THE GALLANT LADIES, OR, THE Mutual Confidence. A NOVEL.  
Translated out of French.  
THE SECOND PART.  
LONDON, Printed for Richard Baldwin in the Old bailie. 1685.   

TO Mr. Horner.  
Worthy Sir,  
YOur Generous acceptance of the First Part, gives you a kind of Title to the Second; and I think myself bound in Honour to Epistle you again, having omitted several of your Good Qualities in my former Dedication. Besides, it is a Justice due to the Ladies, to let them know how much they are obliged to you, and to give them notice, that a little of their Assistance is required to complete the Reformation which Mr. Horner alone hath so successfully advanced. I cannot, I confess, but applaud the Enterprise, tho' I am perhaps one of those it is designed against; but I long for Reprisals, and my own Horns will be the less stared at, when I have planted as large a Pair on the Head of my Neighbour. This mutual Freedom we all owe to you, Mr. Horner; you have slackened the Bonds of Matrimony, which wrung us so hard, and have rendered that Yoke more easy. You have, like a true Whigg, taken away the Prerogative of a Tyrannical Husband, and have turned that Monarchy into a Free State: You have given us our much, our long-desir'd Liberty, never till now so perfectly enjoyed.  
And now, Mr. Horner, it is fit to tell the World what Steps you have made in this Glorious Design, what Means you have used to destroy your Destroyer. But some may say, You have been too severe, you have declined the Old Way of making your cuckolded your Friend: Mr. Horner scorns these Common Methods, they are too Grossier for a Man of his quick Parts, too mean for a Person of his Generosity. He betrays not a Friend, but subdues an Enemy; yet gives him warning to defend himself; defies him fairly, and tells him, he shall be a cuckolded in spite of his Teeth. This perhaps may not be so Civil, but Mr. Bays will tell you 'tis Great.  
Nor has Mr. Horner less testified his Address, in out-witting those Natural Spies, Mothers, Wife, Cosins, &c. It is from them he hath received his chief Assistance, and hath turned them, as his own Cannon, against the Enemy; hath convinced them how necessary it is their Relation should be a cuckolded, and hath unanswerably proved, That the onely Means to cure him of his jealousy, is to make him Certain. 'Tis true, some have maliciously prosecuted him, and, consulting their Fear, have fil'd an Information, in stead of sending a Challenge; yet even This, in the end, will add to his Reputation, when it shall appear to the World, they have besought him for an Accommodation by Terms so much to his Advantage: like the French King, who hath gained more by making Peace, than ever he conquered with his most Victorious Armies.  
But I would not importune you too much, Mr. Horner, especially when your Adventures are a fitter Subject for a Novel itself, than a Dedication: And I hear there is a Celebrated Genie lately arrived from France, so much pleased with them, that he hath already set Pen to Paper. I doubt not but he will fully make up what I fall short of, and do Mr. Horner that Justice I design him. I promise to teach him English when he comes abroad, and shall be proud to be your Historian, tho' at Second Hand.   

THE GALLANT LADIES, OR, THE Mutual Confidence.  
THE Countess of Marignan, and Madam de Mezelon, failed not to meet, as they promised one another, next day at the Thuilleries. After they had walked half an hour, and discoursed in general of the Changes that Marriage ordinarily produces, they retired into a Path where little Company came, where they sate down, and the Countess discharged her Promise, by relating her Adventures in this manner.  

The History of the Countess of Marignan.  
I Shall tell you nothing, Madam, of the Beginning of my ●ife, because we spent it together; and I doubt not but you remember how much against my will I married the Marquis of Mondanar: but your going into the Country some time before that fatal Match, obliges me to let you know what preceded it, that you may the better understand what followed. As soon as the Articles of my Marriage were signed, all the Marquis of Mondanar's Relations visited me; and among the rest, he presented the Count of Blesinac to me, as his best Friend, and desired me to look upon him as such. What a folly it was in such a Man as Mondanar to engage his Mistris to be kind to Blesinac? The first, as you know, Madam, was above threescore years old, and the Infirmities he lay under, rendered his Age very decrepit. His way of dressing himself did not at all repair the Defects of his Person; and, to open my Heart wholly to you, I confess his Humour and his Mind were yet more displeasing than all the rest. He was covetous, rigid, contradicting, and know 〈◇〉 no otherwise than to avoid the 〈◇〉 of it himself, and to forbid others whom he had any power over. In short, my Destiny was to mary this Man, for whom I had almost an invincible aversion. But Parents do not reason as we do, when they think of settling us, as they call it, in the World. The Marquis his Quality and great Estate made mine not consult me at all in a Match so contrary to my Inclination: They took care I should have a good Portion and jointure, and that was all they looked after.  
Though the Marquis was assaulted with his usual Pains, yet he would not delay our Marriage, which was celebrated at night. My old Spouse went back to his own House, and I return'd with my Mother, very well satisfied to part with him; but the whole Family was strangely surprised at it, and their astonishment increased, when next day he  told my Mother, I must go into Languedoc with him. Then he came into my Chamber, to acquaint me with the doleful News. Well, Madam, said he to me, are you ready to go into the Country with me to morrow? The Word to morrow frighted me so, that I could not help changing Colour. What is the reason, added he, that you blushy so? Do you think I will stay and ruin my Estate in Paris? No, Madam, I am sick, and I do not like the Place: Once more I bid you prepare to go along with me. I  told him with a sorrowful Heart, I was ready to do what he pleased. Then he chuck'd me under the Chin, kissed my Forehead, and went to give order for our Journey; so that I saw him no more that day. This fantastical Proceeding made my Mother guess I should not be happy. The good Woman repented she had considered the Fortune more than the Person of the Man, and desired the Count of Blesinac to give me all the Consolation he could. You may imagine how it fretted me to leave Paris.  
Blesinac went along with us; and I perceived, that in consenting to this Journey at my Husband's request, he complied perfectly to have the satisfaction of accompanying me. When we were a little out of Town, the Marquis made the Coach stop upon a rising Ground, from whence I might have almost an entire View of it: Then with a cruel Tone, Madam, said he, look well upon Paris, for this is the last time you are like to see it while I live. I too well knew how dangerous it is for me to let you live there any longer; and I must tell you, a Woman of Honour ought to look upon the Town as the worst Shelf her virtue can split upon. I answered not one Word to what he said, contenting myself to think what Common Sense suggested upon such an occasion. You make me no Reply, continued my Husband, perhaps because you fancy you shall return thither. I am not so far from thence yet, said I, to think of going back again. No, you had not best, answered he, let me advice you; for if you did, it should be to no purpose. As the Coach jogged on, he reckoned up what the Journey would stand him in, and then was vexed at the charge of it. The Count was in such constraint to hear all this impertinent Discourse, that he durst not look upon me. But I often made excuses to get out of the Coach, sometimes to ease the Horses, and sometimes for fear of overturning, only to avoid my Husbands unwholesome Company.  
I remember one day I alighted to walk, and the Count lead me; I thought of nothing but his Kinsman's ill humour, which with the little inclination I had to be merry, put me into a deep musing. He could not forbear asking me the reason of it. I have, said I, so lately quitted the Persons I love, and my mind is possessed with such a wretched prospect of the future, that I cannot choose being melancholy, either when I reflect upon what I have left behind, or think what my Duty obliges me to in my present condition. I confess, Madam, said Blesinac, Monsieur de Mondanar does not understand his own happiness, and makes but ill use of a Blessing which is capable of rendering the best man in the World entirely happy. I cannot agree with you wholly, answered I, but I am persuaded, whether I make him happy or no, he will make me very miserable. I never wished, continued I, to live drowned in Pleasure; but I always apprehended misfortunes, and I would not have desired more of Heaven, than a quiet peaceable life, which now I find will not fall to my share. I grant, Madam, said Blesinac, that a Calm is delightful; but it may also be interrupted by thoughts no less pleasing. Were that tranquillity, said I, once in my power, I know no body that could comfort me, should I lose it. And for my part, answered Blesinac, I should be sorry not to lose that quiet which I preserved till I had the honour to see you. Accuse me not, said I, of doing you so much mischief, for I fear I could not make you amends, and truly, I design not to do you any. But I find by your Discourse, you do but seek to excuse yourself from comforting of me, and you quiter forget my Mother's request to you. No, Madam, replied the Count, I do not forget it, but what can you expect from a miserable Creature, who suffers for you, and himself too, and stands more in need of consolation than you do. I had such a dreadful notion of a Dclaration of Love, as if it were a Monster, but in this I found nothing but what was Respectful, and Noble, and could not find in my Heart to be displeased at it. As good luck would have it, we just came to the place where the Coach stayed for us, for I did not well know what answer to make him.  
Next day an accident befell me which increased my aversion to the Marquis, and more plainly discovered the Counts affection to me. We were overturned, and I hurt my Head very much in the fall; besides which, I had the displeasure to hear my Husband take no notice of my pain, all his sorrow was for the breaking of his Coach. So that he had no manner of care of me, but the Count of Blesinac gave me all the Assistance he could. And for all my hurt we were fain to go on to Chateauroux as soon as our Tackling was mended.  
I should never have done, if I should tell you all the reasons I had to complain of the Marquis this Journey. But still Blesinac repaired all his faults by some mark or other of his Love. At last we came to Mondanar, where we had a sorrowful welcome. The Count stayed there a fortnight, during which time I often said to myself, that sure it was no Crime in me to love him, seeing I had no other remedy to sweeten my misfortunes. What would you have done, Madam? Our Hearts seldom want Reasons to persuade them to abandon themselves to a Passion they are inclined to. I accustomed myself by degrees to hear the Count assure me of his affection, and fidelity. I suffered him also to believe I was not insensible of his merit. Well, Madam, would he say to me sometimes, are you still for tranquillity, and are you not sensible with what a pleasing pain Love fills the Heart? I understand it so little, answered I one day when he was talking thus to me, that I can hardly distinguish what I think; but considering the Humour I am of, I believe I shall be extremely subject to what you describe. For I begin now to apprehended not only absence, but being forgotten too by the man who says he loves me. I fear you will be false, and inconstant. Judge then, pursued I, if such thoughts as these afford my mind much repose.  
Blesinac was very assiduous in obviating all my fears, and he no less dreaded absence than myself. He sang pretty well, and I had a tolerable Voice, so sometimes we sung together; but as soon as my Husband heard us, he  told me very rudely, Singing would not do the business of my Family. In short, he could not endure it, and forbid me this Divertisment, as if it had been a Crime. He gave his Kinsman also to understand he should take it ill if he left not his House, upon which the Count went away next morning. All the miseries of Banishment are short of what I suffered by the Marquis his Whimseys, and the absence of Blesinac. I had still the liberty to think all day on the only Person, the remembrance of whom could any way alleviate my afflictions; but I was not so happy as to preserve this freedom long. My Husband had a Sister who died, and left an only Daughter for him to take care of. Before he brought her to me, he was so cautious as to forbid her concerning her self in any thing to my advantage, and I can assure you, she has been always very far from it. She was perfectly like her Uncle in his Humour and Behaviour, and much more violent than he. Her out-side was so disagreeable, that the sight of her choqu'd me, and it was a punishment to me to look upon her.  
The Death of my Sister-in-law was a pretence for Blesinac to come to our House, and though Crisante, so was my Husbands Niece called, was altogether rude, and wild, yet she began to be more gentle to the Count. She looked on him so greedily, one would have sworn she had never seen a Man before. I cannot better express the odd rolling motion of her Eyes. She knew nothing of the World, and therefore no wonder she behaved her self so indecently. I would have given her good Counsel, but she obstinately refused it.  
I know not how it came into Blesinac's Head one day to tell her, she had good Teeth. She believed him, and because no body had said so much to her before, she fancied he thought her a fine Woman. This ridiculous Opinion, with her country carriage, made her a pleasant Figure: but I was not disposed to divert myself with her, she was so distasteful to me upon other accounts, that I could not endure her. She was a good Fortune already, besides the expectation of being Heiress to my Husband; which caused the Count's Father to propose a Match between her, and his Son. The Marquis at first easily consented to it; and to speak sincerely, I was not against it, because she was incapable of robbing me of the Count's Heart. It was not easy for me to persuade him to it, he reproached me with want of Love, since I was willing he should mary. At last the Match was so considerable, that he overcame his dislike, and declared himself Crisante's Servant. It is true, it was a visible constraint upon him, to say any thing to her that was obliging. After all, to our general astonishment, my Husband was so fantastical, that he would not conclude the Match. Blesinac's Father urged him either to finish or break off, because he had another Woman in his view that was as good a Match for his Son as the Marquis his niece. I had particular Reasons too to wish Blesinac married to Crisante, but all was to no purpose. The Marquis was positive, and when a Relation of the Count's  told him, it was time to Sign the Articles, he said he would not, for he had changed his Mind.  
This refusal made me very melancholy, and you may believe, troubled the Count much more. He complained loudly of it, and my Husband and he quarreled, so that they saw one another no more. Though I was vexed, I would not show it, but let Crisante's violent humour work, who if I would have opened, would hardly have let me speak a Word. Blesinac fancied I was not so much of his side as I ought, and that I might have spoken more effectually for him than I did. But I convinced him how unjustly he complained, by showing him, that if I had been more zealous, it would have made my Husband Jealous of me, which was the way to ruin our correspondence. He approved my Reasons, and we partend very good Friends. However I perceived there was an Intrigue between the Count and Crisante, but I could not see the depth of it, and things continued in this posture for some time.  
Blesinac's Relations gave out, he was to mary a Neighbour's Daughter, who was rich, and very handsome: But this News did not at all alarm me, because I firmly believed he would resolve on nothing, without consulting me first. Yet it seems he had contrived a Design which I had not the least suspicion of.  
My Husband being taken with his usual Pains, I sate up late with him, and wondered to see his Niece go out of the Room before me; yet I could not imagine there was any thing more in it than Rudeness; for she did not understand her Duty enough to comply with it as she ought. I believed then her neglect proceeded from her vexation that her Match was broken off, and so went to bed without any more reflection. At break of day they waked me out of a sound Sleep, to tell me the Castle was on fire, but they knew not which way it came so; that the Bridges were down, and the Gates open. I presently sent to Crisante's Chamber, who was not there; we looked for her every where to no purpose, for she was gone away. I confess, Madam, notwithstanding the fright I was in at the Fire, I was really angry with Blesinac for not letting me know his Design; for I did not question but he was concerned in Crisante's Flight, and had carried her away with him. I rose presently, and acquainted my Husband, who was as much enraged at it as might well be expected, and prosecuted Blesinac so home, as to get the Parliament of Tholouse, which is very severe in Cases of Rape, to condemn him to lose his Head, which was no difficult thing for him to effect.  
Till now I was slighted in the Family, and it feems this Accident opened my Husband's Eyes, to see how he had wronged me, and made him repent of living after such an odd way with me. It was certainly to be revenged of his Niece for her Disobedience, and to show how little he valued Blesinac, that he treated me much more civilly than usually. I received sufficient proofs of his Kindness; and I believe, had not my Heart been preingag'd to Blesinac, I might have been happy. But alas! I could not, as angry as I was that he concealed his Design from me, I could not help loving him more than ever; nor was I able to shake off my Sorrow, tho' the Marquis did all he could to divert me. I had now no cause to find fault with his Carriage to me, but I observed his Pains increase, and his Health diminish every day: His Death I believed would bring me into a great deal of trouble; and indeed I took all the care that was possible of him. But at last he fell quiter sick, and died, leaving me all his Estate, to prevent all Differences with those who might pretend to be his Heirs, and to exclude his Niece who ran away, and married without his Consent.  
I had not so much as a condoling compliment from Blesinac upon this Occasion; quiter contrary, his Father declared against me, and without consulting me, took those indirect ways to compass his Ends, as he thought would be most to my disadvantage; but in stead of prejudicing, this furthered my Affairs. Perhaps, Madam, you may imagine, a Rich Widow, as I was then, might be inclinable enough to be merry; but if you do, you are deceived: my Mind was in such disorder, that I was never so melancholy in my Life. My Husband's Kindness in leaving me so well provided, made me sincerely deplore the Loss of him: Besides, I fancied Blesinac did not care for me; I had no ground to think otherwise; or, if I had, it was to no purpose, because he was married. These Thoughts kept me from relishing the Pleasure of my Freedom. Whatever I saw at Mondanar did but improve my Melancholy; and therefore I resolved to go back to Paris: and when I came thither, I was as uneasy as in Languedoc; for my Disease accompanied me; and though I thought I had taken the best Course to settle my Mind, by getting as far from Blesinac as I could, yet I found it would not do. A Heart, Madam, that is once really engaged, cannot presently be indifferent; and one may hate and love forty times sooner than arrive at that blessed Insensibility.  
The Reputation I had of being Rich, and behaving myself prudently when I was married, brought me a great many Suitors of considerable Quality: but I entertained none of their Proposals, and lead so reserved a Life, that People believed I was resolved not to change my Condition. Sometimes I visited the marquis of Montaigre, because she declined Company as I did, and hardly saw any body besides the Chevalier de Marignan her Brother. We spent whole Hours together, which few People do, without saying one Word: She loved to red, and I was as much delighted to hear her: and doubtless that which diverted us, would have soon tired any of the Women of the Town. Her Brother came but seldom to see her, because he loved Mirth, which he was sure to miss of in our Company. But at last by little and little he used himself to our Method of Life. He  told me, I had rescued him from his trifling santring Conversation, and inspired him with Thoughts which till then he had been a Stranger to. I was so little inclined to believe him, that I proposed a Match for him to his Sister with a Kinswoman of mine: But he would not hear of it, persisting still to give me fresh Evidences of the value he had for me. I fancied at least that now I perfectly hated Blesinac, and should plague him damnably by marrying again. Upon this account I gave Marignan no discouragement; but yet I had a mind to try whether Interest or Love were most prevalent in him; which I did this way. I got a Letter written to me, as if it came out of Languedoc; the Contents were, That some of my Husband's Relations had set up a Title which would strip me of all he had left me. For all this, the Chevalier did not cool at all; and what convinced me most that he really loved me, was, that after his elder Brother, whose Estate came to him, was dead in the Army, he pressed me more than ever to give my Consent. He discoursed with my Friends about it, and married me through 〈…〉 Kindred dissuaded 〈…〉 rell'd with his Sister 〈◇〉 who was as averse to the Match as any body else.  
I believed, Madam, that I loved him, and I had good reason to do so; yet I was no sooner married, but I began to scruple it. What, said I to myself, should Blesinac's Fault have inspired me with any thing but sorrowful thoughts? Ones Heart may be once in ones Life engaged; but it is an inexcusable weakness to give way to a second Affection. What then have I done! Can I forgive myself believing I could live happy with any but Blesinac? Well, I did all I could to quiet my Mind, but I could not possibly get rid of these afflicting Thoughts. I was not born to be ever at ease; and if it has been your luck to be always beloved, it has been mine to find in myself an inexhaustible Spring of Troubles and Disquiet. What care soever I took to conceal it, my Husband discovered it; yet he was so civil, as to take no notice of it, and endeavoured rather to cure my Disease, than to let me see he was acquainted with it. He gave me all the Divertisements which he thought capable of dissipating my Melancholy; but it was grown so habitual to me, that he was fain to accustom himself to it. He had always known me in sorrow, and so I had the less difficulty to persuade him it proceeded from my Constitution. That which accomplished my misery, was, the News of the Countess of Blesinac's Death. I was informed, her Husband grieved but little for her, and that he was not so unconcerned at my Marriage as I imagined. The reflections I made upon her Death, improved my Melancholy; but to avoid giving my Husband occasion to question me upon a Subject which I should have been sorry to have discovered, I often walked out alone, and found a great deal of Pleasure in Solitude. One day a Kinswoman of mine, who had a pretty Seat a little out of Town, desired me to spend some time there, assuring me I should have all the freedom to meditate and muse that I could wish. I acquainted my Husband, who easily consented, and in the mean time went a Hunting with the Marquis de Marcilly.  
I went out of Town in my Kinswomans Coach, taking no body with me but a Woman and a Footman. When we came to her House, she left me a little while alone, and at her return, Will you go, said she to me, into a pretty Closet in the Garden, where there is an excellent Prospect. With all my Heart, said I, upon condition you will leave me there to muse by myself a while. She laughed, and  told me she believed I would not be so delighted with musing as I fancied. When we came to the Closet, she opened the Door, and I went in first, thinking to find no body there, and was extremely surprised to see Blesinac there in a dress that suited perfectly with the sorrowful Air of his Countenance. I turned to my Kinswoman to reproach her for deceiving me so, and would have gone away, considering my Circumstances would not admit of so dangerous a Conversation; but they both stopped me, and I could not escape hearing, and seeing Blesinac, in whom I observed all the marks of profound grief. I confess, Madam, the sight of him made me turn pale, and disturbed me so, that I can neither tell you what I then thought, or what he said to me at first. All I know is, that he threw himself at my Feet, and his Eyes  told me more than his Mouth. I was so diffident of myself upon this occasion, that I avoided his looks as much as I could. In short, when he found I would not speak to him, Ah, Madam, said he, what can you do more against me? and why are you so resolved to be revenged on me before you know whether I am guilty or no? I am not to examine, said I to him, now, whether you are innocent or no; the truth is, it is a crime in me to see you, and should I see you every day, and were convinced you had given me no reason to complain of you, yet you would be never the happier. Therefore let me still think you have offended me, and believe on your side, I have infinitely wronged you, and let us not venture a Reconciliation that may endanger our quiet. Alas, Madam, answered he, I will see you no more, since you desire it; but if this must be the last time, permit me at least to clear myself to you, that I may no longer leave you in an error so prejudicial to my honour.  
While Blesinac spoken to me, I found my yielding Heart took his part against myself; and besides my Kinswoman  told me, it was no harm to give him the hearing. Forgive me, Madam, continued he, if I begin my Justification with Reproaches. You accuse me of inconstancy; pray tell me what convincing proof did you ever give me of your Affection? I was so far your Friend, as to be the confident of your misfortunes. You gave me leave to mention my Passion to you sometimes, and you did not forbid me believing you had a kindness for me; but your confidence in me never went farther than Words, and I did not think them ground enough to frustrate a settlement which you yourself engaged me to. Since that time, Madam, appearances have deceived us both, and I doubt not but I shall convince you, I have abundance of Reason to complain of your proceedings with me. I did not answer him, because I began secretly to lay the blame of what he had done upon myself. However I  told him as things stood now it was all one whether we were angry with, or pitied one another.  
There is no task so hard to any one that valves their Honour, as to reconcile their Duty with their Inclination. Both of them tyramnize over us, one imposes upon us with authority, the other draws us by force. I knew what was owing to my Husband; but I was much more sensible of the effects of a long habitual Love upon a tender Heart. I married the Count of Marignan, thinking to revenge myself upon Blesinac, and in hopes the desert and Friendship of one would banish that kindness out of my Heart, which I fancied was so ungratefully repaid. Blesinac looked upon himself in honour obliged to justify himself to me, which he could not do without telling me all that had happened to him. I had also a great desire to be informed, and had no sooner given him leave to tell his Story, but he began in this manner.  
You are not Ignorant, Madam of my Fathers commanding me to make my Addresses to Crisante, nor of what preceded monsieur de Mondanar's refusal to accomplish the Match. When I had once declared, I thought myself bound in honour to proceed, all my Relations persuaded me to it, and Crisante her self urged me, telling me, it was base in me to have any manner of respect to her Uncle. She  told me further, that she perceived you were not of my side, and would never consent I should carry her away. And truly I could not but discover that you supported my Interest very faintly with your Husband; so that what I knew already agreeing with what she said to me, I resolved not to acquaint you with any thing. Besides I fancied you would not take it ill not to be acquainted with such a design; and as to our marriage, I could not believe, since it was once your opinion, that you could change your mind. These were the Reasons, Madam, that you were not of our Counsel. I heard from Crisante every day by such means as would be tedious for me to tell you, the remembrance of it pleases me so little, I care not to recall it. She made a shift to get the Key of the Draw-bridge, to take the print of it in Wax, and sand it me, by which I had one made, which I gave her, and we then agreed upon a day for me to come with Horses to the Avenue of the Castle; she undertook to get out to me, and I had nothing to do but to wait for her. I doubt not but you were much surprised when they  told you the House was on Fire, which happened upon this account, you sat up so late, that day began to break when you went to Bed, which made her think as soon as you should see the Draw-bridge down, you would suspect she was gone off, and pursue her, unless you were hindered by some considerable accident. So without considering the consequences, she did what her fancy lead her to; and when she, and her Woman came to me, they laughed ready to burst themselves, and  told me, they had burnt their Quarters.  
Thus you see I accomplished my wretched Design but too easily. We took the way that lead towards rovergue, where I had provided a Sanctuary for us in the Baron de Goustignac's House, whose Lady is my Aunt. They made us welcome at first, but afterwards I found I was mistaken when I thought that place would have been an Asylum to us. The Baron had a Son newly come from Paris, where he had been a musketeer in the eldest Company, a very pert, flashy young Fop, and this his Father called the Court Breeding. This Spark finding Crisante was like to be a good Fortune, thought her as convenient for himself, as me, and if he could but get her good will, made no scruple of betraying his Kinsman. When I had been some time at Goustignac, I desired my Aunt to contrive it so that we might be married there; but her Husband daily starting new difficulties, at last, she  told me with Tears in her Eyes, I must expect no assistance from her; she perceived her Husband, and her Son had great Designs upon Crisante, and gave me warning to be gone before they had time to put their intentions in execution. I made use of this Advice, and that very night after Supper, as soon as I saw the Baron, and the musketeer gone to Bed, we left Goustignac, intending only to get from thence, we followed no certain road, and having travelled all night, my Valet de chamber perceived we were near a forest, where there was a Glass-house, with the Master of which, and some Gentlemen thereabouts, he was acquainted. He  told us we might stay there some days conveniently enough, till we had resolved what place to choose for our retreat. I proposed this to Crisante, who always delighted in contradiction, and if ever she yielded, it was still after a tedious dispute. Her wilfulness now had like to have cost us dear.  
When we were within two Leagues of the Mountains of rovergue we were set upon by twelve or fifteen Thieves. I believed at first we were discovered, and that they were People sent after us by monsieur de Goustignac; but they aimed only at our Purses, as we found by their first salutes; for they robbed us without any mercy, stripping us very near of all our Clothes. After this I needed no great eloquence to persuade Crisante to go to the Glasshouse; the question was now, how we should get thither, and whether they would entertain us or no, considering what an Equipage we were left in. Crisante's Person spoken but little in her favour, and I had not so good an opinion of my own, as to hope it would do me any service. My Man Rusat took all upon himself, and so we began our Journey which was very unwholesome to us, who were not used to beat the Hoof so far. Even now and then we found Houses in the forest, where they relieved us with Bread, and Water, which however was very welcome to us, and at night we had the luck to meet with a Cottage where we lodged, for Crisante was quiter spent, and had much a do to go on next day, that we might get to the Glass-house. As Peoples Humours are various, so we found great difference there in our reception; some of the Gentlemen laughed at us, some pitied us, and others were very inquisitive into our Adventures. Those who had most Sense used us civilly, and by our Speech, Behaviour, and what clothes we had left, guessed we deserved to be so treated, and offered us their Huts, for I can call their Houses no other, to lye in. Crisante stayed at Fregonce's, the Master of the Glass-work, and I quartered with a Gentleman named Mondany.  
Next day I sent away Ruset to acquaint my Father with what had happened to us, and to desire him to assist us either to go further, if there was a necessity for it, or to come back again to him, if he thought fit. I ordered him besides to inquire after you, and to deliver a Letter to you, which I had privately given him. I forgot to telly ou, he had informed Fregonce that we were People of Quality. We acquainted him then what mischance brought us thither in such a wretched condition, and he was so civil as to furnish us with Clothes suitable enough to our Circumstances, and the place where we were.  
Crisante now importuned me to mary her, but still, though I really intended it, yet my secret inclinations, made me find some reason or other to put it off. At last she spoken of it to Fregonce, who took such pains to convince me how much I was obliged to give her that satisfaction, since her kindness to me had engaged her to follow me, that I consented to let a Brother of his, who was a Priest, mary us privately that very night. Ah! Madam, had you but seen how sorrowfully I passed that dreadful night, and the first days that succeeded it, I am sure you would have pardoned me. I thought of nothing but you, and I looked upon her Fortune which was the only motive to the Match, as the original of all my miseries. Crisante did not look so narrowly into my thoughts, she took me for what I appeared to be, and I had enough to do to bear with her Caresses, and her ill Humour too, for they were both in the extremes. But my repentance was not sufficient to satisfy your revenge without fresh persecutions which Love brought upon me. I think I  told you I lay at Mondany's , but I said nothing of his Sister who lived with him. This young Woman whose name was Diana, fancied I must needs be her Endymion, and gave me all manner of encouragement to court her, but I was not in the humour to divert myself that way. However the first expressions of my coldness did not restrain her; she was handsome, and knew her Charms could not fail of their effect where the Heart was not preingag'd. She guessed therefore with probability enough if I had any intrigue with Crisante it was out of Interest, which would not be difficult to break off. She often  told me, I was not nice in my taste, and if I had not weighty Reasons to justify my choice, I could hardly avoid forfeiting my discretion. I would not answer her disobligingly, and my civility to her indulged her weakness so far, it had like to have cost me my Life.  
She made her Brother believe I was in love with her, which if discovered to Crisante, she  told him, would be a means for him to gain her affection from me, because she was so subject to gratify her Passions. Mondany soon yielded to his Sister's persuasions. They knew I had stolen away Crisante, but they did not at all suspect our being married. So he was very assiduous about her, and flattered himself with hopes of success. He made her several small presents of his Work, and entertained her with Consorts of Hautbois, and Bagpipes; it pleased me to see her so diverted, for it gave me the more freedom of enjoying my melancholy thoughts. At last she  told me one day with some kind of joy, that Mondany had  told her, I was in love with his Sister, and then made a Declaration of his own Passion to her. I advised her to make sport with him, and not to own any thing of our marriage.  
Mondany was as handsome for a Man, as his Sister was for a Woman, and knew how to value himself; so that looking on me as the only obstacle to his Designs, he cast about how to get rid of me. But this required time, knowing therefore his Sister had a kindness for me, he desired her to use her utmost endeavours to engage me, that I might not hinder him from gaining Crisante, who he said gave him no great discouragement. Diana served her Brother as he desired, and very dexterously gave me to understand that Crisante entertained his Addresses so well, that it looked as if she intended to mary him. While Diana thus made it her business to compass my Affection, her Brother was contriving how to put it out of my Power to dispute Crisante with him. One morning I saw a Stranger come into his House, who looked very earnestly upon me, as if he had seen me before. I presently left the Room for fear he should call to mind who I was, and went to Fregonce's to see Crisante, who was not well. The apprehension we had of discovering our marriage kept us from lying together. I stayed almost all day with her, and in the evening we heard a great noise towards the Furnace, where they said Mondany was just then killed. As I was going to know the truth of this accident, I saw them drag a Man along, whom they took for the murderer, and knew him to be the same who looked so attentively upon me in the morning, and innocently  told those who had hold of him, I believed he was not guilty, because he seemed to be one of Mondany's Friends, whom they brought with them too. I got close to him, to see him, and finding some remainders of life in him, I followed the People who carried him into his Cabin, where I joined with the rest to bring him to himself; but as soon as he recovered his Senses, he appeared troubled at the sight of me, therefore not to disturb him I went away.  
The fellow who had wounded him seeing me go by, called me, to tell me the Truth of the Adventure. I know not, said he to me, what Reasons Mondany had to wish your Death, but I assure you, he sent for me out of the Mountains to kill you. This Morning he shew'd me a place where he said you walk very late every night, and we pitched upon a three from whence I was to shoot you, he made me take notice of your Person, and your Clothes, to prevent mistakes, and came about an hour ago to tell me, it was time for me to repair to my Station. He helped me to get up into the three, and then took the Gun to give it me, but did it in such an unlucky manner, with the Mouth of it towards him, that it went off, and so he has killed himself. While this Villain was talking thus to me, Mondany himself related how the thing happened, to those who were about him, which put me out of doubt why the sight of me disturbed him so. He died soon after, and his indiscreet Sister, conscious to her self of this deplorable accident, went away from the Glass-house, without any bodies knowing what was become of her. Having no mind to have myself taken notice of in this business, I very impatiently expected Rusat 's coming back, and at last he return'd. My first care, Madam, was for you, and if I shew'd any concern, it was to hear news of you, and how you had received my Letter. He  told me, you tore it without reading it, that you declined all Discourse of me, and my Affairs, and seemed resolved never to forgive my running away with Crisante. He added, that from what you said to him in your Passion, and Anger, he gathered you had won your Husbands opinion only by discovering your extreme hatred to me. What shall I say to you, Madam? I assure you I was not displeased to hear you were angry with me, and I feared your indifference much more than your indignation.  
Rusat having given me an account of what related to me,  told me my Affairs were in a very ill posture, and that there was no likelihood of my going back to my Father, who was grown very melancholy with the trouble I had put him to; that he had sent me a Letter, and all things necessary for a long Journey. The difficulty now was whither we should retire: I had Friends enough who would receive me, but at the same time, I had Reasons not to try their kindness. My Wifes Humour was so uneasy, that I durst not adventure to trouble my Friends with her. She was continually quarreling with Fregonce his Wife, and Daughters. In short, I return'd the Obligations I had to them for their Patience as well as I could, and to deliver them of their unquiet Guest, resolved to go to Pompadour in the Cevennes. After I had been there two Months, as I was going by the Door of a little Convent, I saw a great many People got together. Trouble of Mind, and Curiosity made me go in, where by the preparations, I found they were going to admit a Nun into the Habit. I crowded in among the rest to see with what courage she renounced the World; and was never so surprised in my life as I was to see it was Diana, the same Diana I have been speaking of. Though she was sufficiently employed in the part she was then acting, she happened to cast her Eyes upon me; and the sight of me struck her with such a secret emotion, that she Swooned away, and they were fain to put off the ceremony, not only then, but for good and all, for Diana fancied I came to Pompadour after her, and my presence had revived her Love, which was not quiter extinguished in her Heart. I was no sooner got back to my Lodging, but a Man asked for me, and gave me a Note from Diana, in which she prayed me to come and see her. I would not have gone, but that the Messenger  told me, if I did not, she was resolved to visit me. I asked him, if she had any Relations at Pompadour, he  told me she had an Aunt there. Well, I went to the Convent, where Diana entertained me as she used to do at the Glasshouse. She  told me besides, all that she and her Brother had contrived between them, and that it was my coldness to her, more than his Death, made her think of being a Nun. For I no sooner saw you, added she, but I changed my Mind, in hopes that you have altered yours too to my advantage.  
Diana accompanied what she said with so many Tears, that I could scarce forbear pitying her; but the remembrance of her Artifices made me proof against it. Your Image too, Madam, assisted me, and upon these considerations, I  told her it was in vain for her to persist in her kindness to me, for not being at my own disposal, I could never be hers. She easily guessed I was married, and dissembled her Anger so well, that I really believed Reason had prevailed with her. I left her, and for some time heard no more of her, but that she had quitted the Convent, and lived with her Aunt. But you will be astonished to hear what extremities Despair brought her to. One Evening, as my Wife and I were at Cards with two or three of the Neighbours who came to visit us, they brought me word, a Man desired to speak with me about earnest Business. It was not so dark as to need a Torch, and yet it was not light enough for me to discern who it was spoken to me. It was it seems Diana in Mans Clothes; she said some rambling things to me, to gain time to do what she came for: Her Speech was so confused, that I imagined she was almost distracted, but she quickly explained her self pretty clearly, for as I turned my Head about to bid my Man fetch a Candle, I felt myself struck with a Dagger; she aimed so well as not to miss her blow, but her Hand was so unsteady, that it glanced, and yet gave me a considerable wound. When this was done, she ran the same Poniard into her own Breast. Upon my crying out, People came about us, and you may judge how surprised they were at this Spectacle. Diana was fallen down, and talked like one that was quiter distracted. My Circumstances obliged me to take little notice of this accident, so that her Aunt and I agreed to let it pass for an effect of madness. This miserable Creature would not suffer them to dress her; but fell into a Fever, and died.  
Accidents of this kind are so hard to be concealed, that I apprehended what had happened to me, would discover where I was, which made me leave Pompadour sooner than I thought to do. I was not quiter cured of my wound, my Wife was almost always indisposed, and I lead a very wearisome life, so that I resolved to go back to my Father come what would. When I came thither, I found three months had wrought a great alteration in my Affairs. My Father received us very coldly, for what your Husband left you at his death, had so much lessened, Madam, de Blesinac's Forrune, that it put him quiter out of humour, and I observed, he took no great pains to conceal the cause of it. For my part, Madam, nothing afflicted me, but your absence, and the apprehension of your being displeased at my Marriage. Till now I never knew exactly what my Wife thought of you, but when she saw how little I was concerned at the loss of her Estate, she  told me, I was better pleased to see it in your Hands, than in hers; and that she was not ignorant how strictly I had devoted myself to your Service. I endeavoured all I could to undeceive her; but she fell into a furious passion, and  told me, she had convincing proofs of my falsehood, though she had taken no notice of them to me while we were abroad. In short, Madam, she shew'd me the Letter I wrote to you, and confessed she had forced Rusat to give it her, and to say what he did to me when he came back.  
You may believe Rusat's treachery vexed me to the quick, and I resented it as it deserved. To excuse himself, he  told me, my Wife promised him she would bring me to approve of his not delivering the Letter, and that she would not mention it to me till she found an opportunity of doing it, without displeasing me. In fine, Madam, you cannot imagine how well she dissembled her knowledge of this Secret; but when once she began to take notice of it, she continually reproached me of my coldness in all that concerned her, and how zealous I was for you. By degrees we grew more and more exasperated, and uneasy to one another. That which made the breach irreconcilable, was, that not being able to endure Rusat any longer, I turned him away, notwithstanding all my Wives importunity to pardon him. From that day forward we hardly ever agreed in any thing, and her Passion would often transport her to strange extremities. I have already  told you, her Health was not very well confirmed, her continual Melancholy quiter ruined it, and brought her into a violent Fever, which dispatched her in a week.  
She would by no means let me see her while she was sick, and I submitted to her Resolutions, and let her die in Peace. I bore this change of my Fortune with moderation, and behaved myself as I ought, without betraying either too much sorrow, or satisfaction. But, Madam, your Marrying the Count of Marignan quiter overcame my Reason, as soon as I heard of it, I was seized with a most sensible, and real grief, and wholly abandoned my self to despair. I fell sick, and for two Months together was given over by every body. I know not, Madam, what it was kept me alive, I am sure my life was a burden to me, and I used no remedies to preserve it. As soon as I was able to leave my Bed, I was very impatient to be at Paris, without knowing wherefore I desired it. It was not hope that drew me thither; though indeed I could not apprehended any further effects of your displeasure, you had already executed your utmost cruelty, I only was satisfied I should be where you were, and should at least, either by chance, or my own Industry sometimes have the pleasure of seeing you. Your Husband's, and my Wives death, were great steps to the composing of my Affairs, and putting me into a condition of appearing in the World.  
I left Languedoe to come to Paris, where I have seen no body but your pretty Kinswoman, who after some Discourse with her, had so much compassion for me, to promise me to deceive you so far, as to get you hither, to afford me the only comfort I am capable of.  
Here Blesinac ended his Relation, which had so much effect upon me, that I no longer doubted his Fidelity. But we were never the happier for that, I could do nothing to contribute to his repose without endangering my own; besides, I was sensible such interviews were indecent, and might be of ill consequence. In short, Madam, I had no mind to harbour an affection so dangerous to my Reputation. But, alas! who can resist the tears of a Lover who deserves to be beloved? Blesinac appeared to be touched so to the quick, that I could not refuse seeing him sometimes in my Kinswomans Company, nor help discovering my Heart so far to him, as to let him find I loved him more than I ought. I repaid his Sighs, and Tears, with the like; and we found ourselves in a more deplorable condition than before we met. It was very late before we partend, and my Kinswoman would not let Blesinac go back to Paris that night; yet not thinking it convement for him to be seen in her House, he stayed in the Cabinet, where she sent him something to eat by a Woman she could safely trust, and by her gave his People notice they should go wait for their Master at the next Village. After Supper we went back to him, and stayed with him most part of the night. I had quiter forgot to tell him, I would have him be gone the next day, and went away without speaking to him of it; and when I proposed to my Cousin to sand him word, he should go very early in the morning, she answered, it would be better for him to stay till night, to avoid being seen by any body; and I was easily contented to have so good a reason for his stay.  
Those who are born to be unhappy, are always so, and in every thing they go about. My Kinswoman, and I went to see Blesinac again in the morning. He was very desirous to learn what had happened to me, and I consented to satisfy him, and was advanced as far in my Relation as the confusion, and trouble of Mind I was in, when I resolved to mary the Count de Marignan. The remembrance of this made me whether I would or no  shed some Tears, and I had not le●t off, when my Kinswoman, who fat by the Window, saw my Husband coming. he was already so near, it was impossible for us to get out before he came to the Door. However Blesinac threw himself upon the Bed, and we went out to meet him, with all the concern upon us you may imagine. He observed it, and from thence, together with my Tears, which were not yet quiter wiped off, gathered such proofs, as gave him suspicion, which nevertheless he concealed so well, as not to show it before us. It was now Dinner time, and a Footman brought word it was upon the Table, so that the Count could not avoid going in along with us, and as we crossed the Garden, he  told me very obligingly, he was weary of all places where I was not with him. He had left Hunting to come to me, and this token of his kindness, made me extremely sensible of my ingratitude. There was hardly a Word said all Dinner long; and my Kinswoman, whom my Husband watched as well as me, had much ado to whisper me, that it was not fit for us to stay there the rest of the day, and would have me propose going back to Paris. But my Husband, who still kept his Eyes upon the Cabinet in the Garden, had a mind to go thither, and would not leave the House, till he had satisfied his Curiosity, which he gave us to understand, by saying he would have us spend some time there before we went away.  
My Cousins Maid, who knew where it pinched, had the Wit, and Dexterity to relieve us. She took a great compass about the Garden, and then let Blesinac out, by setting a Ladder up to one of the Windows, and conducted him to a Farmers House, where he stayed to hear from us. For my part, I was ignorant of the good Office she had done me, and was in a mortal fear what would become of me. As soon as my Husband had dined, he spoken of going to the Cabinet. My Kinswoman, who had the Key, was once of the mind to have gone out of the way a little, that she might have avoided giving him it; now it was equally dangerous to refuse going thither too obstinately, as it was to agree to it too briskly: therefore she resolved to spoil the Key so as it might not turn in the Lock. But this invention did not succeed, my Husband straightened it, opened the Door, and went directly to the Bed, where he laid him down, that we might not think he had any suspicion of us; but when he saw the Window that looked to the backside of the Garden open, he shook his Head in such a manner, as I took notice of it, and I assure you, it put me into a terrible fright. Just as I began to recover myself, he found Blesinac's Crape Hatband which was fallen down by the Bedside. He looked upon it a little while, and my Cousin pretended to call to mind who it belonged to, and at last, as if she had forgot, she said there came so many People thither in her absence, that it was impossible for her to guess.  
This excuse, though well enough framed, instead of clearing, increased the Counts suspicions, and made him resolve to watch me so close, that he might either justify me, or undeniably convince me. We return'd that night to Paris, and I learnt since, that Blesinac sent for his Horses to go back thither too; and I heard from him there sometimes by my Cousin who came often to visit me, which Corresp●ndence my Husband never hindered, though he suspected her: She had so much power over me, that we made a second appointment to meet at one Agar's, a Painters House in Richelieu-street. My Husband had me dogged, and as soon as he knew where we were, got privately into a neighbouring House, where he planted himself to watch us. When we had been at Agar's two hours, Blesinac went away first. He was in Mourning, and my Husband remembering the Crape he found at my Kinswomans, doubted not but it was he who left it there. He endeavoured to take particular notice of his Face, but he could no● distinguish his Features so well, as to know him again. He had been  told of Blesinac before, and his affection to me; he knew also that he had butted his Wife, and this was it that put him out of all doubt. Well, he let us alone at the Painters, and went away from his Post, before we came out. When I came home, I found my Mother there, who stayed to acquaint me that my Husband had been with her to complain of me. I excused myself to her without much difficulty, and convinced her I was guilty of no such horrid Crime in permitting poor Blesinac to see me. It's true, said she, but Husbands Eyes are more open to what condemns, than that which justifies, and I advice you to break off all Correspondence with a Man whom the Count is Jealous of. I promised her I would, and she stayed with me to use her endeavours to bring my Husband out of his ill Humour; but do what she could, nothing would serve turn, but I must leave the Town the very next day, and go with him to Estaiac, which was a Seat he had at the foot of the Pyrenaean-Hills. Nay, he was so cautious as to put away all my Maids and Footmen, and to take others. He got every thing ready for our Journey with such dispatch, that we left Paris exactly at the time he designed, and took the road to Bourdeaux, without mention all the way either of his Displeasure, or any thing else; for we travelled two hundred Leagues without speaking one Word. You may guess, however, I thought of Blesinac often, and could not help reflecting upon my unfortunate Life.  
I expressed no dissatisfaction at my leaving Paris; nay, I was so indifferent at my departure, that my Husband ought at least to have believed I sacrificed all to my Duty. When we came to Estaiac, he sent me word I might choose what Apartment I pleased in the House, and that he expected I should never stir out of it. I obeyed, and went into my Prison, which I accustomed myself to without any great difficulty. My Husband, who was of a different Temper, passed his time very miserable in this Place, which is most dreadfully situated; his only Pleasure was in my Confinement; and what he believed had passed between me and Blesinac, ran so in his Head, that when ever he looked up by chance to my Window, and saw me there, he would turn away, as if he were frighted. After some time, he took a sancy to trim up an Apartment in the House; I believe he had a mind to learn to draw himself, at least I understood by one of the Women that waited on me, that he had sent to Paris for a Painter, and would have a good one, whatever it cost him. All this while I never went out of my Chamber but upon Holidays; and I protest, the trouble I observed in his Lo●ks when he went by my Window, made me pity him so, that I resolved to reason the Case with him. In order to this, I begged I might discourse with him, which with a great deal of difficulty he consented to. Considering the Circumstances I was in, I spoken to him, I think, as I ought; I am sure, it was very submissively. He heard me without interruption; and then looking upon me with Eyes that spoken Indignation and Contempt, You push your Confidence, said he, too far, to expose yourself thus to the Reproaches which I can easily overwhelm you with. Is it possible, said he, you can think I am ignorant of your falsehood? And though I resent it as becomes a Man of Honour, you may be sure I am the more provoked, because you have abused me when I trusted you most. I would have justified myself by a sincere Confession of all that had passed between Blesinac and me, from the first day of our Acquaintance, till my coming from Paris: But all I could say, in stead of inducing him to pardon me, served but to improve his Hatred. It came into his Head, that I married him only to be revenged of Blesinac; and this Fancy enraged him so, that I trembled to think what would become of me. He  told me, he could sooner excuse my Intrigues since Marriage, than my marrying him when my Heart was preingag'd.  
From that time forward he refused to let me speak with him any more; all I could learn, was, that he was exceeding melancholy. He lived above a Month at this rate; and I was the more uneasy, because whatever Account I had of him, made me apprehended he would attempt my Life. But at last two Painters came from Paris, and helped to divert him in his Discontent. One of them was excellent in his Art, and the other had a great many Qualities that were very entertaining; for he not only painted, but he had Wit, was a Poet, a Musician, a good mimic, and always very cheerful. My Husband indeed was surprised to find a Man of his Rank so accomplished; and the more, when he perceived by his solid Knowledge that the Endowments of his Soul exceeded the little Flashes of superficial Wit. All this, joined with an agreeable Out-side, had such an effect upon my Husband, that in a short time he recovered the natural Gaiety of his Humour. In a word, Dormont( so was this Painter called) furnished him every day with some new Diversion. Sometimes he repeated a piece of a Play to him, and kept up the Characters so well, 
Two Famous French Actors.  that Floridor or Poisson themselves never acted a passionate Part, or a Farce better. Sometimes he would imitate the Italians, and sing to his Theorbo or Guitar, and danced with incomparable grace and activity.  
I had a Maid who was not shut up with me, but had the liberty to come in and out of my Apartment. This Wench, whose Name was Rose, spoken often to me of the Painter, and by her Discourse, I had reason to believe she had a Kindness for him. Ah Madam, said she to me one day, if you knew how much Wit, and what bewitching Qualities Dormont has, you would not wonder my Master is so fond of him. I protest I never saw a man so capable to inspire Love; but I question whether he be susceptible of it; for generally People who have such Perfections, wish so well to themselves, that they care little for any body else. Not that he is so could to me, added she; for he is very complaisant to me: but I perceive it is more out of Civility, than any inclination he has to me. Well Rose, said I, is it not possible for me to have a sight of this Painter? He is ready to die, Madam, replied she, with impatience to give you a Visit. He has asked me a thousand Questions how you live, and what you do a days to support your melancholy Condition. Were it not that I feared to displease you, I would have brought him to you before now. I  told Rose, I would not be angry if she did; and she went to him immediately, to tell him he had my leave to wait upon me.  
Next morning he came along with her into my Chamber: but judge, Madam, how surprised I was to find Dormont was the Count of Blesinac. It was well for me, that Rose was taken up with her own Thoughts, for it kept her from observing the disturbance I was in. I never dreamed of the Pleasure of seeing him, and only considered the ill Consequences of our Meeting, and the Danger he exposed himself to. As soon as I recovered myself out of the first Surprise which the sight of him cast me into, I  told him, I was obliged to him for the pains he took to divert my Husband in his Solitude. He answered me with abundance of respect, but durst not speak to me in private. Hearing me ask for a Basket which I kept my Work in, he ran to fetch it me, and dexterously put a Letter into it; and then, after a little more Discourse, I made him a Sign to be gone. When Rose and he were out of the Room, I shut the Door, and opened his Letter, in which he acquainted me, how much my Husband's carrying me out of Town in that manner, had troubled him; that he resolved to come and share my Misfortunes with me, and to do all that lay in his power to put an end to them; that he had prevailed with the Painter, who knew nothing of his Quality, to let him come along with him to Estaiac, under pretence of improving his Hand under him. He  told me besides, how far he had gained upon my Husband, and what he had suffered in not seeing me a whole Month that he had been there; that however he choose to deprive himself of that Satisfaction, rather than expose me to any Inconvenience, by attempting any thing rashly; and then concluded with tender Protestations of eternal and inviolable Love.  
I had Paper by me which I used to wrap up my Work in, but had neither Pen, nor Ink, and knew not which way to answer him; however Love was so ingenious as to make me think of a Composition to writ with, which makes no visible marks upon the Paper, and is not to be red till you hold it to the Fire. I made use of this to let Dormont know he must needs go from Estaiac. The difficulty now was to instruct him how to red what I had writ: to effect which, I  told Rose I had a mind to learn to draw, and bid her bring Dormont to me privately as she did at first to give me my first Lesson. She did as I bid her, but she was so in love with him, that she would not trust him out of her sight, and stood so near us all the while, that with much ado I could hardly tell him how he must do to red what I sent him. These meetings were so dangerous, that I intended to forbid them; indeed I gave him leave to writ to me the same way as I used, and Rose brought me his Letters, thinking them nothing but Papers with Flowers drawn upon them. I wrote my Answers at the bottom, and pretended to sand him back his Flowers. This Correspondence satisfied him at first, but Love which is always contriving of new projects, made him think of a sure way to deliver me out of my Prison. He industriously sought all opportunities of speaking of me to my Husband, and at last met with one. There was an admirable Echo in the Garden, where my Husband often made Dormont sing.  
I remember one day as I was at my Chamber Window, where I could hear him, my Husband seeing me there,  told Dormont, that I listened to him, and if he had a mind to please me, he must sing something that was melancholy, and moving, to express the rigour of a tedious separation. If you have nothing sad enough already, added he, give us something of your own making extempore. Dormont, after a little Meditation, sung these Words, 
I come, dear Nymph, of Absence to complain,  
Without least Hope, my sorrows to remove.  
pleased with the utmost rigour of my pain,  
I think of nothing now, but Death, and Love.   
But, Sir, said Dormont to my Husband when he had done singing, if these words please you, may I presume to ask, why your Lady is so solitary? for I think I have heard Rose say, she is so handsome, you need not be ashamed to let her be seen. Do not you know, replied he, that Beauty is very rare, and the less it is looked on the more it is respected. I believe, Sir, replied Dormont, it is prudently done of the Kings of Ormus, not to show themselves to their People above once in a year; but I never heard it practised between a Man and his Wife any where but at Estaiac. I perceive, said the Count, you would be glad to see her, and you shall, upon condition you do not abuse the permission I give you, by concerning yourself in the complaints which it's likely she may make of me to you. Dormont fearing if he gave him time to reflect upon the liberty he afforded him, he might change his mind, besought him not to defer the favour he promised him to another day. My Husband immediately called Rose to him, and commanded her to show Dormont the way into my apartment. This was some satisfaction to me, but I never yet tasted any perfect Joy, and this less than any other, because I durst not flatter myself it would continue long. Dormont  told me what he had done to obtain leave to visit me, and ordered his Discourses so dexterously, that it seemed necessary for him to speak softly to me. You may be sure, he made use of this privilege only to ●… ell me the most moving things that Love can inspire. I permitted him to give my Husband what account he thought fit of our Conversation, and was not willing he should stay long with me.  
As soon as ever he came out of my Chamber, the Count de Marignan asked him his Opinion of my Person, and Humour. She is undoubtedly a very fine Woman, answered Dormont, but without searching into the accidental causes of her grief, I take her to be naturally of a melancholy disposition; and should she have a fancy to sing, I believe she would employ her Voice in very sorrowful Ditties. But in short, replied my Husband, what said she to you? She discoursed to me, said Dormont, of the Beauty of this Solitude, and how desirous she was I might draw her a Landscape, in which there might be nothing but Rocks, and Torrents, Wild Beasts, Trees with their Leaves off, and obscure Caverns. Except it were a Tomb, which perhaps she did not think of, she omitted nothing that might argue her thoughts to be exceeding melancholy, and filled my Head with such sad Notions, that I fear I shall hardly get rid of them. No, said my Husband with a bitter smile, her Melancholy does not proceed from her Constitution; and I believe would have entered upon the particular Circumstances of my Affairs, if word had not been brought him, that the Chevalier de Monserolle, a Neighbour of his, was come to visit him. This was the only Gentleman of the Country with whom he had made a Friendship. They discoursed privately about half an hour, and then the Chevalier went away, and left the Count in a kind of a serious musing.  
As soon as he was gone, my Husband called Dormont to him again, who had left the Room out of respect. If my Wife, said he to him, has infected you with her Melancholy, we shall have a pretty Lady here to night, who, it may be, may restore your good humour? It is mademoiselle d'Ecugy, who is run away with the Chevalier de Monserolle. I cannot in decency keep her from seeing my Wife, and therefore shall be forced to put an end to her solitude; but I would have her owe the Obligation wholly to you. Ah, Sir, answered Dormont, rob her not of the satisfaction of owing it to yourself, and have a care you do not spoil me, by making me more presumptuous than I ought to be. Well, said my Husband, I will have it so, therefore go to her immediately, and tell her, she may come down Stairs, and make that Figure in my Family, which she had always done, if she had behaved her self better. Dormont came into my Chamber, with a very cheerful Countenance, and gave me an account of what had passed in the two hours he had been from me. Any one but I would have been pleased with such news; but I was used to rejoice at nothing, and at this time fear surmounted my kindness for Blesinac; not but there were some moments in which I liked my condition well enough. I loved, and was beloved. The nicety of our intrigue made our Conversation more endearing, and had I been inclined to pleasure, I might have been satisfied with so unexpected a change; but I had not yet run through all the Calamities that were to complete my Destiny; and if sometimes I felt any disposition to be cheerful, an invincible secret foreboding, still threw me back into my former sorrow.  
The first thing I did after I was at liberty, was to go into my Husband's Closet to receive his Orders: I found him better dressed than he used to be, and controller to me than I expected. He advised me very calmly to find out such amusements as might quiter banish Blesinac out of my thoughts, and then  told me he could not refuse to protect the Chevalier de Monserolle, who had taken away the Baron d'Ecugy's Daughter against his Will, and desired me to make them welcome. I had not time to answer him, for there came a great many Gentlemen into the Court, with a young Woman, whose behaviour I thought a little extravagant. I went to the Gate to receive her, and did it with all the Civility I could, which certainly she ought to have return'd with the like; but she hardly vouchsafed to look on me. My Husband's Addresses met with better entertainment, and I had enough to do to Compliment those who came along with Madam d'Ecugy. I confess also, I applied myself to observe the Lover, and his Mistress, my Husband, and a Gentleman called Arbanante. My Mind was never so diverted by any Object of Pleasure, but that I was always at leisure, and disposed to discern the Humour and true Bias of their inclinations, who were not extremely reserved, and upon their Guard in all their Actions. I quickly discovered that the Chevalier de Monserolle really loved his Mistress; that she had not the same kindness for him, and had consented to go away with him, only out of an ambition she had of signalizing her self by a piece of remarkable folly. Actions of this nature seldom happen without violating the Rules of Decency, which she seemed wholly to have forgotten. I perceived so much immodesty in her Mirth, that I often wondered how the Chevalier durst venture to mary a Woman who had so little command of her self. For my part, I always thought a Woman obliged to warrant her virtue by her Behaviour; But all she did, was contrary to this Maxim. Her great delight was in fancying People in love with her, but more, to have them who were so, or at least feigned to be so, declare it. Being of this temper, it was no wonder she was proud of the respect my Husband shew'd her, and forgot she had run away with Monserolle.  
I assure you, she remembered it so little, that for some days she would scarce give him leave to speak to her: and my Husband put no manner of constraint upon himself; for knowing the reason I had to fear him, was sufficient to hinder me from thwarting his Inclinations, he made no scruple of courting his Friend's Mistress, though it were against the Laws of Hospitality. In the mean time, there was a necessity of the Chevalier's fixing his Resolutions. Madam d' Ecugy was in no hast to be married; my Husband dreaded she should; Dormont was glad he was taken up with a Passion that kept him from diving into our Intrigue; and Arbanante had no mind to leave Estaiac, which he could not avoid if the Match were once concluded. Every ones Interest lying the same way, it was no hard matter to reconcile the Parties. My Husband would needs have Dormont one of their Privy-Council; they resolved Monserolle should go to Paris, to obtain the marshal de Gramont's Protection, to whom he was particularly known.  
Monserolle's absence made no alteration at Estaiac; on the contrary, new Diversions were invented every day: But yet though my Husband had some reason to expect Madam d' Ecugy should return his Kindness, he was so unhappy as to find she disliked him, and that it was a Constraint to her to endure his Addresses. Now, Madam, I am come to that part of my Story which recalls very afflicting Circumstances to my remembrance, and you shall see the utmost Period of my Misfortunes. Madam d' Ecugy was in love with Dormont, and was so indiscreet as to let it be taken notice of. My Husband was the first that discovered it; but observing Dormont did not at all answer her Affection, he still continued his Kindness to him, and  told him sometimes in confidence, That he recommended the Concerns of his Heart to him; but Dormont minded neither the Mistresses kind Looks, nor the Lover's Apprehensions. One Evening having a Mind to play at Blindmand's-Buff, she would needs have Dormont blinded; as he ran about to catch one of us, he felt a Note thrust into his Hand. Being in complaisance to make one at this Sport, he thought at first I had given it him, or that it might come from Rose, who still loved him; but could not so much as imagine Madam d' Ecugy reserved enough to take such a Course to explain her self. He was so impatient to know the meaning of it, that as soon as he had caught one, who by the Rules of the Play was to be bound in his turn, he went out of the Room to red the Billet, which was in these Terms.  
WEre you a Man of Quality, I should take it ill that you have not already made me a Return suitable to the Honour I do you, in preferring you not only before the Master of the House, but another also whom I once thought well enough of to let him mary me. But I see I must be forced to break the Ice myself, and let you know, I pass over whatever makes a distance between us, and wholly follow the Inclination of my Heart, which attracts me to you. Make the best use you can of an Advertisement which is too advantageous for you to slight; and remember, what I offer you is upon condition, that you always treat me with that Respect which is due to me.  
Dormont was really troubled at this Letter, for he had no mind to Rival my Husband in every thing, nor would he give me any cause to suspect him; and besides, was afraid of Ecugy's Indiscretion: So that here was enough at once to disturb his Mind. It nearly concerned him to prevent my Maids discovery of our good Intelligence. In short, he concluded he was to fear nothing so much as to disquiet me, and therefore sacrificed his Discretion to his Fidelity, and found an Opportunity to tell me what had hapen'd to him. I presently saw the dangerous Consequences of it, and beholded with infinite affliction all the Calamities this Womans Passion would bring upon me. She was as impatient all the next day as People in her Condition usually are: I know not how it came to pass, that I chanced to be alone with her; for we both avoided one anothers Company as much as we could. I perceived she was so uneasy, that I thought myself bound to take notice of it, and ask what was the reason of it. My Circumstances are such, said she, very briskly, that I cannot enjoy much Peace. Till to day, answered I, your Affairs have not seemed to disturb you, and I know not any thing that has happened to alarm you. Perhaps, added I, the Chevalier de Monserolle is longer from you than he promised. Not at all, said she; I neither rejoice nor grieve at his absence. Ah Madam, replied I, as to that matter, give me leave to think you do not speak sincerely. There is no likelihood you would have let Monserolle have carried you away from your Father, unless Love had animated you. Why, answered she, you have been as bold, without having so Honourable a Pretence as I had: But I perceive well enough, continued she, what you drive at, and what vexes you to the Heart: You fancy at least that your Husband is in love with me; and truly if I thought it plagued you, I would make it my Business to improve it: But it is your Husband, Madam, it is not your beloved Blesinac, and so you need not fear. Madam, replied I, pretty smartly, I must have a greater value for you first, than I have yet, before I can suspect any man has so little judgement, as to find any thing in you that can make me jealous of your Merit.  
Just as I said this, my Husband came into the Room; she gave him her Hand, and went along with him to see an Apartment which he had ordered to be painted: At least this was her Pretence; for she went only to find Dormont, and as soon as she came where he was, she pretended she had a mind to learn to draw, and desired him to give her some Copies. My Husband, who did not like this Request of hers,  told her, Dormont had not Skill enough to be her Master; but she was so angry with him for saying so, that he was fain to comply with her.  
I think I have already  told you, that the Chevalier de Monserolle left one Arbanante behind him at Estaiac, to watch Madam d' Eougy, to whom he was Kin. But besides the score of Relation, he had particular Reasons to engage him to observe Dormont's Actions. He found he knew more of the World than common Painters use to do. In short, Dormont had an Air so noble and free, which he could neither divest himself of, nor well conceal under his Disguise, that Arbanante guessed him to be any thing, rather than what he had a mind to pass for. Being confirmed in this Opinion, he resolved to leave no ston unturned to discover who he was. He perceived that Rose had a great kindness for Dormont, which he return'd rather with a forced, than an hearty compliance. He got by degrees to be intimate with this Wench, and building upon the Weakness which such sort of People usually betray, when you promise to tell them their Fortune, he proposed to her the Casting of her Nativity. He knew some of the Astrological Cant, and talked boldly of the Lord's House, the Angle of Fortune, of Trines, Sextiles, Aspects, and such Stuff; which failed not to draw Rose into the Snare he spread for her.  
He  told her therefore she was in Love with a Man whom he described very near such a one as Dormont, and assured her she would have been loved by him, if an Ascendant superior to hers had not forced him to devote himself to another. Then he asked her, if she had known Dormont long, and how he came to Estaiac? and abundance of other Questions, which she answered with so much simplicity, that comparing what she  told him, with what he already knew of Blesinac, and me, he no longer doubted but Blesinac and Dormont were all one; but the Conclusions he drew from this Information were not enough to serve his turn, unless he made that advantage of it which he proposed to himself. It is time therefore, Madam, that I tell you, Arbanante was in love with me; and had I not been preingag'd by my real affection for another, I might easily have discovered it, notwithstanding all the respect he used to conceal it.  
Few People were so crafty as those of the country where I then dwelled; therefore you must not imagine Arbanante would let me see the bottom of his Heart: quiter contrary, he would often very neatly and subtly railly the vanity Dormont might be guilty of, upon the account of Madam d' Ecugy's extraordinary esteem of him; but all this while he contrived a secret method, which he knew would infallibly accomplish his Ends. His Design was to keep Dormont from me, to effect which, he persuaded Madam d' Ecugy it would be a pretty Amusement for her to learn to Draw, and that it might not interfere with her other Diversions, she would do well to take his Instructions some time every Night, and Morning. There was no great need of pressing this Advice upon her, which agreed so well with her Inclinations, and she made use of all the Power she had with my Husband to get him to command Dormont to be industrious in teaching her what she pretended such an earnest desire to learn.  
Arbanante stayed sometimes in Madam d' Ecugy's Chamber while she was learning, and sometimes would go out of the Room to leave Dormont the freedom of declaring his Mind, in case he were sensible of his Scholars kindness. One day when Arbanante was gone into the next Room, she laid down her Crayon, and looking upon Dormont with Eyes that spoken both Anger, and Love: You are very vain, said she to him, or very stupid, not to answer the Billet I gave you some days ago. I did not understand, Madam, said Dormont, that it was you who did me that Honour, and if I had, I should not have been the more presumptuous upon it. I took care enough, replied she, to remove all your Scruples; but now at last, that you know the Billet was mine, since I own it to be so, what have you to answer me? Dormont was now strangely put to it, for it was a shane after all this for him to be insensible; Madam d' Ecugy was a very handsome Woman, and there was too much danger in confessing a former engagement. Therefore he pretended he did not believe what she said, nor took any notice of the disorder that appeared in her face. I should never forgive myself, Madam, said he to her, if I should be so impudent as to take what you are pleased to speak to me in raillery, seriously. No, I receive it as I ought to do, and whatever you may say to me, I know what becomes me; contain yourself therefore, Madam, within such limits as are suitable to your Quality, since I cannot transgress mine, unless I grow distracted, or declare myself extremely faulty.  
Dormont uttered these words with such manifect indifference, that from that very minute Madam d'Ecugy resolved to ruin him; but to prevent his suspicion of her, she  told him, She had never really designed any thing else, but to divert her self with making sport with him. As soon as she had done drawing, Dormont went away, and she sent for Arbanante; when he came, she made as many Grimaces as bashful Maids are wont when they tell you what their Sweet-hearts said to them, and beholding him with some disorder in her looks: The confidence, said she, which the Chevalier de Monserolle, and I have reposed in you, will not suffer me to conceal from you an injury which I just now received from the Painter, whom you persuaded me to learn of. Because I shewed him a little Countenance, the fellow has had the impudence to tell me, he is in love with. If the Count de Marignan will not do me Justice in this Affair, I will not stay a moment longer in his House. Arbanante was ravished with joy to meet with so fair an opportunity to be rid of a Man whom he looked upon as his Rival. He sympathiz'd with Madam d' Ecugy in her affliction, and commended her for maintaing her Honour so generously. However, added he, you must behave yourself discreetly in these Circumstances; I soresee it will be difficult to make the Count de Marignan believe, that a Man he has trusted so far, should forget himself to that degree as to be his Competitor, when he knows how passionately he loves you. That is the way, said she, I intend to prevail with the Count to revenge me on Dormont; he is as much concerned in the affront that has been offered me, as I am.  
Arbanante found by his Kinswomans behaviour, that she was not so very rigidly virtuous as to take a Declaration of Love so heinously; besides he had observed upon very good grounds, that she had no such terrible aversion for Dormont, so that comparing all these Circumstances with his own Fancy, that Dormont was Blesinac, and that I encouraged his disguise which could not be carried on without my knowledge; he thought it necessary to engage Madam d'Ecugy to open her Mind to him without any reserve. He had so much Wit, and she was so indiscreet, that he easily managed her, and brought her to confess the Truth. He chid her for being so weak, and represented to her all the follys her inconstancy had made her guilty of; but at last when her blushes, and tears were over, he pretended, that if he did assist her in her revenge, it was only to keep her from ruining her self. You must get the Billet, said he, out of Dormont's Hands which you wrote to him. That cannot prejudice me, said she, for I have altered my Hand so, that no body can know it to be my writing. Well then, said Arbanante, we have nothing to do now, but to contrive some trap for him which he may not mistrust. He understands music perfectly; I will make the Words of a Song, and give him them, and I shall easily get him to writ them out, to set them to a Tune.  
Madam d' Ecugy was glad of an opportunity to punish Dormont for slighting her; and her Resentment made her relish any thing that was instrumental to her Revenge. Let me alone, said Arbanante, for the Contrivance, and be sure you do nothing without my direction. She gave him free leave, bidding him think of the Verses he was to make, and was extremely satisfied with the Design. Whilst Arbanante and she took such dangerous Measures to ruin Dormont, my Husband sent for him to give him an account of Madam d'Ecugy's Progress in Drawing, not thinking she had been alone with him; and was only desirous to know whether he found her really disposed to learn. Dormont was so well convinced she had no such Intention, that he begged him to put her off from it, and provide some other Diversion for her, in which she might employ her time to more purpose. My Husband's Condition, as things stood then, was very deplorable; Madam d' Ecugy's usage of him tormented him to the Heart; though he loved her infinitely, he could neither value her much, nor slight her. She was indeed very beautiful; but her Mind and Heart were so deformed, that sometimes he could hardly determine whether she deserved his Hatred most, or his Affection. In this Irresolution, which rendered his Life uneasy, he made these Verses.  
Come just Disdain, come quickly to my aid;  
Honour and Reason both must be obeyed;  
That I may punish an unfaithful Heart,  
And put a period to my tedious Smart.  
Yet thus provoked, I dare not trust my Rage  
To execute my Vengeance; for I fear  
Her Charms in such strong Chains my Soul engage,  
Love will return, and Anger disappear.  
Dormont quickly set these Words to a Tune that suited them admirably; and my Husband, who sung skilfully, learnt it that very Night, though it was very late; and Dormont unwilling to let slip any opportunity of seeing me, came immediately into my Chamber, intending to show me the Song, and in few Words  told me what had happened that Night.  
Here the Countess of Marignan's Relation was interrupted with Sighs and Tears, which she could by no means restrain; but at last, beginning again, Ah Madam, said she, how ingenious was my Fancy then in representing to me all the Calamities that were then falling upon me? and how did it improve them when I was asleep, by the most horrid Dreams that were ever known? I was so disquieted with the cruel Thoughts that disordered my Mind, that not able to support them any longer, I waked the Servants who waited on me, and made them come to me. Rose, who lay in my Chamber, observed, that ever since Dormont's coming I sighed lamentably, and the little Sleep I had was very broken and disturbed. She reflected upon this according to her Capacity, and longed to meet with Arbanante to tell him her Thoughts. But whilst I had such strong Presages of my Miseries, Arbanante was contriving to execute the blackest piece of villainy that ever Man was guilty of. He sought out Dormont, and found him time enough to get him to make a Tune for some Words which he had written for Madam d' Ecugy, to whom he pretended he would present them as soon as she was awake. Dormont, little dreaming of what would follow, wrote down the Words, and set them for him. Arbanante, desirous to have them written in his Hand, said he could not sing the Tune without the Notes, and so got the Paper from him; and thanking him for what he had done, went away mightily pleased with his Success. Joy is so ungovernable a Passion, that he had not the patience to forbear going immediately into Madam d' Ecugy's Chamber, and giving her the Song as it was written down, and set in Dormont's Hand. She red it very eagerly, and found it as follows.  
Let's show, dear Iris, every where,  
Your Passion, and my zealous Love;  
Let them in our Eyes appear,  
As bright, as in our Souls they move.  
Then in the height of our Desire  
May we sing successively,  
Iris, I burn with amorous Fire;  
Tircis, for love of you I die.  
Arbanante carefully instructed her how to carry on her revengeful Design, and then left her very impatient to dress her self, and meet with the Count of Marignan, to complain of Dormont to him. My Husband was no less desirous to see her, that he might entertain her with the Song which agreed so well with his Circumstances. As soon as he knew she was ready, he went singing into her Chamber. This is indeed a new Tune, said Madam d' Ecugy to him; but though you are beforehand with me in getting of it, perhaps I have another that's newer than yours; for it came out but this Morning. You will know who made it by the Hand; but you will wonder to hear, the Author had the confidence to tell me, he made it to me; and I take it for such an Affront, that I think you ought to do me Right.  
My Husband took the Song from her, and red it with that transport of Rage which is the true effect of jealousy: He red it over twenty times, without being able to pronounce the Words. Yes, Madam, cried he of a sudden, when he had mused a little, I will revenge you, and punish this insolent Fellow. His Crime touches me more than it does you. Spiteful Ecugy then looking more kindly upon him, than she had done a great while before; I see now, said she, you really love me; and I will not fail to recompense the Concern you have for my Honour; but remember however, that all Circumstances considered, if you make this Business too public, you may do me an irreparable Injury.  
Arbanante searing his cousin would be so indiscreet as to say more than was necessary, came into the Room, and mingling with them, appeased my Husband a little; but though he kept him from breaking out into any sudden Violence, yet he cunningly insinuated to him, that he ought to dismiss the Painters immediately, without so much as seeing them; for he knew, if he had the least opportunity to do it, Dormont would easily justify himself to my Husband. His Advice therefore was exactly followed. Pardon me, Madam, if I do not give you all the Particulars of this cruel Separation. Dormont was unexpressibly surprised and afflicted, when he received Orders to be gone; he came into my Chamber to take his leave of me, but Arbanante, who was got thither before him, hindered us from expressing what we thought. Sorrow, which is much allayed by complaining, becomes insupportable when it is concealed. I had been in this condition when I saw Dormont go away, but that I called all my Reason to my aid, to vanquish my Affliction. Indeed my natural Melancholy kept them from discovering how much I was grieved to part with him.  
He went away with the true Painter, who brought him thither; but we could not learn which way they took. Madam d' Ecugy repented she had made him leave Estaiac, for she fell out with Arbanante about it, and in two days said nothing to my Husband, but that she would stay no longer in his House. He was strangely troubled at her Behaviour, because he began now to find her out, and to justify Dormont; but he had not leisure to make these reflections long.  
The Baron d' Ecugy hearing Monserolle was come back from Paris, went with some of his Friends to besiege him in his House; and his Son came with a strong Party to surprise the Castle of Estaiac. My Husband received the News without any Concern, and prepared as well as he could to support his Friend's Interest, and preserve his Mistress. He got as many Men together as the time would give him leave, and left Arbanante the Command of Estaiac in his absence. I was really troubled to see my Husband undertake an Enterprise whose Event would be so doubtful; but in the midst of my Grief, it was some comfort to me, to think Dormont's not being at Estaiac, exempted him from the Danger; mingling at once the Thoughts of my real Duty, with those which my Inclination inspired: for at the same time that I made Vows for my Husband's Return, I thanked Heaven for withdrawing Dormont from the Perils which I apprehended he would have been engaged in. Madam d' Ecugy was not at all concerned, but expected the Event as calmly, as if she had not the least hand in it. It was now two days since my Husband's departure, and I was cruel impatient to know the Success of his Journey, when word was brought me he was come home. I went in great hast to welcome him: But alas! Madam, I cannot recall that terrible minute, without feeling myself seized with fresh Sorrow. The first Object I met withal was my Husband, held up upon his Horse by his Servants; his Clothes were all bloody, his Face pale, his Eyes half shut, and he had scarce Strength enough left to bemoan himself. You may imagine how afflicted I was, and that I took all the care I could of him, as my Duty required. As soon as he was hurt, they sent for chirurgeons, who came in presently after him, and upon search of his Wounds found them very dangerous. He had lost so much Blood, and was so weak, that he could not speak, but yet expressed by his Actions a great desire to say something. I perceived it, and asked him what it was he desired: He answered me, in a dying tone, That he would have us take care of Dormont. I believed he raved, and little minded what he said, because I saw no likelihood that Dormont, who was gone to Paris, should be present at this Combat. After some reflection, I observed neither Madam d' Ecugy nor Rose came into my Husband's Chamber, which made me fancy something of more importance detained them in another place. While I was in this doubt, Rose came in crying, and desired we would come and help Dormont, who must needs die, if they did not dress him presently.  
I assure you, my Soul was so afflicted already, that I wanted nothing more to improve my Grief. I hastened away the chirurgeons to look to wretched Dormont, while I stayed with my Husband. Though he was advised to rest as much as he could, yet he continued very uneasy, and could not forbear asking me, whether Madam d' Ecugy were still at Estaiac? I assured him she was; but he would not believe me till he saw her, which with some difficulty she yielded to; for she was very unwilling to come out of Dormont's Chamber. Her Coldness to him was such, as any man but he would have recovered his liberty; he complained of it indeed, but was so weak, as not to make the true use of it. She saved me the labour of telling my Husband he ought not speak so much as he did, and left him presently to go back to Dormont. In the mean time that I might know how to govern myself, I thought it necessary to inform myself of the Particulars of the Combat; and not questioning but Dormont had behaved himself valiantly, I forbore mentioning his name at all. I had an account of it from a Gentleman of the Neighbourhood name Plassac. He  told me that the Baron d' Ecugy having blocked up Monserolle in his House, sent his Son with fifty Horse to endeavour to surprise Estaiac; that my Husband meeting them with a far lesser party, they encountered one another in such a manner, that it plainly appeared one side fought for Love, and the other for Honour. However, continued Pl●ss●●●, we began to give ground to our Assailants, and the Count de Marignan, who charged into the thickest of the Enemy would have certainly been either taken, or killed, had not Dormont come to our relief with five or six more, which restored the Courage of our drooping Party. The Chevalier d' Ecugy would have stood it out, but Dormont fell upon him with such vigour, that he had not time to look about him. He exposed his Life to open his way to the place where he saw the Count de Marignan engaged, and would never have got thither if he had not killed the Chevalier d' Ecugy. Your Husband was already much wounded when Dormont came up to him, who hindered his Enemies from killing him outright. While he defended him thus, he received a great many wounds, and I never saw a man fight with more Zeal, and judgement together. The Chevalier d' Ecugy's death so disheartened his Friends, that they retreated to give his Father an account of it. Though we killed them above thirty of their Men, with the loss of very few of our own, and so were Masters of the Field; yet we thought not fit to stay there any time. I immediately sent for chirurgeons, and was of Opinion it was safest for us to come back hither.  
When Plassac had ended his Relation, he assured me this Affair would have very ill consequences, if great care were not taken to prevent them; the only remedy he knew of, was to advice Monserolle to make his Peace with the Baron d' Ecugy, and to return his Mistress into her Friends Hands, upon these terms he undertook to bring it about; but just as he was ready to go, Monserolle came in. Never was Man more afflicted than he was to find the Count de Marignan in such a condition; and he said a great many civil things to me upon the occasion; but let him say what he would, my Husband, and my Lover too were in such danger of Death, that all his excuses were very insipid to me. Plassac very handsomely intimated to him what we designed to do, which out of nicety of Honour, he would not agree to, but thought of an expedient that all of us approved of, which was to put Madam d' Ecugy into a Convent, and endeavour to reconcile the Parties concerned.  
She had a Kinswoman at Carcassonne, who was Governess of a Monastery, thither it was resolved she should be carried, in case they met with no difficulty in the reception of her, but being persuaded she would never consent to look through a grace, they kept it secret from her.  
She altogether slighted Monserolle, and put so many tricks upon him, that he resolved at last to make no scruple of forsaking her. Plassac went to impart the Design to Madam d' Ecugy's Kinswoman.  
One Night, as I was sitting by my Husbands Bed-side, full of trouble, and grief, to see him in that condition to which his wounds had brought him, one came to tell me Dormont was extraordinary ill; The Count of Marignan desired me to go to his Chamber, and know of him what he wanted. When I came in I found d' Arbenante, who came with a design to hear what the height of his Distemper would cause him to say.  
As it is not one of the least Acts of Reason to keep a Secret, especially when the Mind is prepossessed; no wonder Dormont could not keep secret the Intrigues of our private Conversation, when his Reason was disturbed. He earnestly inquired where I was. He complained he could not see me, and would needs die in all hast, because I forsook him. till that time his extravagancies never surprised me. But a sudden sit, stronger than any had yet come upon him, caused him to raise himself up in his Bed, so that laying his Hand upon his Eyes, and breaking out into a violent Passion, Ah, unhappy Blesinac, said he, not to have thy kindness for the Countess of Marignan more kindly answered. Go and die in some place where her Image is less present before thy imagination than here.  
He said no more, but immediately after fell into a deep sleep. D' Arbanante, who let not a word fall of all that Blesinac had said, came to me, and beholding me with a stern, and distasteful Countenance, Pardon me, Madam, said he, if I give you to understand, that you do not mind as you ought, the Honour of your Family, when you make no distinction between the Earl of Blesinac and Dormont.  
I must confess, Madam, said the Countess of Marignan proceeding in her Discourse, I found myself at a strange loss, I foresaw the ill consequence of provoking d' Arbanante, and I knew very well on the other side it would be no less dangerous to flatter him. I took into consideration, that a man voided of Reason is not capable of keeping himself within the bounds of respect. He had ever a distrust of me, and moreover, took the boldness to tell me, that if I had not the same Sentiments for him as I had for Blesinac, he knew well enough how to be revenged of my indifference.  
I left Arbanante in Dormont's Chamber, and return'd to the Count of Marignan, to hinder any body from coming to him, and telling him what Blesinac had confessed. There I found Monserolle, to whom I thought it requisite to reveal the whole matter, since so many Persons knew it, that I must needs imagine it could not be long kept secret. I used all the power I had with him, to obtain his utmost endeavour for Madam d' Ecugy's departure that very Night, under the conduct of Arbanante, and those who had brought her to Estaiac.  
The Apartment of the Count of Marignan was somewhat remote from the main Body of the House, which conduced very much to the more easy carrying on of our Design. I caused all the Avenues to be shut up, and stayed while Monserolle went to tell Madam d' Ecugy, that it would be convenient for her to depart from Estaiac; that otherwise her Father would come and besiege the Castle, and carry her away to a Religious House; to prevent which, their Intention was to conduct her to Carcassone, where she would better divertise her self. As specious as all these things were which Monserolle  told her, she fell into such a violent Passion, that they had no other way but to be downright with her, and to tell her in plain terms, if they were driven to Force, it was no other than what they judged necessary for the good of her Affairs. She made such lamentable Outcries, that they were heard as far as my Husband's Apartment. He thought it to be the noise of loud Mirth and Laughter, and this Imagination drew Sighs from him, insomuch that he  told me with much sorrow, he thought a fitter season might have been taken for all this Mirth and Jollity. Hereupon I could no longer contain, but  told him the whole truth, and added moreover all that I thought might contribute to the Cure of a Passion so ill grounded. While I was thus entertaining him, and that not vainly, as I thought, Arbanante and Madam d' Ecugy made a thousand Excuses to put off their departure; especially Arbanante, he must by all means speak with the Count of Marignan, he must take his leave of me; but all would not do; both he and the Lady had a fair dismission from Estaiac.  
Monserolle stayed behind, both for his Fidelity, and the Affection he had for my Husband; of the healing of whose Wounds there began now to be great hopes, as well as those of Blesinac. I had a great curiosity to know how this last Person came into the Combat, wherein he received his Wounds. One day, when I went to visit him, I prayed him to tell me, and judged it not from the purpose to remind him of what Expressions he had let fall during the height of his Fever, imagining he would take no great distaste thereat. He  told me, that when he came from Paris, he ordered one of his most trusty Servants to wait for him at a Place a little distant from Estaiac, with two Horses, till such time as he heard farther from him; That at his parting from the Count of Marignan's, he had left the true Painter in Paris-Rode, and taken the way which lead to that Place where his Servant was; That at his arrival he found himself very ill; That he resolved to stay there till the recovery of his Health, and to try to sand me an Account of his Affairs; That in this interim he received Intelligence my Husband had assembled all his Friends to go to succour Monserolle, not consulting exact Prudence, nor following any thing but the Dictates of his Love, which engaged him in all things that he thought might please me; That to serve the Count of Marignan the more effectually, he had got together all the People he could meet with, and obliged them to follow him; That, in fine, he arrived happily enough to join with the Count, and rescue him out of the Hands of his Enemies, among whom he had been engaged.  
I took upon my own account all the Obligation my Husband and I had to Blesinac for this good Office; but at the same time I prepared to remove further off from Estaiac, as soon as my Husband's Health would permit. It was now two or three days since Madam d' Ecugy departed thence, when my Husband bethought himself, and asked what was become of her. Monserolle took upon him the Answer to his Demand, and  told him, That all that could be said or done, could not divert her from leaving Estaiac with Arbanante, having a mind to retire to Carcassonne with one of her Kinswomen. This News seemed to make no great Impression in the Mind of the Count; he heard it without any trouble, and I have some reason to believe she was now become indifferent to him.  
All was then very quiet at Estaiac, the Baron d' Ecugy had resigned himself up to grief, and the loss of his Son made him insensible of the carrying away of his Daughter. But she enjoyed not the same advantage: All the way she went to Carcassonne she vowed to be revenged of Monserolle, Blesinac, and myself; for d' Arbenante had  told her that Dormont was but a fictitious name under which Blesinac concealed himself. The desire she had to ruin us somewhat moderated the violence of her Passion; being arrived at Carcassonne they found Plassac ready to conduct her into the House to which she was to go; but d' Arbanante and she were equally surprised when they saw that this House was a Convent. Her Kinswoman took her part in opposing her coming in, but Monserolle had given order to Plassac to get her in by force in case any resistance were made, and to make use of those who guarded her thither, for those he had made sure of for his Design. As soon as she was entered into the Convent, Plassac  told d' Arbanante from the Count of Marignan, that he was desired not to come to his House any more. Plassac having so well acquitted himself of his Commission, came back to Estaiac, and gave us an account of his proceedings according as I have related.  
Though Blesinac's wounds were worse than the Count of Marignan's, yet they were sooner cured, and he began to come abroad when Plassac arrived at Carcassonne. Rose had informed him, that in the delirium of one of his Fever fits he had discovered his true Birth, and the fear of giving me any new trouble caused him to prepare in all hast to leave Estaiac. Being one time retired for a while from my Husband's Chamber, I received a Message from Blesinac, That he desired a few moments Discourse with me; in which Request I thought I could not in civility but oblige him. To one that hath an Heart truly touched, all the Presages which Love gives are infallible. I felt not within me, when he talked of parting, that delicate Pleasure which commonly attends upon the Conversation of the Person loved; and though I was resolved not to suffer him to stay at Estaiac, yet I had something of trouble and inquietude for his departure, which I inclined rather to retard, than hasten; but at last he resolved upon departing; and as I durst not, so I would not hinder it.  
Moreover Blesinac being no way concerned in the Distaste which Dormont had received from the Count of Marignan, he thought he had no reason to leave Estaiac without taking his leave of him. The Count, who had been obliged to him, did all he could to detain him, but in vain. I must confess, for my own part, I was forced to call all my Reason and my Honour to my assistance, to support the bitterness of this Separation. I bid him adieu in my Husband's Chamber, for fear some fresh eruption of Tenderness from me might have obliged him to a longer stay at our House. Monserolle could not refrain telling me, he wondered to see what Power and mastery I had over myself, in an Affair where the soundest Reason is apt to give itself the lye. 'Tis true, all was calm and fair in outward appearance; but my Heart was full of trouble and disquiet. I passed two days in this Condition; and those two days seemed to me longer and more tedious than all the rest of my Life: But this was onely the beginning of my Misfortune, which how fatally it proceeded, you will presently see.  
One Morning being sound asleep, in regard I went very late to bed, I was wakened by most hideous Outcries and Lamentations, which pierced my very Heart. I rose in great hast, and ran to the Window which looks out into the Castleyard. I could distinguish Rose's Voice from all the rest of the Servants, who were all gathered about a dead Man. But, oh! how cruel and dismal to me was the sight of this dead Man? And so much the more cruel, as he was more known to me, and valued by me. Death itself, as terrible as it is, cannot efface the Characters of Love. Judge then how much rather I should have chosen to have died myself, than to see lying dead before me the Body of the unfortunate Blesinac. I could scarce believe myself awake; and for a while Astonishment suspended the Effects of Grief. I was just fallen into a Trance, when Monserolle entred the Chamber, to acquaint me with the Circumstances of this Tragical Adventure. He was preparing to begin his Discourse with some Precautions, that he might not throw too great a Burden of Grief upon me all at once; but he soon perceived by the Condition he saw me in, that I knew too much already. He said nothing, but his Tears spoken for him; and mine gave to the Memory of Blesinac what his Love required from my Tenderness.  
As those who are really afflicted never think they can grieve enough, so I laboured rather to increase than diminish my Grief; and this caused me to ask of Monserolle, what he knew of the Death of the Count of Blesinac. He  told me, That as soon as the Castle Gate was opened, an unknown Person came up to him, with a Horse, on which Blesinac was seated dead, and covered with a cloak; That he had a Letter for me, and another for the Count of Marignan. Since it concerned me to have both these Letters, I caused the Man to be brought in, who by his Countenance did not appear to be guilty of so wicked an Action.  
He  told me with great signs of grief, that a Cavalier whom he knew not, had by threats forced him to bring the body to my House, and the better to assure himself of the performance, he attended the Corps himself as far as the Gate, and that he lay lurking in a place hard by, to observe all the Passages that might ensue; having thus said, he presented me with the Letter which the said Cavalier had ordered to be given into my own Hands. Monserolle knew by the Writing that it was from the traitor d' Arbanante. I had not power to red it, and Monserolle thought it not convenient that the fellow who brought it should know any of the Contents, but asking him for that which was directed to the Count of Marignan, he had it presently delivered him. Monserolle ordered the fellow to be secured, but withal took care he should be civilly treated, and then opening d' Arbanante's Letter to me, he found in it these words.  
BEhold here, Madam, the Object of your Love, and my Hatred: We have both of us satisfied our Passions; and if I have not so well consulted as I ought for my own Glory, by taking away his Life, know, that you have cast off yours in the whole Course of that Correspondence you have had with him. I wish the sight of a Man that was so dear to you, may be an eternal Reproach to you; and that as it tends to my revenge, so it may to your punishment; that as you are the Cause of my Crime, so also you may bear the burden of that Remorse which I ought to have as well as you, for having been so highly unfaithful to your Husband.  
I forgot to tell you, Madam, That Monserolle had sent out some People to try to apprehended Arbanante, or at least to discover where his Haunt was; and the truth is, if there were any thing capable of affording me Consolation, it was the hope of seeing that traitor suffer the Punishment he deserved. The Letter which you have heard not availing any thing either as to his Crime, or my Resentment, I prayed Monserolle to red that which was for my Husband, which was to this effect.  
THink it not strange that I have given Death to the Man who saved your Life: Whatever Obligation you thought you had to him, you will be better informed, if you can believe what I now assure you, That you are more obliged to me, than to him, since in killing him I have revenged you of a Man who took away your Honour. As Dormont, he abused your Good-nature; as Blesinac, he hath insulted over your Reputation, even in your own House, into which he intruded himself for that end. I have an Opinion of you good enough to believe, you will not disapprove the Triumph I have gained over him in your behalf.  
Monserolle, as soon as he had made an end of reading this Letter, broken out into a great rage; and as he was hearty desirous of Revenge, he bid me be of good comfort, and rest assured upon his Word, that he would take care this villainy should not go unpunished; and took upon him to inform the Count of Marignan of all that was necessary to let him know of this Adventure. He was very sensibly afflicted; and so much the more, because he believed it was the Baron d'Ecugy who had caused Dormont to be assassinated, and was not to be dispossessed of that belief.  
My Husband caused to be rendered to the Memory of this Illustrious Person all the Honours that could have been given him, had his true Birth been known. In outward appearance, the sorrowful Concernment I had upon this Occasion, was no other than what was expressed by Monserolle, Plassac, Rose, and the rest of our domestics: But that Grief which springs from bare Compassion may easily find Consolation, and be satisfied by the necessity of suffering what can't be helped. The Count of Marignan must be excepted, who totally resigned himself up to Sorrow, for the loss of a Man who had so generously saved his Life. His Mind would admit of nothing which might give him any Relief, and so effectually represented to him all that was excellent and amiable in Dormont, that in a few days he fell into a deep Melancholy, which soon turned all Hopes of his Recovery, into just Fears for his Life, and, in conclusion, proved his Death.  
The first Sentiment this sudden End of his inspired me with, was the shane of surviving him, and to see that Friendship wrought more effectually in him, than Love could in me. Hereupon I reflected upon all the Misfortunes that had happened, and I found myself so violently overwhelmed with Grief, that I expected nothing less than in a short time to follow my Husband and my Lover.  
After I had performed the Ceremonies due to the Memory of the Count of Marignan, I gave Monserolle to understand, that Decency obliged me to deny myself all manner of Consolation. He offered to bear me company in Affliction all his Life-time; and he had reason; for he knew well enough how little my Heart was my own, and persisted not in asking me what I was not able to grant him. So we partend, and I resolved immediately for Paris, upon some Concerns of our Family: But before I went from Estaiac, I had the satisfaction to understand, that the perfidious Arbanante perished in a River, which he endeavoured to across, to escape the Pursuit that was made after him by Monserolle. In fine, I left Estaiac with a full resolution of betaking myself to a Monastery, there securely and freely to bewail all the Misfortunes of my Life.  
The Countess of Marignan finished her Story with so many Sighs and Tears, that Madam de Mezelon could not but give freedom to her own Tears, to accompany those of her Friend. They renewed their former Friendship, and vowed an eternal Union of Hearts, however their Persons might be separated; as in a very short time they were to be: for Madam de Marignan was obliged to go back to Bayonne, and Madam de Mezelon to Vaucluse.   
FINIS.