves to a Fair-one whose humour seemeth full of sincerity, and who they find without art and fashion, I mean without being too witty; they will love that simplicity which shall cause her to utter her thoughts in matters as they are, there are yet lovers of a character much different from these who would pass for ingenious people, and who vainly believe that in Love as in all things else, the glory of a Conquest consisteth in the difficulty and resistance; they are persuaded that there is no Victory more sweet than to overcome that which others have found inaccessible; they will apply themselves to Beauty, whose looks, words, and proud Behaviour, menace nothing but Rigours; as if there were no advantage more glorious than to reduce a proud heart to love. These same men will sometimes love certain Women that use a thousand Artifices, and who are oftentimes more difficult to vanquish, than those who are austere by profession; they try yet others whose disdainful humour with few words, and some smiles, seemeth to despise the whole Universe, and with whom it is a crime to dare only to behold them. I have seen another kind of Lovers who were for the Women-gallants, and of great Conversation, for those who would show them fair play, and whom nothing could shake; in a word, who love facility, and the Women that are necessary: But when an understanding Lady shall miss of all these sorts of Lovers, I'll not think her unfortunate. I know very well that those who are already endued with Virtue, and love Discretion, desire not such ridiculous ones; there are for them enough that seek merit as well as beauty, who serve the Graces of the mind as well as those of the body, and who can love in a much more solid manner than the others; these are Lovers who ever give testimonies of a passion as respectful as Violent, and think their service well requited with a small affection, which a Mistress of the humour I have described shall testify; they would not require a public declaration from her, nor any favour which might touch the rules of Civility. Confess said d'Arignan that there is much Tyranny in this Civility: 〈…〉 must make this Sex close their Eyes for services, respects, signs, and for tears; in fine for all that a Lover can do, it would be the terriblest thing in the world, and such an Ingratitude was never heard of before: You would then said the Countess d'Ermond to him have as much of Complacency on our side, as there is Love on Yours; if it be true that Love is the cause of your sighing and weeping; what do You think said she, that when a Lady hath seen in the Cavaliers eyes that he hath a tenderness for her, that she is Obliged to declare to him what she hath for him, is it not enough that she separateth him from others? that she heareth his sighs, and explaineth them as she ought? that she loveth to see herself loved? that she also pitieth and bewaileth him, and in fine, that she perhaps desireth what he desireth? without coming to what is too difficult to do, and too dangerous for a Lady to tell her sufferings in that case. It is true said the Abbot in smiling, that it would be a very sensible recompense, and that the pleasure would be great to be made happy in that manner. By your leave Madam, I pray tell me what sweetness one can suck from a thing that one is ignorant of; and how a Lover shall know if he possesseth the happiness he hath so much hoped for, and for which he hath done so much service; if his Mistress never saith any thing to him, and if he knoweth not in what manner he is seated in her mind, for my part I should almost as soon love to be hated; and I conclude that there is a necessity in Love to declare their minds on both sides: Nevertheless with this Order, that the men are to begin, but the Women must second them. If any Body be so nice as to think it a thing so very troublesome as to say [I love You] as the Countess d'Ermond would make us believe, let her at least manifest to her Lover sufficient tokens to make him understand the love she hath for him, so that according to Mr. Abbot replied the same Countess, things must be equally poised, and there must be no more difficulty on our part than there is on yours; in truth You show yourself but a novice in Love-matters. Mr. Abbot said the Cavalier to her hath not so little reason as you think, and if You did what he hath said, and that on your parts you would not seem so insensible as you do, there would perhaps be more sweetness in lise than there is found, Love would give a taste of his pleasures to both Sexes, we should not know the torments, and the men would be delivered from an infinity of Evils which they endure for your sakes: These Gentlemen said the Duchess speak for themselves; and we must not think it strange that they give us counsels so little reasonable; however I would know the opinion of d'Armenton, for though he be interested in the matter, I doubt not but he will speak otherwise. I believe answered her d'Armenton, that there would assuredly be much sweetness in Love if the Ladies were a little indulgent, and if they would pass over some certain considerations, and submit to our first sighs, since in effect it is enough to be loved as one loveth, to abstain from being unhappy in Love, Modesty, certain Observations, and I know not what other scruples of the Ladies causeth our sorrows, maketh us ●…ment, from which we should be delivered were it the custom among them to free us from these powerful Obstacles when they see themselves loved. But to speak the truth, these delights and pleasures would fade, and there are many that would not taste them, if Love made us not to suffer. It is from these cruel effects which this passion produceth in the Soul of a Lover, that which pricketh us, and maketh us concerned, and in a word, it is a seasoning of the pleasure; we commonly esteem but little a thing that costeth us nothing, and a happiness which we possess in quiet, we forsake it, and leave it without grief, for who will take it? It is commonly the pain that giveth the price to things, it is difficulty which heateth our desires, and we should have but cold ones, and consequently small pleasures should we take no pains, and suffer a little to possess what we desire. A Lover who is a Gentleman, and who loveth as he ought, shall find more glory and more satisfaction in the Conquest of a heart that hath held out long, than in the possession of another that is vanquished with the first Attack, the pains it shall have cost him which ha●h made so much resistance, will make him esteem it Infinitely, his love and his pleasure will continue the longer, he will never be cloyed, and will always fear to lose what he hath obtained with nothing but a multitude of troubles. Love is no more love if we disarm him, and take away his arrows. A man cannot be termed Lover except he su●ereth; and I say (answered the Cavalier) that this mixture of bitters with sweets spoileth the pleasure of Love, and that Love is so well love without them, that it ought to produce nothing but sweetness; so that if I was capable of establishing Laws, I would condemn these Cruel and Ingrateful Ones to the same place of Exile where you have sent the false Lovers. The Ladies have not a Heart different from Ours, they are not Insensible, and though our Sex cannot make show of so much passion and tenderness as this, they nevertheless do not forbear to have as we have, or to be capable as we are. Why all these Rigours then? why this affected severity? and why not to manifest their desires sometimes as much as we? would it not be better that there were none but happy Lovers and sensible Mistresses, that tenderness governed every where, that nothing was done but in Love, and that it were the chief of all things, as by the Law of Nature it ought: Can one doubt that a Gentlewoman would not be glad to see herself loved by an accomplished Gentleman, and more if she loved him, and gave way to her Inclination to act; and would she not much more if she rendered him happy, and could say that she wished it? wherefore de Armenton you must confess that you are not in the right, and that Women being sensible of love, joy, and grief, as of all other passions, do themselves a most horrible Injustice to torment themselves to cause our trouble, and that they should follow other Laws than those the Count hath prescribed them. Whatsoever you can say replied the Duchess, we are Obliged to the Count for having taught the Women an honest method of loving, and to render the thing alike; some Lady in the Company should show the same to the men. I believe Madam answered her the Baron, it is the Women only must be taught the art to Love, because there are but few that know it; they esteem it a point of Honour to be marblehearted, and the Count authorizeth them in these Opininions; but for the men, they know but too well how to love, and the beauty of Women is a great Master to teach them, one thing they should show us is the manner to make them love us. Well let us see then said Madam de Armand to him what you can say upon it, You who have been so successful in two or three places wherein You have continued: You would perhaps Madam answered her the Baron make me believe that I have not been unhappy in Love, to engage me to tell You what I desire to know, and that the Evils I have suffered make me discern that I am altogether Ignorant of it. I am none of those who convert all into mildness, far from that, I am of those sort of people to whom a little evil spoileth all the Fortune in the world; Judge then if it be easy to be persuaded to what You say; I that in all my Life have enjoyed so little felicity and so many Evils to endure; so it is those Gentlemen do said the Countess d'Ancire that would go for discreet, and give a good Opinion of their Carriage. But happy or unhappy, You shall however tell us which is the shortest way a Gentleman can take to cause himself to be loved by a Lady: Reason would replied the Baron, that in serving Ladies we should obtain their good Opinions: But we must first know of themselves after what manner they desire to be served, to the end we may Oblige them accordingly, for some will after one manner, and others after another; and there are some that desire things so particular, that a man would be very much troubled to Divine, and that they sometimes know not themselves. It is for this Reason added he, in regarding the Marchioness of Sindal, that You must do it, who knoweth all things that can please the persons of Your Sex. It is You I say that must take upon You the trouble to tell us the manner of serving Ladies to Ones advantage. It would be a lesson of great profit for men, and those of the Company would be particularly Obliged to You for it. You may Yourself replied the Marchioness still take this care, for You know well enough the cautions that must be observed. Nevertheless since You desire it, I will tell You that generally with all the world he that desires to be loved must love; and that this quality sufficeth a gallant Gentleman to keep himself from being hated by his Mistress. Now if without making You blush continued she in smiling, I may say in Your presence that You have passed for one aimable enough; and I will add further, that You would be loved more if You did not love in so many places, for that cannot be called Love, Rivers divided into so many places do at length become small Brooks: a heart divided among so many persons, cannot have much Love for one only Object: In the mean time You send out your complaints, and give Yourself over to weeping, and to reproaches against most of those Women that You have served, and that have known you better than the others, as if they were Obliged to love. You better than You can do; there are some that You have too well persuaded not quite to forsake You, I pity them, especially one of my acquaintance, and who to act her part better, would have You seemingly Court a Lady her Neighbour; but I know not who would be the mostabused: If it should happen that You became really in Love with this Neighbour, for without speaking false, she is too Fair to serve for a pretence; what You say there Madam (replied the Baron) is the unjustest thing in the world, and it would be no great trouble to me to let you see the contrary: If I might be believed when I speak the truth, it is a terrible thing for a man when the Women are once set to his disadvantage: I do all I can to please the person of whom the Marchioness speaketh, I spare neither care nor pains, I render her more Visits than ever I did to any in this world before, I love her more than one can love, and yet you will have it only a pretene, I believe unless I died for her I should not be believed: I may well complain— your Complaints themselves interrupted the Marchioness, make it appear that there is Artifice in your proceeding, or at least that You love her but little, since You desire of her what she owuld not have You, against the first law of Love which Ordaineth that we must not desire but what the person desireth whom we love. Alas said the Baron, I desire but too well what she desireth, and if I complain, it is of her Cruelty, and that she will not grant me that I desire of her; after which I am well grounded to believe abcording to the Law you say, that she loveth me not: It belongeth to him replied the Marchiones that beginneth to love first, to be also the first to desire to please and accommodate himself wholly to the humour of the person, he condereth he must govern himself to please her will, and make his desires to be the slaves of hers, his Soul itself ought to Obey her in all things, and never to be transformed into any thing but her if it were possible, and make it his last Felicity: True Lovers ought to do thus. My felicity replied the Baron, would doubtless be to have one will to be mistress of her heart and mine: but how shall this accord be made if she never doth any thing for me, while I do all things for her; if she doth not something slacken this great severity to give me at least some hope. The Baron was there when a Page came to tell the Duchess that there was a great company of Persons of Quality newly arrived; for which reason the Circle was broke up, and this Question went no farther, that they might follow the Duchess who went before to meet those that came to Visit her.  
The rest of the Evening passed in indifferent discourses, or in small matters without any particular Enter tainment, except the ensuing Song which Mademoiselle d'Armand gave the Company.  
SONG.  
I heard a Nymph that sat alone, beneath a shady Hill, in doleful Notes her Fate bemoan, and th'air therewith thus fill. A╌lass said she, woe, woe is me, that live under love's tyranny, since nought but falseness I descry in men, I'll lay me down and die, the Wood-Nymphs shall carry me to the woods, and bury me, and o'th' top of my grave they shall strew Chaplets of Flowers, and make pretty Bowers, to honour loves Arrow & Bow, To honour Loves Arrow and Bow.  I. B.  

CHAP. VI  
THe Sixth day the Duchess gave the Company an Entertainment, which I cannot relate here without making a long digression of something very Noble. But I believe it is better not to trouble the Readers patience, (for nothing troubleth it more than digressions) that I say only in passing that they had a Ball and a Play, and towards the Evening marvellous artificial Fireworks; after which they returned to form the Circle, and to propose new Questions.  
Madamoiselle d'Armand addressed herself first to d'Arignan to make the breach for a noble conversation and he thus began.  
I remember said, he, that the Count hath instructed the Ladies how to receive a Declaration of Love, but to body hath yet said in what manner it must be done, for in ●ine added he, what must we hope from the fidelities, cares, and services which we do to these Fairo●…es if they know not upon what design we do them: There are many things answered Mademoiselle d'Armand that speak but too much what a man feels when he is in Love, even to silence; all things speak in Love; that is certain replied d'Arignan: But how many Mistresses are there that seem blind to all the respects which the Lovers have for them, and show them, to all that sighs may make them understand; so that all these advancements being without effect, or at least without exchange, a miserable Lover is at length constrained to complain, and from Complaint to pass to a Declaration. I would then desire some body to learn me the secret (if there be any one) to explain one's self to a Mistress, without going in danger to displease her. Methinks proceeded he, that it would very well agree with Madamoiselle d'Armand to do it: If she would have the goodness to tell us any thing, as I am not in a humour answered this Lady to receive a Declaration of this nature in what manner soever, I cannot tell You any, but would displease me. I will truly tell you that to be loved or not to be loved, is not so indifferent to me, but I could desire it; it is a desire too natural to our Sex; but I would if it were possible for me very much to hinder a man from entertaining me of his Love, if through hazard he had any for me, so much relating to me; and for the rest, I would ever counsel a friend not to speak till the last extremity, and to have done all things before he cometh to these words (I love You) and it must also be done with so much discretion and so properly, that he must consider of it often before he saith it. If it be so troublesome a thing said the Abbot smiling to say that one loveth, it must be in writing on the contrary replied Mademoiselle d'Armand to him; if he be a man that is discreet, and understandeth Heroical Gallantry, he will not use this means, You say there is less trouble in it, but there is also more danger in it; and one is rarely successful because the liberty is greater, and that a Lady much sooner excuseth a word escaped from one's mouth, than what is writ to her. I know not replied the Baron, but if I be not deceived, whatever grimaces these Ladies make to us, when we declare to them the passion we have for them, since according to the confession of Madamoiselle d'Armond herself they are glad to be loved, & I believe not in the end that they will be displeased with one for telling it to them: In truth You are deceived replied the Marchioness to him, and the most part of Lovers do but ill to trust to that Opinion: What must they do then replied the Duke on a sudden if it be me You ask said the same Lady to him, I will tell You my mind. A Lover who hath a desire to proceed to a Declaration, aught to do it with a most respectful Carriage, and in the same moment so discreetly, that his words may insensibly dispose the mind of his Mistress favourably to receive what he will say to her, and that they may have a double meaning by which means he may deliver himself from trouble, if he seethe her in a humour to give him attention, for else it were to ruin him; a Lady that had been accustomed to live familiarly with him, and to treat him like a friend of esteem and tenderness, would be no more so, but very reserved as soon as he hath declared himself her Lover, and would deprive him of all the civil friendship which she had granted him before, by reason of the tenderness she had for him; it is because of this, that those Lovers who are thus carried away by their passion scarce ever have good success, because that the Women seek above all things to have respect showed them, and they think that to make a public declaration of Love to them, is to bereave them of what is their due. I know no discreet Woman at least but would be Offended at it, although she might have a strong inclination for him that might speak to her of his love. It is certain added the Countess d'Ancyre, that we shali see no understanding Woman that would not blush upon a like occasion. That is true replied d'Arignan; but I pray tell me by what motion is it they blush, for I imagine it is not always for anger: However it is replied the Marchioness, smiling at the demand of d'Arignan, it is my Opinion that a Gentleman should make his actions and his sighs speak before he speaketh himself; there are many said d'Armenton as hath already been said, that contribute to the revealing of a Lovers designs and inclination; a sigh and a service rendered in due season a small fear, some respects on a certain occasion; all these things in their proper season are oftentimes more effectual, and better understood than the smoothest Rhetoric in the world; there is no body but may apprehend the Eyes meaning, those are the faithful Messengers that bring the news of what passeth in the heart, and they have quite another power than the tongue; insomuch that they discover the most hidden thoughts, and penetrate sometimes even to the heart of the persons loved, and cause in them the same ardour with which they themselves are inflamed: Do you believe that a Mistress how deaf so ever she seemeth, doth not understand what the eyes tell her; when she seethe how pitifully they turn towards her, how they fix tpon hers, as if they were made fast to them, and turn away again as if they were dazzled: It is true it is good to Husband this Language, and to beware the discovering one's passion to those from whom it should be the most concealed. We seldom love without Jealoutie, or without a Rival, who continually observes the motion of these innocent Interpreters, especially from persons who are most to be suspected: A Lover hath but two Eyes, and a Jealous Husband hath four, he seethe before and behind; for which reason a Judicious man ought to govern himself wisely, and to behave himself according to time and place, and when he hath cause to fear to deprive himself of so sweet a pleasure; the more secretly a Love is kept (I mean of these Loves which are not permitted, and which are now notwithstanding very much Alamode) the sweeter it is: and we know to how many evil Consequences the least inclination is subject to when it is revealed; and I said the Cavalier I believe that the great secret is not to make it so much a mystery. We believe that an inclination doth nor proceed so far, that they need to give themselves the trouble to conceal it; and the world is now so much upon one matter, that they take the most amorous things for simple Gallantry, when they are done in company; whereas they that take the other part are in continual Alarms, because indeed the least appearance to them is a death's wound; they imagine very often that there is more than they see, and more than there is, and it is a pleasure to them to tell it, because they believe it not to be known. How many Women are there who live with a Familiarity, without example with their Gallants, even before their Husbands, who perhaps would suspect all things if they did otherwise. I know one whose Husband is moe jealous than any man, who could never endure that any one saw her except one of my friends, because she treateth him familiarly before his face, and yet it is the only One that ever hath obtained the goodwill of this Lady: These things happen seldom replied d'Armenton, and for my part I hold that the surest way is to love in private, and that one cannot be too cautious before those that are interessed. We must dissemble, say that we least think of, and use constraint constantly, or else we may be in danger to lose all. I believe replied the Arignan, that these maxims are good, but so difficult to Observe, that they are almost impossible for a passionate Lover: We have not always an occasion to find a Mistress without a witness, and there are some that are never to be seen but in company; and if we must always practise what you say, we run the danger of being long before we do our business, and never to receive content. We must love in tranquillity that it may not appear a little, when we see the person we love. Those that know how to love as they should do replied de Armenton, find Expedients for all things, and means to make them to be understood, although they have little Intelligence, without being understood by others, and without amuzing me to particularise all those small secrets to you, since you cannot have been in love, for not to have known much yourself, I will only tell you what happened a few days since in a company where I was; two Lovers whom the jealousy of a Husband did for some time hinder them from seeing each other, having in an assembly entertained each other most tenderly by the side of a Table, and which seemed most indifferent; there was none but I in the whole company that did suspect their discourse to be of Love; they were to expect as to use some indifferent matter to entertain each other aloud before the company, and from time to time when they talked of the most inward other softly: And this scene continued above two hours without seeming to look one on another, and as persons that had the least acquaintance together; there are yet many other pleasant ways upon which time, places, and the persons must give a Discreet Lover counsel, for it would be impossible to form certain Rules. In truth the matter is too large replied the Baron, & it is love that must instruct us in that, he who is the Father of Inventions, and who always favoureth a Lover when he hath recourse to him: But the thing which I would at present know, and which is not less important in Gallantry than it is to be discreet in public, and to love in private: It is the manner how to conserve ourselves in our Mistress' favour, for it is the chiefest thing we fail in, and of many Lovers who can perfectly gain the esteem of a Lady; I see but very few that know how to conserve it, which is a great defect, and which causeth us to enjoy the happiness to be loved, when we love but a little time: I believe that after so many pretty matters as hath been proposed, this here may deserve the pains of a continued conversation. It is this that doth evidence the men's inconstancy: I am certain at least that we oftentimes need to seek no other cause than their unquiet spirit, which is weary of a Happiness as soon as they possess it, whatever trouble it hath cost them to Obtain it: From thence you may judge whether the Women have no reason not to engage themselves so far in Love, and never to submit if they can avoid it: We may also replied the Cavalier accuse the Women of Inconstancy, but that is not the thing, and I believe that the same means that are used to obtain the Ladies good wills, may also serve to maintain us in them, and the great secret in this is to endeavour always to please them, and not to do any thing that may in any wise Offend them. It is no less difficult added d'Armenton to give Lessons for this article than for the other, because there are so many cautions to observe, and so many Errors we are subject to commit, that there are many things to be examined before we come to the principal: The greatest Lovers are commonly those that commit the most faults, because they are blinded by their passion, and because that Love and Reason seldom accompany each other: If they are jealous, they give way to a thousand Follies, they are not in the least circumspect they speak ill of their Rivals, they offend the person they love a hundred ways, they bring upon her a thousand misfortunes, and endeavour to ruin her if they can; they are in love, and they believe they have nothing to answer, be it to whom it will in their going astray; the shadow of a man near their Mistress frighteth them, they cannot endure to let her see any body, even not in their presence: If she whispereth to any one, those are alarms which deprive them of their Senses; if they turn their Eyes towards their Rivals, it is a Crime inexcusable, and in fine they put a double sense to every word she saith. of which there is always some one which they interpret to be in favour of those they fear. But what are the fruits of all these Extravagancies? they serve but to displease the mind of this Fair-one, who is at length weary of so unjust and insupportable a proceeding; there is nothing the Women hate more than servitude, their ambition ever extendeth to command over those whom they by Nature's right should Obey; and all their aim is to be disburdened of that troublesome Yoke which Nature hath imposed upon them: If they cultivate their Beauty, it is but to obtain adoration; If they Love, it is but to make their Masters become their slaves; but when these slaves will retake their first authority, and play the Masters, then is it their displeasure flameth, and that they despise to see themselves misused by people that had vowed them an eternal Servitude, causeth them to seek revenge; the greatest part of Lovers lose their Mistresses in this manner. There are yet another sort who are not so extravagant, but by a trick of vain foresight render themselves unhappy, and help forward the affairs of those whom they would destroy; they will tell a Mistress that such a one doth love her to Oblige her to avoid him; they will entreat her not to be in his company alone, and not to give him occasion to engage himself any further; and I remember something to this effect which I heard not very long since touching a Lover of this sort who made some reproaches to his Mistress near to this purpose; why Madam said he to her, will you seem thus obstinate as to tell me he loveth You not? do not I see it? doth he not partake of all your counsels? doth he not affect to be in Your presence? doth he not sigh so soon as you cast a look upon him? in fine, doth he not die for You? this person to whom he spoke, who was truly innocent, and who had observed none of these things becoming for the future more curious, found indeed that she was loved, and the success of these reproaches was, that she loved also, which she perhaps had not done if this jealous one had not taken the trouble to give her notice, and forbidden her, thus it is that these people through a strange Imprudence are Authors of all the Evil that fall upon them; I have seen yet others who have thought to make their Love secure by speaking ill of their Rivals, and which it is that a Woman seldom believeth so soon as she knoweth the design: On the contrary, as she is persuaded that it proceedeth from an effect of Jealousy, she doth but laugh at it, and will sometimes take the part of him Interessed; in this I will confess my weakness answered the Baron to that, I am not capable of speaking well of my Rivals, and when I have an opportunity to do them harm, I can scarce forbear it: I would know some more civil manner of ruining them. You know the Proverb replied the Count, which saith that when an Adversary is in the water up to the middle, You must give him your Hand to help him out; but when he is in up to the Chin, You must set your foot on his head and drown him quite. There are many People that do the same with their Rivals, and until they find a fair Occasion to ruin them quite, they dissemble and live well with them, but so soon as they see them upon the brink of the Precipice, they give them the last push to throw them down. I say proceeded he what is done sometimes, and not what I would counsel any one to do; for all these proceed are some thing unworthy of a Gentleman, and I would have a lover bear it above his Rivals by means of his merit and services; it is easy for one that hath wit, and when a Mistress knoweth the world, to cause her to observe the disserence there is between man and man, love and love, service and service. Most Lovers ruin themselves, without it be necessary for a Rival to work their ruin: There are some who full of Vanity, to give their Mistresses a good Opnion of them, will boast of some Favours to her, which they perhaps never received. Others there are, who on the contrary will make as if they were misfortunate, and will assure one that they have never obtained any Love; as if it were no prejudice to them to be taxed of want of merit: But what do you think of those that daily tell their Mistresses that their Rivals are much happier than they, and that they reproach her, that she treateth them best? I believe it is rather a means to serve one's Rival, than not to do it: There are yet a thousand Rencounters in which many Lovers are undone, who have not the art of governing themselves in their Felicity; and if Love be a Sea as they say, we must confess that Indiscretion especially is a shelf on which the greatest part of these Gentle-men-sighers suffer shipwreck; He that desireth to please in Love, aught to know how to be respectful and discreet: and he that will rule must be silent. It is strange said the Marchioness (that discretion being the principallest quality a Lover ought to be endued with) that there should be so few that make use of it, and that this secret must always be recommended to the men. I avow answered the Baron to her, to our confusion, that it is the most essential Virtue in Love, and which nevertheless we consider the least: There are very few men that have power to keep a Love secret, and were there not often many Women that often oblige us to this weakness, I know not how we could excuse ourselves: it would be a very delightful matter replied Madam d'Eyrac for some of us to relate why there are so few men discreet: It shall be d'Armenton said the Abbot, for he is much inclined to speak for you against the men, and here is a subject will cost him little. It shall be rather You replied Mademoiselle d'Armond, for You have been long silent, and we will see a little, if after you have placed the Women so much beneath the men, You can retire the men from so naughty a walk, to place them only opposite to the Women. I know too little answered the Abbot what belongeth to Love to know how to resolve. You how to keep an amorous mystery secret, and I will tell You no more upon that than what I have read in Ovid. Ovid Sir, interrupted the Countess d'Ancyre, You quote to us a very pleasant Author, Is it not he that counselleth Lovers to feign themselves in drink when they are with their Mistresses, that all the liberties they take with them may the more easily be excused; and in another place he proposeth a fine manner of declaring Love; he saith that if we find an Opportunity to be with our Mistress at any Banquet, we must when we hold the glass in our hand, dip our finger in the Wine, and afterwards upon the Table writ down our Love for her; I heard these from a Gentleman that had read Ovid very much, but would not imitate him. If this custom replied the Abbot, seemeth now ridiculous to You, it was not perhaps in the days of Ovid: It is because the men said d'Arignan are now more knowing in Love, and I believe that if it were possible for Ovid to rise again, he would cry up Maxim's which he would expose to the Public, that would now suit with none but Serving-Maids. Let us leave Ovid then said the Marchioness, and let us observe what the Abbot will tell us upon the Question proposed, since You will not answered the Abbot let me use this Author, I must tell You what I myself conceive upon this matter: First I believe that diseretion consisteth in avoiding all things that may breed disturbance, and make a noise; and on the other side beware, that in endeavouring to be too discreet, You be not at all: There are some Lovers who will not make use of any one in their Loves out of fear of trusting a secret with any one that may deceive them: But in all the Mysteries of this Nature a confident is so necessary, that You cannot be without; a man in Love is daily pressed with his passion, he is ever desirous to speak, writ to, or see his Mistress, and to ease this eagerness which bereaveth him of his repose; He standeth often in need of a person that is of his Intelligence, and endeavouring to do all, we ruin and destroy all: This Passion which transporteth us, and whose aim is only at satisfaction, is not accustomed to be over-cautious, it looks neither to the right nor to the jest, but only before it, and so that there be not any thing to hinder her course, it seemeth not concerned at those that follow it by sight: There is nothing the world taketh so much pains in, than to discover the proceed of an Inclination; they are all curious to know the secret of an Intrigue, and as soon as they discover the glimpse of any thing, they will penetrate to the bottom: It is but suspecting a a man in Love with a woman, to have a desire to know the truth of what passeth, a he or she confident of whose fidelity one is assured, save a Lover from this danger, they manage a business better than he, they proceed with more care, and besides their supplying with Counsels, and with the Favour they have with a Mistress; they help many failings which a Lover would have committed: I extend a little upon this matter, for that there are many people who think themselves very expert in Love, and who make it one of their most principal points in discretion, not to let any one know of their Intrigue, and to make use of no body, but to do all things by themselves: In the mean time You see that these nice spirits abuse themselves, so grossly I say, that it is most certain that an assured confident is the most Important matter in an amorous commerce. To this let us add the pleasure there is in telling a faithful friend the sweets one hath tasted with a Mistress, the charms of that amiable Creature, the joy one hath to love her, for these are certain things which lie heavy upon the heart of a Lover when he hath not the satisfaction to tell it to some Body. Do You not Observe said the Duchess Interrupting him, how the Abbot will prove himself unskulful in Love-affairs; however all that he hath said even hitherto, is a subtle Gallantry. I know not replied the Countess d'Ermand, whither all that he hath hitherto said be so gallant, but I find it not very near the matter: The Question is to know the Reason why the men are so Indiscreet? and the Cautions that are to be Observed to practise this Virtue, and he goeth and telleth us the necessity there is to have a Confident, as if that had any Analogy with discretion: Yes Madam replied the Abbot to her, assnredly it hath; and You shall see if You will grant me that Favour to hear me, that I wander not so much from my Subject, I would bring the matter to the actions, which they should not do publicly; for besides that, something of it hath already been said: It were needless to give Lessons for defaults, in which there are none but blockheads, and people full of Vanity that can fall into them. I chose rather to use a subject something more delicate, and to make it appear that that was not to be discreet to desire to be too much; and that a man cannot be accused of Indiscretion that confides his Secret in a Friend who can serve him in that affair; and because of that, I have let You see of what Importance a Confident was: This is well justified said the Duchess, and although the Abbot did not directly answer the Question proposed, I find that what we Treat of is not too far from the matter; That to declare that not only one may, but must have a Confident in Love. We must have been in Love (proceeded the Abbot) to know how many occasions are fit for afriend as I say in an Intrigue of Affection and the necessity there is to have one to whom one might communicate all things. The Abbot said the Cavalier will at length persuade us maugre him, that he hath been in Love; for my part I am of his Opinion, and I hold that is the safest way of loving to make use of a third person, and that we are less subject to sin against discretion. A Confident added the Baron doth doubtless much contribute to manage a Love-affair discreetly: But to speak truth, the Women are often the cause themselves, (as I have already said) of the faults which we commit against that Virtue, their evil conduct rendereth us Indiscreet, some for being too cruel, others by a certain ambition which they have to seek daily to make new Conquests, and to desire the whole Universe to love them; those who deck themselves with cruelty, and who think they do themselves honour by being Insensible, are constrained to love in the end, and they Imagine it so much Glory to see people suffer for their sakes, that they would think they should ruin all if they lessened any thing of their rigour; they look upon those pains, those restless minutes, and all those Torments in which their Lovers live as Infallible tokens that they are beautiful, and they Triumph in that it dependeth upon them to render men happy or miserable; the ambitious ones feed themselves with rumour, and make their happiness consist in the noise which the Crowd of their Adorers make; they keep an account, and judge of the power of their Charms by the quantity of their Lovers. It is easy to see that these two Characters of Women are capable of making us commit many Indiscretions, excepting the danger they run of ever meeting this conduct from true Lovers; some as much in love as they are, do in the end grow weary of suffering, and pass from one extremity to another, when they will wholly oppress them. Others think it a trouble to divide a happiness amongst so many Rivals, which they thought they alone had well merited. There is yet replied the Cavalier, a sort of women who Oblige the men to be no less Indiscreet than the others, and these are those who having many admirers, give them all hopes of being loved, and take delight to breed always some jealousy among them, they know how to detain those that are ready to escape them, and to suppress the vanity of those that dare promise themselves too much from them, and who out too much confidence in the favours thry receive from them; they favour sometimes one and sometimes another, and out the heart of this with a glance with which they Oblige the other; in fine, these are Mistresses in Gossipping, and not in love. These are the springs of Hatred and Quarrels among Rivals, and these Fair-ones are thus the cause of many evil Consequences. We may make a long discourse against women said d'Arignan, if we would examine all the reasons they give us to destroy them. How many (without proceeding further) do we see of those who after a Lover hath manifested to them all the possible Tokens of an extreme passion when they will have heard him, and when they have promised them that part in their heart which they could reasonably pretend to, begin when he lest thinketh of it, and sindeth himself engaged not to revoak it to pretend difficulty, and to seem to doubt of his Inclinations, and make a pretence for nothing, to begin all his cares and services afresh, as if he had yet done nothing; a Lover is well requited for the pains he hath taken by such a Mistress; he must needs be patiented that despite doth not make him exceed the bounds of his duty. Thus indeed You see said the Abbot how the one half of Your gallant Ladies are the cause of their own misfortune, and how the Indiscretion of men is oftenest a cause of their Evil conduct; yes if we will believe You said the Marchioness; but it belongeth to none but us to let You see that for one Imprudent woman, there are ten thousand Impertinent Ones; if we must give them their Name, it would be a long piece of work for us to undertake to tell You how many men there are of this sort. I believe answered her the Cavalier, that there are but few of the kind You mention, but the Women have given them cause to be so. By your leave Sir, replied the Countess d'Ancyre, is there any thing that can Oblige a man to be dishonest, or Imprudent? The same things replied the Cavalier go not always by the same name and there are Crimes which reason and justice authorise; I know Mistresses who sell their Favours too dear to content them only for having received them, we should think very often that we had paid too much for them, had we not the honour of them by the pleasure: The Cavalier smiled at these words, to which Madam d'Eyrac answered that they should no more be Favours if they could be bought, and that a Lover should not think himself honoured by them, when he had not obtained them by the power of his merit as much as by his services.  
Here the Conversation ended; it had continued longer if the artificial Fireworks had not wasted a part of the Evening: But however the ensuing Song was sung admirable well by Madamoiselle d'Armond at the request of the Company.  
SONG.  I. B. 
The Nightingale in the sweet month of May, in shady Woods doth love to make her dwelling: and in the Fields to Chant her Roundelays, freely while my poor hart in sorrows swelling, keeps me captive, and sighing makes me cry, in mournful wise, break heart, break heart & die.  

She only does not seel what I endure,  
Oh Love wilt thou release my torments never!  
If not kind death I hope will give a cure,  
And let mine Eyes oppressed be closed for ever.  
Then to Elysium I'll seeurely fly,  
And all the powers of her charms I'll deify.   
It now being late, every one was very willing to confine so delightful a day with a sweet Repose.   

CHAP. VI  
The Seventh day, or rather the Seventh Evening, since we must here end, and since it is the last Conversation with which I shall entertain the Reader, the Company met something betimes in the Garden, where waiting for the Duchess whom some affair had delayed, they spent the time in dancing some Branlies' round a Fountain, d'Armenton who was in an Age wherein Dancing is almost out of season, acquitted himself notwithstanding so well, that we might assuredly say that Age is not the same with all the world; At this Instant the Duchess arrived, and although she had long known d'Armenton, she could not forbear smiling to see a man thus triumph in Dancing, who had passed fifty Years of his Age: By what I perceive said she, d'Armenton hath not forgot what he learned formerly, What Madam said he presently, do You imagine me so Old that I must not be permitted to be concerned in what You do now? I will not say that, answered him the Duchess on the contrary I find that You act every thing so well that You undertake, that in truth a man like You may concern himself in all things; but this Expertness which You have is not so general, but that it may be true to say that Dancing like Love and Gallantry are not altogether diversions for persons of your Age, and I, I believe Madam replied the same party? that we are never more capable of the things You speak of, than in the Age wherein I am; and for Love, it belongeth to us to make use of it as we ought. You were a very Ingenious man said the Cavalier to him, if You would take upon You the Trouble to make us understand what you there say, for in my Opinion it is a thing very difficult to maintain, and I believe there is no Body here but is against it, and but who would be glad to hear You discourse upon a matter so contrary to the Opinion of all the world. Thus said the Lady Sindal, we have accidentally entered into a matter for a very pleasant Conversation. If You please Madam added she, in addressing herself to the Duchess, this we will fix upon; the Evening is delightful, and the place wherein we are very pleasant, and methinks I see d'Armenton ready to relate to us something that is Gallant, to make us discern that Gallantry is a Land wherein People that are endued with his Qualities, and with a wit so ready as his, may at all times enter; the Duchess did not Oppose this design, and the rest of the Company doing like the Duchess the form a Ring upon a green Bank, after which d'Armenton seeing them ready to give him attention, began in this manner.  
I see well said (he smiling) that it is to justify what I always take so much pains to conceal, to desire to maintain that Love appertaineth more to a man who exceedeth fifty, than to those who are not twenty or twenty one. But since I have undertaken it I will not recoil, I shall at least give You to understand, that though I am Old, Age is not such as the Vulgar believe it to be, and that it is without reason that they would deprive them of the pleasures of Love, that they know how to take and to relish them more happily than Youth: You must first give me leave if You please before any thing else, to make a small digression, and to tell You first what Love is, and in what that Felicity consisteth which Lovers find, and afterwards you will agree with me, that this passion doth not Illy suit with grey hairs, and that one must be no man at all not to be capable. Love then according to the Ancients, is a desire to enjoy beauty: and since we desire nought but what we know, it must necessarily be that knowledge precedeth desire, the eyes, reason, and the mind causeth us to know the happiness, and this knowledge produceth in us the desire to possess it; the Eyes discovereth, Reason chooseth, the Mind judgeth of what the Eyes and Reason have done. Beauty though the most sensible thing in the world, is nevertheless the most difficult to know, it never appeareth with more charms than upon the face of a Woman; and Heaven who is marvellous in all the works it hath done, is in nothing so admirable as here; it is a work which bringeth men even to Idolatry, both Old and Young are dazzled, every one desireth it, but desire it differently, because of the different knowledge they have of it. When this Beauty happeneth to strike the eyes of a Young man, she doth as soon vanquish him, and in seducing these two Innocent Interpreters by I know not what pleasure with which they are so enchanted, that they Introduce it even to the heart, which being no more cautious than the Eyes, suffereth itself to be caught in this sweet snare: I say much more it feeleth a certain Joy which transporteth it, and empoisons itself in a manner that it sighs for it that it is tormented with a daily desire. Oh the strange disorder! when a heart is cumbered with all these desires by which it suffereth itself to be lead, and which desires, being no less blind than the heart, cause it to make a thousand mistakes; it thinketh on nought but the Object that hath struck it, it seeketh and followeth it every where, not to be revenged on the harm it hath given it, but to unite itself wholly to it, and thinketh that in possessing of it, it shall be eased from the torment it suffereth. Nevertheless it deceiveth itself, and even the pleasure of this possession is a Lyar. It is a gross error wherein the most of these people fall that suffer themselves to be blinded at the first glance of Beauty, to make the aim of their Love a brutal pleasure to satisfy themselves, which they have no sooner compassed, but they cease not only from having the same ardour, but pass even to disdain, & look upon him no otherwise but a loathing that which before was the Idol of their heart. It seemeth as though this desire repent for what it had done; that it is vexed it is deceived, that it believed that to be all a heart could desire; the heart who on his part acknowledgeth the fault it had committed, seemeth also to reproach the Eyes of their blindness, to take a happiness in appearance for the true one, he is not satisfied in himself; but Imagining the Felicity he promised to himself to be yet far distant hence, desires augment in him as if he possessed nothing, which maketh it clearly appear that that is not the true Felicity he seeketh, and that these Young Lovers have a way of loving which is not happy, or rather that they know not how to Love since they are never satisfied, although they arrive to what they aspired; and this is it we may well term unhappiness, for there is both pain an dtrouble at the end as well as at the beginning of this Love. They cease neither complaints, sufferings, nor sigh, and even then when they believe themselves at the height of their desires, it is then they have more subject of desire, and that they find themselves unfortunate? It is a precipice in which this foolish ardour doth cast them, which cannot justly be termed Love; it is here where Youth Embarquing in foul weather perisheth; he is carried away with all sorts of winds, he followeth his desires, and never consulteth his passion: Reason is too weak with him to resist this Torrent: He permitteth himself to be led away; every Guide is a Guide for him, and if he may be carried towards the Object he cherisheth; he forsaketh himself, and will follow even his own Enemies; he knoweth not so much as how to distinguish the true from the false, he is blind who taketh good for evil, and who feedeth himself with every thing which his will and desires will persuade him to, who being of themselves Incapable of discerning any thing, cannot fail to render him miserable. You see then how those who are possessed with this blind passion (altogether contrary to the laws of Reason) do never find those solid pleasures in Love which those take whose riper Years hath learned them to know them. This being supposed (as it is most certain) I say that it happeneth otherwise to those Persons who are come to the age by me . This ardour which Time hath laid asleep in them, re-kindleth at the sight of a Beauty, for whom they breathe sighs which are guided by a choice that is reasonable, which detaineth them from wnadring; they approach her, and enjoy her without any confusion; their design is pure, and the effect of it is nought but Felicity; the bridle of Reason who reproveth the folly of the Senses, susiereth not itself to slacken into Repenrance, they have what they desire, and without any trouble they relish the pleasures they seek: A man I say arrived to those Years wherein I am (for I may well place myself here) and who is not transported with this violent ardour, beholdeth Beauty, and knoweth it as much as can be; he findeth wherewithal to be charmed in the face of a Woman: That just proportion of so many parts, that agreeable accord of the Fairest colours, that lustre that shadow so well ordered, so many marvels which he discerneth there to glister, which do both astonish and Enchant him, causeth him to consider matters more than he can express: But is he not dazzled in such a manner as to make him forget what he is? Reason resisteth the Enchantment, his Soul is too discreet to be deceived, and alahough she doth extremely desire this Beauty; her desires give her nothing but a sweet unquietness: In fine she enjoyeth this Beauty; but she is so jealous of the pleasure she taketh, that she would not communicate it to the Body; It is in the highest part of the Soul that this pleasure refideth where the senses have no Intelligence. Truly it were an offence to Beauty, and a thing beneath her, (she the only precious thing in the world) to design it for the Body, and who being made to rule over what is most high in man, to subject herself to what is most beneath her; there is nought but the Soul which can aspire to this sweet Union, because there is none but she that understandeth the happiness, you will doubtless say that the Soul doth not also make it difficulty to desire when she is in the depth of this possession: It is true, but it is always to possess Beauty, and for fear of losing it; whereas the Young people desire quite another thing than that which they have possessed, because their desires are not contented with so short a pleasure which they lose in the moment they have it, for which reason they are never without grief, nor without loathing it is not beyond Reason than to say that the persons who are something advanced in Age, are those who are the most fit to love. We must be assuredly Old said the Baron to him to comprehend this Love well; and we must be more than you are to content ourselves: I know not in good Faith what you could answer, if (as Old as you are) we should freely ask You to know of You if you loved in no other manner than as you say. d'Armenton answered him but with a laugh, whom the rest of the company did also Imitate; and a little after the Cavalier taking up the word, said that d'Armenton had reason to attribute this love to Old-Folks, for it must have been in Old Times; for now whether they are undeceived by these Lovers in Idea, or whether they love in quite another manner; and even those who are Older than we, must have found that in that (whatsoever d'Armenton can say) we are more reasonable than they, since those that concern themselves therein act just like us. It is certain said d'Arignan that Love requireth something that is more sensible; and that as the Soul and Body entereth into communion with the Evils of this Nature, they ought also to partake of the sweets: this is so true, that the Soul cannot well conceal the pleasures of Love, and taste them in a retreat, she cannot do it so well, but the senses must take part in these pleasures; they presently discern mirth seated in the Visage, the Eyes sparkle, there is sweetness and raptures found: all these speak so well of this admirable Intelligence, that it is only by that that the Soul is judged to rest contented, therefore it is a vain thing to make a love apart for the Soul, and another for the Body; the Interest is the same, their sufferings and enjoyments are together, they act and repose for one and the same reason; and it is by the means of the Senses that the Soul knoweth Love, she can also not be without them in tasting the pleasures of Love. Since you never were in Love answered him d'Armenton after the manner I mean, I must not think it strange that You know not its sweetness. The Soul is so well capable of tasting the pleasures of Love alone without the Body's participation, that the pleasures are not true ones as soon as that partaketh, but pleasures soaked in Tears, which begin and end al●aies in grief. Well Sir said the Baron to him, ●…ve you after this delicate manner that we my not envy you, and leave us in the error in which we are, and where we will continue that Love, having Charms for the Body as well a the Souls the joy may spread all over: But to come to Age, I received a Letter not long since from the same Friend that writ to me concerning Jealousy, who maketh me discern, that not only an Aged man ought not to Love, but that if he would he cannot; if the Company please they shall hear it. There was none but desired to hear this Letter, even to d'Armenton, who entreated him to defer no longer the doing them this pleasure; it contained these words.  
Dear Sir:  
IF you were more aged, or less witty than You are, I am apt to believe that your own interest or curiosity might perhaps Oblige You to demand of me how it is that You do if Aged Folks can love? but knowing You to be a Person of Understanding, and knowing also that You have no reason to complain of time, I imagine that your design is to be revenged on some Old Person, and that you will make use of my Weapon lest yours might not be proof. I shall tell You then that Love is a Young Infant whom long beards affright; and that he is not only a thing loathsome to our Fathers, but that at that Age one cannot love: there are many reasons which persuade it me; the first is as you may better know than I, that that which supporteth and nourisheth Love is the hope we have one day to possess that, which we love; and certainly if that were not, Beauty might well have the power to introduce desire into the Soul of him that seethe it, but not to make any impression, or continue there long; who is he who considering those blisses and honours which 〈◊〉 King receiveth that doth not presently desire to be a King? but because it is too difficult is become one, hope is not moved and so this desire is no sooner born but dyeth; no body shall ever make me believe that Love can Reign without hope; how then shall an Old man love? if he have nothing in him that may make him hope to be loved, and consequently to obtain what he loveth and desireth: let us begin with wisdom, which is the thing that doth Old men the most honour; and let us see if she be capable of making them hope any thing from love: if I discourse with one of them, he will doubtless tell me that it is the greatest folly a man can do to become in love in his Old Age; by this than it is plain, that an Old man cannot hope much since he is assured to go for a Fool to love at his age, Besides they know but too well how Odious the name of Old Age is to all that are beautiful in the world, and how they change both Voices and Countenances at the sight only of grey hairs: I might have here a fair field to enlarge upon, but to you that can divine the half of what I would say, I must not relate all; let us observe Old Folks another way, and we shall find that being far enough from hope, nothing is so natural to them as to fear, whether it be that it proceedeth from their own weakness, or from the experience they have that the world is but a cheat: How can we make it appear after this that they love? if they are in continual apprehensions to be deceived. I remember something to this purpose which one of my Friends told me not long ago, that an Old man might love a person much inferior to him, and of an indifferent Beauty that may make him hope to be loved again by reason she is not amiable enough to be loved of another; but who is it that seethe not that there is more of wit than truth in this reason, because it is first necessary that Love cometh either from choice or destiny, as for example, destiny causeth that two hearts love each other, when it happeneth that they are both born under the same ascendant, or that the same Planet ruleth the life of both; it is certain that these two Persons love entirely: Again, we may love by destiny when there is a resemblance of humours as Physicians argue, and in many others which I could tell You: If it were requisite to tell you all the opinions they have upon this Subject, we cannot say that these good Old Grandsires are capable of this love when they chose a Mistress, for they are not assured that she they shall take for the Object of their desires hath a humour like them; that she hath the same Ascendant, or that she is born under the same Planet, they are I say no more assured, than to know how to bring themselves to it. If we will now that love cometh to an Old man by choice, since in effect he seeketh her whom he thinketh easiest to win, I say that love comporteth himself to all that are good, or fair or that seem so: If it be thus, I pray tell me what reason is there to believe that an Old man can be in love if he seeketh that which is less amiable; it is rather a token of Choler and Hatred which he hath against himself, than a sign of love; it seemeth as though he would punish himself for the smallness of his merit, or that he hath despite for not knowing how to aspire to something better composed. We also see that most of your Grey beards address themselves commonly to none but persons that are made unhappy by the way of Fortune, or to those that have not too much wit to be successful in their deregulate affections: But yet this cannot be called love for the reason I have already mentioned, since considering these two evil qualities in them, it is impossible they can have any love no more than esteem. If the Object they chose be in misery, they believe (as in effect it is true) that it is the Estate they love in them, and not their person that they would have no love for them, did they not buy it, and that they courted them for nought but to pick their pockets; In the mean time as in this thing they are most sensible, and since they behold their Mistresses like so many Harpies, I believe they cannot have any love for them. And for the last Reason, I conclude that an Old man is incapable of love, because he thinketh himself not loved again. But should there be found in the world Women with so little sense as to love men of their Age. I say that notwithstanding they would have no love for them, judging themselves unworthy to be loved by people like them. I am, etc.  
All these Reasons said d'Armenton after the Baron had ended reading of his Letter, are good; but they make nothing against what I have said, and I am likewise of that Opinion with the rest of the world, that one must be a Fool indeed to love at that Age after the manner of Young people; but one must likewise be wise indeed to Love after the manner I say, but it doth not belong to a Young man. There is nevertheless said the Count a famous Author among the Greeks, who saith that the less time we have to live, the more we ought to give to love: and that a man who hath grey hairs may Court a young Lass with as good Grace as we may join the Foses with the Lilies to male a fair Nosegay, I believe he understood not that love only of the mind, but that which causeth us to fall into an agreeable weakness of mind to be the more tender of what we love. Thus Author was doubtless Old replied the Abbot and we must not wonder at it if concerning Love he hath mentioned things of so little sense. I remember I heard Madamoisella d'Armond diverting herself in this Carden with a Song not long since, which is not a little pertinent to our present Discourse, and I hope she will vouchsafe this Company the goodness of obliging them with it now. She after a small modest refusal, thus began.  
SONG.  
'Tis folly to think old Men can enjoy the sprightly Pleasures of Youth, their desires are frozen, and Youth will not toy with Ice on an odd perished Tooth, t'enjoy the sweet pleasures of love in due time 'Tis fittest to taste 'em when we are in our prime.  

Age may desire and wish, but wants power  
To love (but in fancy alone,)  
The effect of which Love's like a winter shower,  
Or the work of a feeble Drone,  
T' enjoy, etc.   

How rudely are the young Rosebuds embraced  
When kissed by a cold Northwind;  
So Youth seemeth nipped with a bitter Frost,  
When enjoyed by a gray-haired Friend,  
T' enjoy, etc.   

Beauty was never designed for Old Age  
By Nature that excellent Dame,  
Her Lessons say Youth with Youth must engage,  
Since there is most fire and flame,  
T'enjoy the sweet pleasures of Love in due time,  
'tis fittest to taste 'em whon we are in our prime.   
This Sung with so Divine and sweet a Voice as was that of this Ladies, did not a little divert them after they had all spent their thoughts upon it, they returned to their former discourses: I would know said the Cavalier what might be said of an Old Woman that might be in Love, since a man ought not to love, nor cannot at that Age: For the Women answered him the Baron, insomuch that it is to be imagined that they ought never to Love unless they are loved; we may conclude that because there are no Old Women beautiful, they ought not to be in Love, since they cannot inspire it: There are notwithstanding enough said the Abbot who forbear not to Love, and I believe I swerve not from the truth if I assure you that there are Ten Old-Women Lovers to one Old Man that is in Love: But at what time interrupted him the Marchioness, Mr. Abbot do you think that the Women are Old. I believe answered her the Abbot, that as to what concerneth Love, they are Old enough at Forty. Alas you are too rigorous replied the Countess d'Ermond to him smiling; and you will bring a great many Folks against you to condemn the Women from loving after that Age. It is true added Mademoiselle d'Armond that you will do yourself an ill turn by it, for I know a Lady who hath passed Forty Years, and who nevertheless shall dispute her Beauty with all the handsome Women in the Universe. No, no said the Duchess, the Abbot is not just in that for even as the hard-favoured women are Old when they are first born; even so on the contrary, the Fair-ones conserve their handsome Features even almost to the last; and their Autumn hath this privilege of being more pleasing, and more agreeable than the Spring of the others. There are some Women who in their Fiftieth Year have such beautiful remnants, that they are capable to move the passions at first sight; why should it not be permitted to them to love what they may find amiable. Madam replied the Abbot, you may say what you please, but Age effaceth all that is amiable in your Sex, and I would willingly advise all Women to imitate the Empress Poppea, who prayed to the Gods that it would please them to let her die before she saw Old Age with which her Looking-glass did already threaten her. You have declared yourself so much an enemy to Women said the Marchioness to him, that although Your Counsels might be wholesome, yet we should make difficulty to follow them; we must agree with you that there are but few Beauties that are able to resist time. But are none aamiable but those that are beautiful and a virtuous Soul doth she never borrow a recommendation for the Body as a precious stone doth for the Mettle that Environeth it. I know not answered her the Abbot what would become of the Women if their beauty were not the cause that we seek them, and that we eat the Deformed Ones. Again it seldom happeneth that a fair and spotless Soul Inhabiteth in an ugly Body. The Exterior Beauty is commonly a Token of the Inward Goodness, it is a character by which the Soul is known, and in which Physiognomists make their whole Art consist. In a word, Deformity is so much an enemy to Happiness, that methinks it is a Scale Crow to all that meet it. I had proceeded the Abbot a Song given me not long ago by a Friend, wherein is displayed how unfit it is for hard-favoured Women to Inhabit amongst Mortals; so pulling it out of his pocket, he read it as followeth, and after desired Madamoiselle d'Armond to sing it.  
SONG.  Mr. Robert Smith. 
A woman that's homely is ne'er Alamode, She's a sight intolerable, she's fit for no place but Pluto's abode, or a place that is more dam╌na╌ble,  

She's able to turn the day into night,  
Her Features are detestable,  
The Devil himself she'll put in a fright,  
Her Charms are abominable.   

But yet for all this she cannot forbear  
To think for self amiable,  
And with laces and hair to deck her with care,  
She's another Confusion of Babble.   

And truly of Nature she need not speak ill  
As not being favourable;  
Her Face it hath power enough for to kill,  
And is most insufferable.   
The Abbot spoke with so much ardour and action, that the Company could not forbear laughing; he ought not to have apprehended that any one would take the deformed women's parts, for although there were none here but what were extreme Beautiful, there are none but slatter themselves on this score. The Conversation dured a while; it was a matter which was large, and which would have produced more. But I perhaps begin to tyre the Readers patience, and since this Illustrious Company did here Conclude, I shall also do the like.   
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
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