MOCK CLELIA.    

THE Mock-Clelia: BEING A COMICAL HISTORY OF FRENCH GALLANTRIES, AND NOVELS, In imitation of Dom QVIXOTE.  
Translated out of French.  
LONDON, Printed for L. C. and are to be sold by Simon Neale and Charles Blount, at the Three Pigeons in Bedford-street Covent Garden, and the Black-Raven between Worcester-House and the Savoy, 1678.   

THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.  
In vain the Preface does for favour plead,  
Where the damned Book displeases all that read,  
SAid very pleasantly one of the wits of this Age; and according to that sentence I take my measures in this piece. I pretend not its defence to those that dislike it. If the reading seem tedious to them, they may let it alone and seek other ways of diversion. I freely confess that I have not put myself on the rack in composing it. I writ almost in the same way as one might speak, without study or varnish; and in a word, I have myself been the first to whom the matters I treat of have given any recreation, and am certain that at least the design of the ensuing story should not be unpleasant in many places to those who have any thing of a brisk and merry humour. There may be found perhaps in the management of the Romance, some kind of little punctilios omitted. I may appear a bad Geographer in it, as to the Neighbourhood and Precincts of Paris, and a worse Chronologer as to the order of time. But in regard that is not the thing at which I aimed; if the Histories which I present be not tedious to the Reader, it will be no hard matter for me to persuade him that these mistakes are not altogether mine; but that I have been forced to alter some things in the series of my work after the impression was begun. If I be tedious to my Reader, it is needless to ask him pardon for that which is of least importance in my undertaking. And take this for one part of what I intended to say.  
It remains now that I speak to the new way of writing which may seem to be introduced by me. There are but few before me who thought upon giving French names to their Hero's. And it is to be feared that some Romantic heads finding the name of a Marquis of Riberville, Mirestain, Franlieu, and others, instead of that of a Tyridates or Cleantes, will at first sight commence an action against my Book. But I beg pardon of these nice and delicate Wits, if I make not, to comply with their humour, those whom I intent for French Gallants, Grecians or Arabians. I am a plain man and give every thing its true name. I add my humble Petition to those whose names may have any conformity with these which I have invented, that they would not think I had a design in it. They will easily see by the small resemblance that is to be found betwixt their adventures and those of my stories, that it hath been rather chance than intention. And let the worst come to the worst, I bring no Gallants on the stage but for their own advantage. Farewell, and pardon the faults that may have escaped in the Impression.   

THE CONTENTS OF THE BOOK.  

THE meeting of Mademoiselle d'Arvianne, with the Marquis of Riberville, at Vaux le Vicomte. Her pretended ravishment by the Count of Sarbedat.  
Another adventure that the Marquis meets with upon the road. He prevents the Murder of the Chevalier de Montal. He happily meets Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, Velzers, and Kermas, and Madam de Moulionne, with the Chevalier.  
The Marquis is disturbed in his sleep. He rises again, and finds Mademoiselle D'Arvianne in his Closet.  
He finds her to be discomposed, and recommends her to the care of the Housekeeper.  
The Arrival of the Count of Sarbedat who is in quest of her. His discourse with the Marquis.  
He tells him the story of Mademoiselle d'Arvianne at large.  
The Count d'Arvianne goes to Sea. Is witness to the loss of a Ship. All are lost in it but a Child which he gives to his Lady the Countess. The birth of Mademoiselle d'Arvianne two years after. She is called by the name of Juliette.  
Juliette is promised in marriage to the Count of Sarbedat.  
The marriage is broken by the misfortune of Monsieur d'Arvianne who flies to London. Thither he carries his family with the young foundling. Juliette and he fall in love.  
The foundling being jealous, kills the Son of an English Lord. He is cast in Prison.  
By several signs he is found to be an Englishman born, and that he is the Son of a Lord that was cast away. He obtains his pardon, and is afterward called the Marquis of ....  
The return of the Count d' Arvianne into France.  
Peace happens between France and Spain. Juliette promised in marriage to the young Marquis of .....  
An Earthquake at Bourdeaux.  
Juliette is carried away by the Count of Sarbedat. Her sickness. She falls Hypochondriacal, and imagines herself to be Clelia.  
The Duel of Sarbedat and the Marquis of ... the last is recalled into England.  
Madam the Marchioness of Sarbedar becomes Guardian of Juliette after the death of her Father and Mother. She brings her to Paris to be cured by the Physicians there.  
The Arrival of the Chevalier de Montal, and the four Ladies at Vaux.  
NOVEL I. 

The History of that Chevalier and Madam de Lawmer, related by himself.  
A scandalous Letter dropped by Mademoiselle de Velzers, a Dutch woman.  
A gentile Dinner given by the Marquis of Riberville to the Ladies.    
NOVEL II. The History of that Marquis, and of a Lady of Thoulouse, related by Mademoiselle d' Arvianne.  
NOVEL III. 

The History of Mademoiselle Velzers, the Count of Valdame a Swede, and of the Chevalier de la Grancourt.  
The departure from Vaux, to go to a Village called St. Germane.    
NOVEL IU. The History of the Countess of Tournewil, and the Marquis of Riberville, told by Mademoiselle de Barbisieux in the Coach.  
NOVEL V. 

The History of the Count of Tournewil, related by the Marquis of Riberville.  
They meet at St. Germane with Madam de Moulionnes Husband, and old Tigean a Solicitor.    
NOVEL VI. The History of the Baron of Coulan, and Mademoiselle de la templiere, related by Monsieur de Moulionne.  
NOVEL VII. 

The History of Monsieur de Lucheres, related by the Chevalier de Montal.  
The arrival of that fat man.  
The waggishness of the footmen to the little good man Tigean at Supper.    
NOVEL VIII. 

The History of the little Solicitor, of the Abbot of St. Firmin, and of Mademoiselle de Beffemont, related by Tigean himself.  
The Hypochondriacal fit of Mademoiselle d' Arvianne. Her quarrel with Judge de Moulionne upon the account of Lucretia. She takes him for one of the old Roman Senators in the time of Tarquin.  
The brisk departure of the Judge who returned to Paris in a snuff, thinking himself played upon.    
NOVEL IX. The History of the Baron de Greaumont, and Madam de Moulionne, by herself related.  
NOVEL X. The History of the Marquis of Franlieu, and of a Lady of La Fleche, whose favours he published, related by the Marquis of Riberville.  
NOVEL XI. The adventure of the Duke of Candale, and the Vicecountess of Talute, by the same Marquis of Riberville.  
NOVEL XII. 

The History of the Count of Bermilly who lost his head for his too great secrecy and discretion, related by Mademoiselle de Barbisieux.  
The Company go to Fountainbleau to see the Camp.  
The description of the Camp.  
Mademoiselle d' Arvianne takes it for the Camp of Porsenna, and fancies herself to be there in Hostage.  
She goes along with the other Ladies, clothed (as they) in Amazon apparel.  
She throws herself into the Canal, which she takes for the Tiber, and intends to swim over it.  
She is carried away by an unknown person who rescued her from the water. The vexations of the Marquis of Riberville.  
The Company return to Vaux. They are informed of a walking Ghost there.    
NOVEL XIII. 

The History of the spirit of Monsieur de Santois, related by Madam de Moulionne.  
The Ghost of Monsieur de Fouquet de Croissy walks.    
NOVEL XIV. The History of the Marquis of Commorgien, and Madam de Survaques, related by the Chevalier de Montal.  
NOVEL XV. 

The History of the spirit of Ardivilliers, by Mademoiselle de Barbisieux.  
The Marquis of Mirestain and little Lusigny come to Vaux.    
NOVEL XVI. 

The History of the Marquis of Mirestain, and a Princess of the Low Countries.  
A marriage of Conscience, or a la mode, makes no good conclusion of a Romance.  
Lusigny and Mirestain join the Company, and tell them that the spirit appeared in the Garden of Vaux, to the Marquis of Kimperbel.  
Kermas persuades Velzers to draw aside and go to the Marquis who was in the very place of the Apparition.    
NOVEL XVII. The History of the Marquis of Kimperbel and Mademoiselle de Kermas, related by himself.  
NOVEL XVIII. The History of Monsieur de Lusigny, and Mademoiselle de Ravenois, related partly by Barbisieux, and partly by himself.  
NOVEL XIX. 

The History of the Countess of Monsalva, by way of digression.  
A defence of Wives.  
The Gallantries of some Maids.  
The Marquis of Luzaw gives two fair young Ladies a Dinner at a Merchant's House.  
A Prince gives a Supper and Ball to another. The adventure of the Blue Coat.  
The Marquis of Riberville meets Mademoiselle d' Arvianne in a Coach, cannot discover her Ravisher, nor come up with the Coach.  
Velzers and Kermas being in Bed, the latter relates to the former the Continuation of the History of the Marquis of Kimperbel and herself.      

Mock-Clelia, OR, Madam QVIXOTE: BEING A Comical History of French Gallantries.  
BOOK I.  
Whilst the Court was at Fountainbleau, the Marquis of Riberville took the Air at the pleasant House of Vaux le Vicomte, where happened such extraordinary Adventures, as well deserve to be put in Writing. It is well enough known how lovely a place Vaux le Vicomte is; and that before the King became his own Treasurer, none in that Office ever built so stately a House of Pleasure. One Evening when the Marquis of Riberville was gone down into the Garden, to divert himself by reading some Verses, he perceived there a beautiful young Lady, attended by a Woman of some years, on whom she leaned as she was walking. She had a Majestic Presence, an incomparable Neck, and the Face of an Angel; which surprised the Marquis, having never before beheld so charming an Object: Though he delighted much in Poetry, yet such kind of Rencounters were always more proper to a waken and cheer him, than Satyrs and Sonnets. Having stopped a little to consider that beautiful Lady, he afterward advanced towards her; and as the old Woman that waited on her was saying, That it was great pity the Water-works did not play; he offered them that Divertisement, and took thereby occasion to speak to her: But with what gallantry and civility soever he made his offer, he could not engage that ravishing Beauty to enter into discourse with him; he drew from her only two or three languishing looks, which pierced his very soul. This, said he to himself, presages an Adventure of consequence; but come let us see what the issue will prove. He called the Overseer of the Water-works, and by the By still let fall some word to the lovely melancholic Lady, who answered him only in sighs. But as there is nothing that so much perplexes a man who speaks well, as to be in company with those who will not speak a word; so the Gallant found himself in some trouble. However, all this was nothing: He brought the fair One to a little Bank of green Turf, where she might at her ease behold the Water-works play. Hardly was she sat down, when turning her head, she started up again in a great fright, crying to the Marquis of Riberville, Save me, Sir, from a man, who every where pursues me to carry me away; and having said so, fled with incredible swiftness. The Marquis exceedingly amazed, perceived indeed a very handsome Gentleman running after her, and endeavouring to overtake her. But the old Woman attempting to stop the fugitive Lady, having fallen into the Canal where she was like to be drowned, he thought himself obliged to save her, before he pursued the others; and that gave time to the Lady and her Ravisher to run far enough, before he could come up with them. he called to the Overseer of the Water-works and a footboy, that if it was possible they should stop the Gentleman; but it was too late, for the adventurous Lover and unknown Lady were already got into the Court of the Castle; so that when the Marquis arrived, there was no body there, nor any thing to be seen, but on the other side of the drawbridge a Coach with six Horses, which drove away in great haste. The Marquis raged, to see that which pleased him so well, ravished away by force: And having ordered his Horses to be saddled, he returned in the mean while into the Garden, that he might learn some information from the old Woman; but neither was she to be found, for she had secretly slipped away. Alas! said he, she is a Confederate in the Rape: With this his anger redoubled; and ordering his Servants to search for her in the Neighbourhood, he himself takes horse, and speeds after the Coach. About half a mile from Vaux, he was told that the Coach took the way of Cambreux; and being informed that there was no body in it but a Gentleman and a Lady, he was fully confirmed that the Road of the Ravisher lay that way. He spurred on his horse with all diligence the same way, and having advanced a League, notwithstanding he was of a sudden overtaken by the night, he thought that he had found what he sought after, fancying that upon a little height he espied the Coach of the Blade he had to do with; but he was mistaken, for that Evening Destiny had appointed him for various and many Adventures; it being another Coach which had stopped there. As he drew near, instead of his ravished beauty, he found four Ladies, who distracted with fear, used their utmost attempts to hinder two men on Horseback, from murdering a Gentleman in company with them.  
He had too bravely begun the Evening, not to play the Hero of a Romance. To me! Murderers, turn to me! cried he, and fall not on a single man, who hath nothing but a Sword to defend himself. With that rushing furiously upon the two Horsemen, he put them to flight, and delivered the Gentleman from danger, and the Ladies from fear. They were all of his Acquaintance, and the Gentleman the Chevalier de Montal, one of his best Friends. The four Ladies were Madamoiselle de Barbesieux, Madam de Moulionne, a Judge's Wife, Madamoiselle de Velzers, a Holland's Lady, and Madamoiselle de Kermas, a Bretton. They were going to see the House of the late Monsieur le Prevost, a Counsellor of Parliament, which was to be sold, and where they were to be treated by Madam de Moulionne. After they had rendered the Marquis a thousand thanks for his assistance, they prayed him to tell them what good fortune had brought him thither so seasonably. He freely told them his Adventure, and asked them news of the Coach that went to Cambreux: But they falling a laughing, told him, That he did but devise a Tale for pleasure; which was another perplexity and confusion for the poor Knight errand. Let me perish, said he, if what I say be not true. You jeer us Marquis, answered Montal; for it is very probable indeed, that a man should make his appointment in such a Garden as that of Vaux, in open day to carry away a Woman, and in the way too that you describe; it is a thing that cannot so much as enter into the mind of a man of common sense. But, good now! added Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, who knew the gallant humour of the Marquis; Know you not that Madamoiselle de Sencelles lives not far from hence? And without obliging the Marquis de Riberville to tell us whither he is going, is it not enough for us to guests it, that we may not show ourselves unthankful for the good office he hath done us? Jest as much as you please, Lady, replied the Marquis, but let me die if I follow not the Coach upon that very account I told you. If it be so, answered Madam de Moulionne, you had as good go back again; for it is the Coach of M. de Cambreux, who is going home with his Lady, and we gave them the good night as they passed us. The Marquis at that word turned again, and being as Guard to the Company, they entertained themselves pleasantly, until the Coach came to the place where they were to lodge; where after many Compliments, and mutual promises of visiting one another, the Marquis took his leave, and followed his way to Vaux.  
His Servants upon his return told him, That the old Woman had come back again into the Garden, with a Lackey in a dark green Livery, and that she had prayed the Housekeeper, That if he chanced to hear any news of the young Lady, he would with all speed acquaint Madam her Aunt with it, who lived within a short League of Vaux le Vicomte. They farther said, That the old Woman entreated them to offer no injury to the Ravisher, if he happened to fall into their hands, because that he had Orders from the Aunt to do what he did. But all this gave no sufficient information to the poor Marquis; he pelted and vexed at the Housekeeper, because he had not-stopt that old Woman; and shortly after went to bed so pensive and troubled, that he could not sleep all night. He was in despair, when casting about he could find no clearing to so many doubts that held him in suspense; and the beauty of his unknown Lady running continually in his mind, he could not think on the glances that he had received from her, and that lovely melancholy wherewith she smote his heart; but that he was out of all patience that he was not able to prevent the Rape. Nevertheless about the break of day he fell into a slumber, with some appearance that he might at length sleep some hours; but he had not slumbered long, when fancying that he heard the fair Lady sigh about his bed, he awaked with a start, and hastily opened the Curtains to see what the matter was, but saw nothing appear. He accused the power of his imagination for having so cheated him, and endeavoured to fall asleep again; but the same sighs renewed put him into an inconceivable perplexity. Having called his Valet de Chambre, he bid him search about exactly, to see if any body lay hid in the Room; but the enquiry was in vain, and served only to increase his confusion. A thousand different thoughts distracted him, and his extravagance carried him so far, that he thought the Maid by some cross accident might have died, and that her Ghost came to thank him, for the good intentions he had of rescuing her. In fine, These sighs being renewed again the third time, to the great amazement of the Valet de Chambre, who affirmed that the voice seemed to come from under the Bed, where notwithstanding he had seen nothing; the Marquis was frighted, and could lie no longer a-bed. He called for his Gown, and having put aside the Hang, that he might go into his Closet, he was surprised to see the door open, but called to mind afterward that he had forgot to shut it. Fair daylight began now to appear, and there he resolved to disperse his dismal thoughts, by reading some pleasing Book; but for a third Adventure, he had not entered one step, when he saw the beautiful young Lady asleep on a Couch. She lay in a posture so advantageous for her beauty, and for the light, that her countenance seemed to dart out rays of splendour. The rising Sun that entered by an open window, produced on her countenance and breast that was half naked, these wonderful effects. The Marquis was quite transported, as well by that surprising rencontre, as by the flame that Love at that sight kindled in him of new. He stood in need of all his discretion to restrain the impetuosity of his first transports; yet all he did was to approach that lovely sleeper, and steal some kisses, whilst she slept so sound, as not to be offended. He continued on his knees, beholding her for some time; and than that he might not anger her, by awakening her before he was dressed, he returned into his Chamber, where he put himself in condition to visit her again with more decency. Hardly had he got on his , when of herself she awaked, which made him run in to testify to her his joy, that she had escaped the danger of being carried away; and having asked her what fortune had brought her into that place, a thousand times he kissed her fair hands, whilst she gave herself not trouble to resist him. At length with her accustomed melancholy she made him answer, That being closely pursued, by good fortune she found in a corner of the House a door open; that she threw herself in at it unperceived by her Ravisher; and that having found that Closet under the Hang half open, she betook herself to it as to a Sanctuary, not thinking that her Enemy durst have the boldness to pursue her thither; adding many excuses, for the liberty she had taken in doing so. To which the Marquis, inflamed with love, falling on his knees, because she was still sitting on the side of the Couch, and tenderly squeezing her hands betwixt his own, made this reply in a most passionate manner: Madam, This is not the only liberty that you have taken in the House of Vaux, and it is most willingly excused; and having told her the several Adventures that he had met with in attempting her rescue, he adjured her most pressingly to tell him her Enemy, to the end he might revenge her wrong. But the lovely Lady, casting on him one of those languishing looks which had already captivated his heart; Seigneur, said she, I have for Enemy the bravest of all the Romans, but I wish him no hurt; all that I desire is only to shun his presence. The Marquis judging by the word Seigneur which she used, that she might be a Stranger; and being confirmed in his opinion, because some Italians were expected at Court, and that her Accent was not altogether French, he behaved himself towards her with greater respect than ever. He begged of her, that she would at least give him some notice of her condition, and promised to conduct her to what place of security she should desire. The beauteous Lady made answer in this manner:  
Know, generous Stranger, that I am Daughter to the valiant Clelius, who was forced to fly to Carthage, thereby to avoid the fury of the last of the Tarquins, and who upon his return contributed so much to the liberty of Rome. My Name is Clelia, and my Actions are so famous, that none but they who live in the most distant Countries can be ignorant of them. The Marquis, as if he had dropped from the Clouds at that extravagancy, immediately perceived the nature of her Distemper. Never was man so much surprised, when he reflected on all the trouble he had taken for an hypocondriac person; nor could he pardon himself for the cares, fears and hopes, which had so seriously affected him on so ridiculous an occasion. However, coming a little to himself again, and perceiving that the beauty of the Maid, which had pleased him so much, was nothing lessened by her fancies, he took comfort, and resolved to have the pleasure of hearing her Story to an end. He put her again on the Relation, and she forgot nothing of all the ingenious Intrigues, that are to be found in the Romance of Clelia, in the History of Aronce, and that Roman Lady. She began with the embarking of Clelius for his African Voyage; recounted his Shipwreck, and the manner how he saved the young Aronce; how Aronce fell in love with her, and by what occasion Horace became his Rival; the return of Clelius to Rome after the expulsion of the Tarquins; how Horace was there chosen for Husband to Clelia, and Aronce afterward discovered to be the Son of the King Porsenna, which made Clelius prefer him to Horace; and in fine, how that the day that she was to be married to the illustrious Aronce, that fearful Earthquake happened, which gave Horace occasion to ravish her from his Rival: Forgetting nothing, as I have said, of all that succeeded that Rape, until the Rencounter of the Prince of Numidia, who attempted to have forced her from her Ravisher. And there she thanked the Marquis of Riberville, whom she took for that Prince, and at the same time made the Canal of Vaux the Lake of Perusa, on which the Prince of Numidia fought against Horace.  
The Marquis perceived also by that Principality which she gave him, that by her eagerness in speaking of these Chimeras, she insensibly increased them; and though he took pleasure to hear her, yet he could not but pity so sad a Distemper; he thought it fit to leave her to take a little rest, that he might see whether in some good intervals, she might not name other Parents than Clelius, whom he might acquaint with her being at Vaux. For that effect he recommended her to the Woman that kept his House, who put her to Bed, and ordered some Maids to attend her. In the mean time the Marquis was told, that a Gentleman desired to speak with him, who proved to be the very same that the melancholic Lady had taken for a Ravisher the day before. The impatience that the Marquis was in, to know the name and quality of that poor afflicted Maid, made him go meet that Gentleman immediately, that he might inquire if it was she he looked for. The Gentleman answered him, That he had been every where about in the Neighbourhood to hear news of her, but all in vain. The Marquis related to him the way how she came into the Castle. I need not then, replied the Gentleman, inform you of her misfortune, you have easily discovered it, since you have made her speak. All that I can tell you, Sir, is, That she belongs to persons of Quality, who are afflicted beyond measure to see her in that condition. It is certainly lamentable, replied the Marquis, and I protest to you, that though I know her not but since yesterday, yet I have been sensibly affected, to see so rare a beauty in so great a disorder; my surprise was extraordinary, when she told me that her Name was Clelia. But, Sir, continued he, Is there no remedy for that Distemper? And is that poor Lady always in that prodigious discomposure of mind? We believed her almost cured, answered the Gentleman, and she was brought hither to walk, because it is above ten days since she shown any sign of Distemper. I have caused her be put to Bed, replied the Marquis, and there are Women here who are to take care of her, to see if her Fit do abate. Sir, said the Gentleman, By what you tell me, it must be already over; for it never holds her above ten or twelve hours, and then for two days space there appears not the least alteration in her mind; she is as rational as any other, sings divinely, and is full of charms in conversation; but that now and then she falls into I know not what kind of melancholy, which (as I believe) proceeds only from the reflection she makes on her misfortune; for she is very sensible of it, and that is the thing that troubles her most, and the most singular symptom of her Distemper. Perhaps if no body should ever speak to her of Rome or the Romans, her Cure might be more easy; we observe, that on such occasions, her Fit takes her much sooner than at other times; but there is no keeping of her shut up, for that increases her Melancholy, and irritates her Distemper; and it would be said to inform all the Company with whom she is, of the fancies that such Subject's occasion in her. I ask no more then, said the Marquis, with a countenance somewhat astonished, what was the cause of the disorder she fell into last Evening. I remember, that amongst the Flourishes I spoke to her, I compared the majesty of her Body, and the beauty of her Face, to a certain Roman Lady whom she resembles, and whose Picture hangs in the House; without doubt it is I that have spoiled all. O yes, said the Gentleman, and my presence hath completed the disaster. You gave her ground, replied the Marquis, by running after her, to take you for Horace, and it is perhaps because you are the Rival of some person whom she loves. Alas! Sir, answered the Gentleman, that is but too true; heretofore I was much in love with her, and am hardly yet free; but when you saw me yesterday endeavour to overtake her, it was only for fear that she might hurt herself by running, for I imagined that her Fit had taken her. However, I must thank you for the trouble you put yourself to on that occasion; for I was told that you took Horse with a very generous design. Yes certainly, answered the Marquis, laughing, you put me in a furious rage, and I took a strange resolution against you; if I had met you, we should have undoubtedly had a trial whose the Lady should have been. Then he told him of a second Adventure he had had, in rescuing the Chevalier de Montal, who was in danger of being assassinated. To which the Gentleman made answer, That he was the less troubled at Clelia's Fit, seeing it was the cause that so gallant a man as Montal was not killed. But, Sir, continued the Marquis, I have a great mind still to know, if you think fit, how that poor Lady fell into that Distemper; for how could she be possessed with that folly, to believe Clelius to be her Father; that he retired to Carthage; that he saved Aronce; and that there happened an Earthquake, the day that she should have been married to that Aronce, if there were not some conformity between her Adventures and those of Clelia? To give you that satisfaction you desire, answered the Gentleman, I must needs relate to you the whole Story, but then I should suffer those that expect news of her, to pine away with impatience. Alas! Sir, replied the Marquis, That needs not trouble you, we shall send one of my Servants, who shall inform them to the full; and if you will take my advice, send for her Governess hither, it shall be her own fault if she continue not here with her trust, as long as she pleases. I beseech you then, said the Gentleman, 'Cause that I may have Paper and Ink, to write a word to that Woman, otherways perhaps she may make some difficulty to come. Yes, said the Marquis, for I take her to be a little capricious; she instead of staying for my return yesterday, fled out of the Garden, as if she had been guilty of somewhat. That was, that she might not be obliged, said the Gentleman, to give you an account of so strange a Distemper, for the good Woman loves not to publish the blemishes of our Family. When the Note was written, it was sent to the Governess, who lived with the Aunt of the young Lady, about a short League off. They both afterward entered together into the Garden, and having chosen a convenient place to sit in, the Gentleman in this manner began the History of the fair distempered Lady.  

THE HISTORY OF Mademoiselle Juliette d'Arvianne.  
YOU have sometimes perhaps heard of the Count's d'Arvianne. They are one of the noblest Families in Gascoigne. The last Count of that Name, who died since the Marriage of the King, was Father to this lovely Lady. But that you may the better know the Reasons, that have made her apply to herself the Adventures of Clelia, I must trace a little back the History of the Father of my Heroine; I call her so, said he, smiling, because she has made me act the part of a Romance-Squire with you. In the year 1644, the Count d'Arvianne, with his Brother the Chevalier, equipped a great Ship, and another small Vessel, to go cruse with on the Seas. And as he set sail from the mouth of the Garron, he came at the nick of time to be witness of the wrack of a foreign Ship, which was split about the Tower of Carduan, and whereof he could only save a little Child, which in its Cradle stuck to the Rock; all the rest were by a Land-wind blown off into the Sea, and perished, no body being able to conjecture to whom the Vessel belonged. The Count took the poor infant-Boy, and recommended him to a Seaman's Wife; and having three months after returned from his cruising, and finding that no body owned it, he caused it to be carried to Madam the Countess d'Arvianne his Lady, who having had none as yet of her own in the space of four years that she had been married, took pleasure to have it brought up. There is Clelius indeed, said the Marquis, interrupting him, and she has reason in the comparison, if she have none in the application. Two years after, continued the Gentleman, Madam d'Arvianne was brought to Bed of a Daughter, who was called Julliette, and the Girl and Boy were brought up together until the War of Bourdeaux; and there is nothing of Romance in what I am about to tell you; there could not be any thingmore accomplished than these two Children. During this War, one of the Rebels thinking to gain my Father, by procuring him great advantages, proposed to him Julliette in Marriage with me, who (though she was not above five or six years old) was nevertheless betrothed to me. There were great hopes conceived of me; I had an Estate; I was a Kinsman; the Chevalier d'Arvianne was dead, and it was thought there might be means found to restore the House of Arvianne to its ancient splendour, by giving me that Maid with thirty thousand Livers a year: For Madam her Mother having an Infirmity, which hindered her from ever having more Children, I was to carry the Name and Arms of the Family. But the event of the War was quite contrary to what was expected; all these fair designs vanished by the flight of the Count; he was forced to shelter himself in England, till he could justify his innocence; his Estate was at the same time forfeited; Julliette was carried thither with the young Stranger, who had opportunity enough to gain her favours, as both grew in years. In a word, What shall I tell you? They fell both in good earnest in love. The Count d'Arvianne who perceived it, would not suffer that love to take root; what virtue soever he found shining in that Aronce, yet his Birth, perhaps, answered not to that of his Daughter, and besides he had no Estate. The Count resolved then to separate them; and the young Lad had no sooner attained to the age of fifteen years, but that he sent him from London, to one of the most famous Academies of the Kingdom, there to learn his Exercises. In the mean time the beauty of Julliette began to be talked of in the Court of the Protector. She was courted by many English Lords; and as amongst a great many pretenders, there are always some that are more eager than the rest; so the Son of a great Lord became so passionately in love with her, that his flame became known to all people. Julliette nevertheless corresponded not with it, but on the contrary wrote to her young Lover of the displeasure she conceived thereat, who falling into furious despair, that the Count d'Arvianne approved of the pretensions of his Rival, returned secretly to London, challenged the Lord's Son, dangerously wounded him, and was instantly apprehended. He that was wounded being a man of great Quality, the young Stranger was believed utterly ruined. The Count d'Arvianne himself was obliged in policy to forsake him; but here is again a Subject of application for our Clelia. One of the Lords of Parliament called the Marquis of *, having understood how that young man was rescued from Shipwreck, and having considered the day and year when that Shipwreck happened, observing besides in the face of the Prisoner, some features that touched him, he entered into some suspicion that he might be his Brother's Son, whose Ship he always believed to have been cast away the very same year when he fled from England, about the beginning of the Troubles. In fine, That Lord ordered so well some Sessions of the House, that he had time to inform himself. The Stranger was acknowledged for the Son of the Lord *, and his Uncle obtained his Pardon. I tell you not now of the joy of poor Julliette; she was a real Clelia, that saw her Aronce owned to be the Son of King Porsenna. Such was her joy, that she being unable to conceal it from all England, the wounded Rival died rather of despair than of his wounds. In the mean time the Marquis of * being highly in favour with Cromwell, the Count d'Arvianne endeavoured to make his peace, by his mediation with Cardinal Mazarin, and was again restored to his Estate. The young Lord returned also with his dear Julliette. She was about that time a Maid of fourteen years old, one of the most charming persons in the World. They came afterward to Paris, where she read Clelia; and as she read it, Monsieur de Scuderi, said she a hundred times, hath foretold in this Romance, the Adventures that I should meet with. She could not forbear to admire that surprising resemblance between the Adventures of Clelia and her own; for two years together she perused them day and night, during which time her Lord left her not without other pastimes. There were no magnificent and great Treats which he bestowed not on his lovely Mistress; not that he spent all these two years in that amorous idleness, for he had a Command in the Trained-Bands of England; but when he could steal any little time from the War, he came in Post to employ it in his love. At length they came to treat of Peace between the two Crowns; and the Uncle of the young *, and the Count d'Arvianne, judging it an equal Match, resolved to marry Julliette to her Lover, and returned into Gascoigne to celebrate the Marriage. Here is again another strange resemblance to the Romance of Clelia; The very day they were to be married, there happened at Bourdeaux a furious Earthquake; flames and ashes did not burst forth as at Capua, but a kind of a Rock came out of the Earth upon the Bank of the Garron, and some were swallowed up by it on the Highway, some Houses were likewise overthrown. And, in a word, that the Adventure of that Lady might in all respects resemble that of the Roman Clelia, my jealousy led me at the very hour of that disorder, towards the Countryhouse where the Wedding was to be held, that I might endeavour to carry away Julliette; I came just in good time when the same House began to shake and totter, to carry her away in my arms. And this, Sir, is the whole History of Madamoiselle d'Arvianne, which gave a beginning to her Distemper. I purged myself of the Rape whereof I was accused, under pretext of the Earthquake; but she who knew the truth of the matter was thereby so offended, that a Fever supervening so discomposed her mind, as by little and little she came at length to imagine herself to be Clelia. Sir, said the Marquis, you have told me wonderful matters; but what became of the young *, after you carried away his Mistress? The Count d'Arvianne and he, answered the Gentleman, eagerly pursued me; the one by way of Law accused me of having given her some amorous Potion, and the other challenged me, with whom I fought twice. But, in fine, there being no hopes of Julliette's Cure, his Uncle recalled him into England. Since that time the Count and Countess d'Arvianne are dead; and my Mother being next in kin to the distempered Lady, was charged with the Guardianship and tuition of her. That poor Maid hath been now almost six years afflicted with that Distemper without any Cure. She hath had all kind of Divertisements; six months ago my Mother brought her to Paris, and she hath been visited by all the Physicians, who have not been able to find any remedy for her; neither the change of Air, nor solitude, nor yet company and conversation, nor any thing else can alter that imagination; do but speak to her of the Romans, or let her but see any object that may revive her fancies, she falls immediately again into extravagancy; you had a sufficient proof of it last Evening, when you diverted her with the Water-works.  
Having so ended his Story, he risen and desired to take leave of the Marquis, because he had business that day at Fountain-bleau. The Marquis asked him if he would not see his Kinswoman; but he judged it not convenient, lest that his presence might do her more hurt than good; and therefore he took horse, and pursued his way to Court.  
Hardly was he gone, when the Marquis being still in the Court of the Castle, heard a Coach come to the Gate; and a little after seeing the Chevalier de Montal, and the Ladies who the Evening before promised to visit him, come out, he ran in haste to receive them. Immediately, Madamoiselle de Barbisieux speaking in name of all the rest, told him, That they were come to know if the fair Lady that was carried away, had not broken his rest. Look, Ladies, answered he, showing them the Cousin of that Maid, who was but just got a horseback, there is the Ravisher, my good Friend, who hath just left me. How, Sir, said Madam de Moulionne, interrupting him, Have you really had news of her then? And the pleasantest news in the World, answered the Marquis, that fair Lady is here between a pair of Sheets. You are happy, said Montal, I would I had her as sure. Ho! Be quiet, said Mademoiselle Barbisieux to him, you are already about to begin your usual fopperies. They entered all afterward into the Garden, with design to fetch a Walk before they went into the House; and the Marquis being there pressed to tell what he had learned of his fair melancholic Lady, he recounted to the Ladies the whole Story, as he had just before heard it. Well, really, said Madamoiselle de Barbisteux, when he had made an end, I protest I suspected last night that the Marquis had told us some made Tale, and did not in the least believe that he was in chase of such an Adventure. And so did I, added Madam de Moulionne; I fancied that his surprise in having met us, when he desired no such thing, had made him invent on the spot that which he told us; for the truth is, there was so little probability in it, that if I had not heard what now I hear, I should never have believed it, and I suspected as you did, some other mystery in his Journey. Ye do me too great honour, Ladies, said the Marquis, and I am truly very much obliged to you for these good opinions. We speak not without reason, replied Madam de Moulionne; and I appeal to Madamoiselle Velzers, and Madamoiselle de Kermas, if the other day we were not told such things, as might very well give us ground to have that suspicion of you. That's true, said Mademoiselle Velzers; but if you will be ruled by me, let Monsieur the Marquis alone, and let us endeavour to make the Chevalier as good as his word, in telling us a Story which he promised last night. Ah! You are in the right, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; he told us, that the attempt that was made yesternight upon his person, was the consequence of a Love-intrigue; he must tell us what it was. With all my heart, answered the Chevalier, and the Story shall be no less pleasant than that of the Gascoigne Clelia. At these words all held their peace; and thus he began.   

NOVEL II.  
The History OF THE Chevalier de Montal, and Madam de Laumer.  
IF Monsieur the Marquis hath been in great trouble for an Hypochondriack Person, a fanciful Lady also was the cause that last Night I narrowly escaped being Murdered. There is a certain Lady who hath a House on the Road to Marsals, that would be thought the greatest Beauty of Lorraine, and to have likewise the best Wit in the World. As to Beauty, without doubt, she has her share; and for a proof of that, Ladies, I have been in love with her, and am not so bad a Judge of Beauty as to love an ugly Woman; but as to her Wit, you will hardly agree with her in Opinion.  
At that time then when the King made his Expedition to Marsal, one of the loveliest Princes, not only of our Court, but of all Europe also; and I know, Ladies, that you are willing I should conceal his name and quality: had I but named him; a secret that I have long kept, would be sure to come to his ears by to morrow, and therefore I think it not as yet convenient to see the impertinent Historian! Said Mademoiselle Velzers, he hath spoken but three words, and yet cannot forbear to show his own vanity, and affront us! It is not to affront you, answered the Chevalier, to distrust your tongues; for there was never Woman that could keep a Secret half a day. And think you, continued he, looking on her pleasantly, that had it not been for that, I could have delayed till now to let you know I love you? Ha', ha'! said Madam de Moulionne to the fair Hollander, there is a pretty way indeed of breaking Love, and I know not how you will take it from him; yet I think a Protestation made in that manner should not be received with disdain. The Lady, replied Montal, blushes no less for anger; but the reason is, because there is nothing truer than what I have said. Good, good! said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux interrupting him, no body doubts but that you spoke the truth in saying you loved her; and for all the bad opinion you have of women's tongues, it is far less doubted but that she also is so secret in her love for you, as not to speak of it to any; but make an end, if you please, of the History of the Lady of Marsal.  
This Prince, replied he, needing a little refreshment on the Road, was forced to accept of the civilities of that house. And seeing she was a Woman that let no occasion slip of entertaining fancies and visions, or that she was of an humour to brag of every thing; she would needs persuade her Friends that the bare civilities that the Prince had showed her, were a real declaration of Love. She had even the wit to make them believe that he made a halt only in her Village, that he might have a pretext to speak with her. All her good Gossips presently advised her not to neglect so good a Fortune. They urged her to follow that lovely Prince to Marsal, and recommended to her care not to be sparing in giving him encouragements. Go, said they, Madam, you know not of what consequence it may be to you, and one must not make Ceremonies with Princes as with other People. These brave Counsels made the Lady go to Marsal, where I had the first time the honour to see and converse with her; for perceiving her to be in some perplexity, and that she looked for something at Court; I offered myself to wait on her whithersoever she pleased; but she told me that she desired no more but to see the lovely Prince that I have been speaking of at Dinner; which I procured her. My Friends placed her so commodiously and so full in view, that the Prince to the great satisfaction of her heart, eyed only her all the time of Dinner. Then it was that being herself persuaded, of what she intended only to persuade others; she returned home full of pride and haughtiness for her conquest. The Lady who before that was proud of a crowd of Votaries, who flocked daily about her from six leagues in compass, thought it afterward a great disgrace to be served by Gallants of their quality, and there was not any, not so much as her Husband (whom even the bonds of Matrimony could not serve) that could avoid her slights; if he asked or stole any favour from her, it was a kind of Treason and robbing the Public, he took to himself what only belonged to the Prince, and she threatened to undo him. At that all the Company burst out in laughing. There was, said Madam the Moulionne, a foolish creature indeed, if it be not one of the foolish inventions of the Chevalier. Confound me, replied the Chevalier, if I add one word to the Story, and if I describe not to you the humour of that Lady just as it really was. Nay, I have been told that she so slighted her Husband, that the poor Country Gentleman was constrained in a great fit of Love to beat her, because she would not suffer him to use her more kindly. In fine, she led this life two years, until it pleased my destiny to make me a Companion at Hunting with Monsieur de Laumer her Husband, who was come to Thoul where my Regiment lay. However I knew not that she was the Wife of that Gentleman; for though she had received from me at Marsal the good Office that I have told you; yet I informed not myself of her name, and knew her not but by sight. And that made me pleasantly surprised to see her in Laumer's house, when he treated me after we came from the Chase; but I may likewise say that the amazement I put her then in, was no less than mine own. Laumer, who perceived that his Lady changed colour when she saw me, came familiarly and whispering me in the ear, Chevalier, said he, be not surprised if my Wife look not favourably on you; she is a Beast that uses all people so, and is mad when I bring any man hither. Alas! answered I, shrugging up my Shoulders, let her look on me as she thinks fit, and if she please I shall not at all eye her. On the contrary, said Laumer, you will do me a kindness to speak to her: and turning to her, Wife, said he, entertain this Gentleman, till I go and give orders for Dinner. Then it was that I fell in love with that Beauty. The curiosity that I had to make her change her humour which her Husband had set forth to me to be so cruel, and the convenience that he gave me of being with her alone, were the first causes of my love. Your Husband, said I to her, Madam, so soon as he was gone out, has been telling me a strange thing of you. Is it possible, Madam, that you give so bad usage to those whom he brings hither to adore you? for to see and adore you is but one and the same thing. She fetched a little sigh before she answered to that, and then turning her eyes amorously towards me, Sir, said she, If I had as great obligation to all those whom my Husband brings hither, as I acknowledge myself to have to you; I should not so much dislike their Company. As she ended these words, her Husband returned, and hindered me to answer their kindness; the kindness was not so great as you take it to be, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, and it might very well have admitted an explication. I confess that, replied he, but for my part, who never desire more of a Woman, to make me believe myself in good terms with her, and who besides, had no ground to believe it was a riddle, I had not failed to have thanked her by a fair declaration of Love, if her Husband had not by his coming prevented me. That had been very pleasant, said Mademoiselle Velzers, she would have certainly scratched out his eyes. Just so as she scratched them out, answered he, when I made that declaration three days after. I sent it to her cautiously by one of my Lackeys, and received a very favourable answer. As you say, says Madamoiselle de Barbisieux again interrupting him.— 'Slife! there it is still, said the Chevalier, plucking it out of his Pocket, and you may read it if you will. Madam de Moulionne took it, and whilst Barbisieux looked over her Shoulders, she read in it these words:  
To Monsieur, The Chevalier de Montal.  
YEs, Sir, I shall always reckon myself the happiest Woman in the World, in having obtained your acquaintance, and without doubt your first cares have sensibly affected me. I would, if it were possible abide with you always, not to speak of any thing else; but however I pray you entertain no love for me; for that will do us both an injury.  
Conceive who can the meaning of that answer, said the Marquis, it is an admirable quibble; for when the Lady says that she is happy in having obtained acquaintance of the Chevaller, and that his first cares have pleased her, it is clear she means of the pains he took to get her in to see the Prince Dine; But surely, added Madam the Mulionne, for one to have answered in these terms, the note of the Chevaller must have been also no less ambiguous on his part. How I? said the Chevalier, I wrote to her that I was very much obliged to her for the good reception she had given me; and that if I thought that my first cares had not displeased her, I should use all my Art to see her as often as I could. To conclude, I prayed her to be assured that she had rendered me the most amorous of all men. However it be, Ladies, continued he, what ignorance soever I might have of the meaning of that note, yet it made me downright in Love. And from that time I began to contrive a thousand devices to see her; and I had the more reason to do so, in regard her Husband grew Jealous of me, and suffered me no more to come to his house. That design cost me a good deal of Money at Thoul, for the space of a whole Winter that she lived there with her Jealous Husband, who had a fuit at Law there. He would not so much as leave her alone in his house. I used all colours and pretexts that I might speak with him, until at length having found an occasion to tell him that she seemed to be angry because I had solicited on their behalf; that Artifice lessened a little the diffidence of her Husband. Then did I disguise myself into Woman's Apparel, that I might go often to her Lodgings; which succeeded so well with me, that every time her Husband was abroad, I never budged from thence. But to my shame I must confess that I gained no ground upon the Lady, and that after a great many ambiguous discourses, and at least as many sighs as I have already spent for Mademoiselle Velzers; I thought I had fallen from the Clouds, when out of pity she resolved to make me her confident, being she could not admit of me for a Gallant. That happened in the most pleasant way imaginable, for as in the height of transport I embraced her knees, accusing her of cruelty for being the cause of my Death, and protesting that I wished to have been the Son or Brother of the King, that I might have better deserved her favours; she fetched a deep sigh, and giving me her hand to kiss, as a signal testimony of kindness: Ah! said she, dear Chevalier, how cruel are you to prick me in the Sore! And why so, Madam? answered I, taking what she said as meant for myself; would your ather that I should die by keeping silence? Go, go, continued she, I will no longer abuse your patience; and seeing I know the power of the affection you have for me, I will likewise by the confession I am about to make to you, testify what a great esteem I have for your merit. After that, I expected no less than that she would give me assurances of my happiness, and in that expectation even exspiring in Love; to say the truth, I know not what I was not preparing to do, when the fanciful Woman stabbed me by the foolish confession of her Love for the Prince▪ Though I perceived my hopes frustrated, yet I could not forbear to laugh; and the novelty of that extravagancy so strangely amazed my Love, that it seemed to fly as fast out, as it had entered into my heart. However the vexation that I was in for having spent so much Money in vain, and a certain point of honour, which ye may name as ye please, would not suffer me wholly to abandon my pursuit; and changing my battery with her, I told her I was obstinately resolved not to be her Fop. I persisted daily in a disguised habit to render her Visits, and carried on my designs so well with her in the quality which she offered me of a plain Confident, that I desired no other. I gave her constantly advantageous descriptions of the Prince, which was a thing that might be done without fiction; I pretended that he was in Love with her, that I might render her more amorous; and adding a thousand promises so to order matters, that she should one day enjoy him in private, and that the Prince himself should be desirous upon my return to Court, to come and see her incognito; I put her into so great a transport and excess of Joy, that I may tell you freely, she gave herself in prey to my Love without considering what she did. Ah! Madam, said I to her one time, sitting by her upon the Bed where she still lay, and impudently stroking her fair Breasts; if it were the Prince, when it is but a bare Confident that taketh this liberty, what pleasure would it be. O! extravagant Woman, cried Madam de Moulionne. Good Madam, added Barbisieux, say rather extravagant Man, for telling us such improbable fopperies. Ah! replied he, let me become the most miserable wretch that ever was, if I tell you not the truth, and if it be not certain that the Lady would not have repulsed me, provided I had undertaken nothing, but by way of comparison to what the Prince might have done. Well, well, Chevalier, said the same Lady, looking with a kind of severe gravity, we tell you in plain terms that we desire not to hear such follies. But Mademoiselle, answered he, you desire to know my Story, and these are the chief points of it; ye must resolve to have a little patience if ye be curious to hear the rest. Come, come, go on, said the Marquis, I le stop them if they intent to be gone. Goodness, replied the Chevalier; as if it behoved them not, to be nice and ceremonious in every thing; their honour is concerned that way, but it's no matter, I shall have a care what I say. In fine Ladies, amidst my delights, Heaven thought fit to give me a trial of its vigour; I received Orders from Court to march with my Regiment to another Town at a considerable distance. I leave you to guess how much I bewailed my fortune to the Lady; how much I accused the Court of Injustice, that ought not to have been ignorant that I took more pleasure at Thoul than any where else. And for your sakes, and to spare your scrupulous Modesty; I will not tell you neither that she gave me above a thousand kisses at parting. She fond regretted the absence of a man who acted so well the part of his Prince. She sent me above twenty most tender and affectionate Letters, to put me in mind of speaking of her to the Prince; and she importuned me so much, that at length the Idea of her Beauty, that could do any thing upon a man of my temper, made me take the resolution that I am about to tell you. Upon a day when the Feast of St. Hubert was to be kept, I returned purposely into the Neighbourhood of her house; and taking with me four or five of my Troopers, I went a Hunting with the rest; where, in cold blood I killed several of her Husband's Dogs, and made some other ravage on his Ground. The Lady whom I had informed, solicited him immediately to pursue his revenge, and persuaded him to sue me criminally. The Suit as we had well foreseen, was removed before the King's Counsel, by reason of some circumstances, and the fair Lady continuing her rage against me, she offered to go herself and solicit it: The Husband at first made difficulty enough to carry her thither; but a troublesome Gout to which he was subject though still young, nailed him to his Bed; and the affair being pressing, he at length sent her all alone to Paris. I instantly followed her, and there were renewed our Confidences, until an occasion of doing better presented. That precious occasion and more favourable than I expected, happened at last, by means of the King's leaving Paris, and going to St. Germane, after the Death of the Queen Mother; for the Council having followed the King, Madam de Laumer had a pretext to go thither also, and there it was that I desired to have her. I imparted there the secret of my good fortune to one of the Prince's Officers. And seeing there is not any Courtier who is not willing to serve his Friend in the affair of his Miss; I made him promise to go see the Lady, as if it had been by order, and in name of his Master; to the end that if she promised any pleasant minutes, I might go under the name of the Prince, and sweetly spend them with her. O what Knavery! said the young Madam de Moulionne. I have heard of that adventure, added the Marquis, but believed not, said he to the Chevalier, that you were the Hero, and there was no body named in it. That is true, replied Montal, because I was made to promise solemnly never to publish it; but the countenance of the affair is now changed. Matters being then ordered in this manner, I brought the Lady to the old Palace, there she saw the Prince Dine once more; for he was come to wait on the King that day. My Friend failed not after Dinner to deliver her the Message we had agreed upon; told her that the Prince knew her to be the same Lady with whose Beauty he had been smitten on his way to Marsel, and at Marsel itself, and that he had sent him to wait upon her, to entreat her that she would suffer him to come see her the Night following. She looked big at first, and seemed to arm herself against such a Proposition, after the manner of the Sex, who reject at first the pleasures they most desire. The Prince, answered she, weeping, hath but a very small esteem for me, in desiring to begin where he should end; must a poor Woman then be so unhappy, that she cannot love a Man, but strait he must imagine it to be for such fooleries? and from the meanest Gentleman even to the Prince, so soon as ever they think that one loves them, is that the fair Compliment they have to make us? Her tears interrupted a little that Lamentation. Then as if she had gained a considerable victory over her love; no Sir, said she, I shall never consent to that. Well then, replied my Friend, withdrawing coldly, I'll go give the Prince your answer. Bless me, replied she, what haste you are in; would you have me say yes, at first dash? aught you not to find out some reasons to overthrow mine, before you go? if all Messengers were of your humour, no Lady should be reduced to give everlasting denials.  
Madam de Moulionne could not forbear to interrupt him again, saying, Here's a man for you indeed, of whom we should have a special care, if we will believe him, and who gives pretty Characters of Women. Madam, answered he, I give you the Character a of foolish fond Woman, who resembles none of you; but I have not said one half of what I might have told you of her. You know Saint Soulieu, continued he, addressing himself to the Marquis, and seeing he is the man that I employed, you may judge what he is able to do. It is true, said the Marquis, Saint Soulieu is a great Buffoon. Let me die! added the Chevalier, if he had not an hours discourse with that fantastical Lady, where they said things infinitely more pleasing than what I have related to you, if I could but call them to mind. Well, well, much alike, I believe, said Mademoiselle Velzers, make an end. Ah! Lady, replied he, how do I love that charming unpatience in you! it is a sign that you are curious to hear of lovely passages. With these words he put her to a terrible blush; and then continuing his discourse; at length said he, the Lady granted the Prince the interview that he desired, but with condition still, that to ease her Modesty, she should expect him without a light, which after that they had made their acquaintance might be allowed: and in that she did but luckily prevent the demand that Saint Soulieu was to make to her about that caution. It was then agreed upon that the Prince should come about midnight with a Dark Lantern only, which he should not open until the Lady gave him leave: That her Landlord where she lodged should leave the Door open all Night: That he should watch alone, and that he should suffer those that minded to see her at that time of Night to go up unto her Chamber, without informing himself who they were; which Saint Soulieu in name of the Prince, immediately ordered the Landlord to do, who took it as a great honour that so Noble an Intrigue should be carried on in his house. I went on in my part to act the Prince the best way I could, and when the hour was come, which I expected with the impatience of a man of good assignations; I set out with my Friend Saint Soulieu, to go to the field of Battle; but a fearful misfortune which I had no ways foreseen, waited for me there; the Husband being informed that I solicited his Lady more than my Judges, and being free from his Gout, was come purposely to Paris, to observe our Conduct. Having not found his Beauty at Paris, he stayed no longer than to bait his Horses, and came with all speed to St. Germane: Being conducted by the Ostler straight to his Lady's Lodgings, he asked the Landlord where her Chamber was, who taking him for one of the Prince's Officers, immediately shown it him; he went up just a little before I arrived, and his Wife having at his entry called him his Highness, taking him for the Prince, was the cause of a terrible disorder; for as I entered her Chamber immediately after him, he caught hold of me by the Arm; I was forced to open my dark Lantern to know who it was, and the Lady at the sight of her Husband fainted away: the Jealous man followed me out into the Street, whither, notwithstanding his resistance I ran. We both drew, and had come to blows, if Saint Soulieu, and a great many of the Neighbours had not parted us. And this, Ladies, added the Chevalier, is the true cause of the accident that befell me yesternight. Saint Soulieu however made a kind of accommodation betwixt us; for seeing we made use of the Prince's name, we were glad to prevent the noise of that adventure from coming to his ears, though the Prince himself would have but laughed at it. And after it had been represented to the jealous Husband, that this happy arrival had prevented his shame on that occasion; after a thousand Oaths, I was forced to take that I should never mention it, and he, that he should never remember it more; in fine, after that I had willingly condemned myself to pay the expenses of the Law Suit; they obliged us to embrace one another, and I did it as hearty, as if I had entertained no grudge for having hindered me from embracing his Lady; notwithstanding you saw by the base action he intended to have committed last Night, that he hath less patience than I? And that is the reason that for the future I shall not forbear to tell some good Tales to his cost.  
And by what chance, said the Marquis to the Chevalier, came he to meet you so pat on the Road? By what chance, replied the Chevalier, I protest I know not; unless that Traitor spied me at Fountain-Bleau, where I saw him four or five days ago. In truth, said Madam the Moulionne, there was never a more pleasant Story; nor more foolishly told, added the Marquis. True, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; the Chevalier is none of the discreetest men amongst Ladies. Ye complain when ye are too well served, answered he. If ye imagine to make him change his humour, said Madamoiselle de Velzers, ye are much mistaken. Ye are all true Hypocrites, replied the Chevalier, and pretend to be vexed at that which pleases you most; and if there were any thing to be found fault with in my way of Relation, it is to Madamoiselle de Kermas who hath not said a word, that I should refer myself, rather than to you; but I know very well that she has found no hurt in my discourse. How, I? said that Lady, I never play the Philosopher on the words of an Historian, and I barely mind the Story, without considering the Ornaments wherewith it is set off. It had been better, replied her Companion Velzers, that you had been still silent, than to have opened your lips to make such an answer; and to declare against us. But what would you have me say? replied that Lady; there is no hurt to be found in such Stories, but what people imagine to themselves. What still? said Madam de Moulionne; ah! verily I believed till now, that you were silent for anger, when the Chevalier told his fopperies; but since you entertain such thoughts, I will not say all I think of you. Say, say it boldly, continued the Chevalier; for I for my part maintain, that Mademoiselle Kermas is the discreetest Lady of all you four.  
During this discourse, the Marquis had stepped aside, and was reading a Letter with a great deal of Secrecy. Madamoiselle Velzer drew near, to see if she could discover what it was; and at a pretty distance perceived it was a Letter which she had dropped out of her Pocket. And as she endeavoured to recover it. It is a Love-Letter, said the Marquis, it comes from a happy man, and the violence that she uses to snatch it from me, shows very well that she is concerned in it. How? Lady, said Montal to her, I have a happy rital then? O! no, said she almost out of countenance; that is a Story wherein I have no share. If it be a Story replied he, you shall tell it then, as well as we have told ours; otherwise we shall think of it as we please. In reality, said Madam the Moulionne, it would make a subject of the bravest Romance in the world, if every one would tell their Story. I offer mine, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. And I shall tell one likewise, added Madam de Moulionne. And I four if ye please, said the Marquis. With these words, he took the Letter which was directed to Mademoiselle Velzers; having first asked her several times if she consented he should read it aloud, because it was conceived in very scandalous terms; but she herself urged him to give that diversion to the Company; I am in no great trouble, said she, I know how to repair mine honour when I have a mind. And here is the lovely Letter.  
To my dear Velzers.  
AH! My dearest Mistress: How humble are you! How charming! And how happy am I in possessing such a heart as yours! Are the longest and fairest days to be compared to one sole moment of the night, which I have spent in adoring you? And is there any felicity to be found but in the bonds of those Lilies and Roses which have hugged me so tenderly? I could not conceive why a Woman called that, the granting of the last and highest favour which was often but the first; but sweet experience hath at length unfolded to me that amorous Riddle. When a beauty resolves to bstow such as I have had, it is certainly a last favour which she grants to him that receives it, seeing he must needs die of pleasure.  
The Marquis gave back the Letter to Mademoiselle Velzers; who laughed hearty to see the amazement that the reading of it had put her Friends and the Chevalier de Montal in. You would make us believe by that laughter, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, that there is some hidden mystery in it, that protects your honour; but in truth it is a fearful thing to be heard, and it is to be void of shame and modesty to have suffered that Letter to be read. I shall be thought naught, answered she, continuing still to laugh, until that I have told the Story that hath given occasion to it; and I shall therefore do it without delay; for I find you are such as have no favourable thoughts of me. You will do well to do so, said Montal; and I shall hang myself if I see not the explication of that horrible Letter.  
However, Before she made the Relation, the Marquis prayed the Company to enter the House, in regard the Sun began to incommode them in the Garden; and having taken Madamoiselle de Barbisieux in one hand, and Madam de Moulionne in the other, and the Chevalier having done the like to Madamoiselle Velzers and her Companion, they went all together to learn News of the fair Clelia, whom her Governess was come to attend.   
The End of the First Book.   

Mock-Clelia, OR, Madam QVIXOTE, etc.  
BOOK II.  
THE indisposed Beauty was now come to herself again, and fully settled; and perceiving that brisk Company came in, she received them with so much civility, and so composed a mind, that no body could judge her subject to the extravagancy that she commonly fell into. The Ladies were no less surprised with her Beauty, than the Marquis had been, and confessed they had never seen so much sweetness in a Face, such charms in a Mouth, nor so much grace in the actions and behaviour of any Lady. The Marquis considered her more than all the rest, and felt the same flame that the first sight of her hand kindled in his heart, again revived; though the knowledge of her Distemper had almost stifled it. In the mean while the distempered Lady durst not so much as look upon him, because she knew that he had been a witness of her last Fit, and remembered very well every thing that had passed between them. In fine, They all left the Chamber, that they might go see the stately Apartments of the House, except Madam de Moulionne, whom the Marquis prayed to remain with that lovely Maid, that she might persuade her Governess to permit her to come and dine with the Company. But that Lady had no sooner offered to speak, but that the unfortunate Clelia thus interrupted her; Alas! Madam, (speaking in a most pleasant air) Whither would you carry a poor wretch, whom her affliction renders the sport of all the World? There are none here, answered Madam the Moulionne, who are not grieved to behold so ravishing a Beauty as you are, in so great misfortune. But come along, continued she, embracing and kissing her, It shall be our care to divert you whilst you are well, and perhaps that may not a little contribute to the recovery of your health. Ah! Would to God that might be true, answered the lovely Maid, sighing; but I have no such hopes. At these words, her Governess adding many reasons to persuade her to accept of the honour that was offered her, she promised to come, and Madam de Moulionne went to acquaint the Company with it.  
At her return she found the Chevalier, to his great regret, had begun a Ball in the Hall; and indeed he had some reason, for there were no more men there but himself. He was all in a sweat, having the Dance to lead to three Ladies, and besides the Music of the Marquis, which played ravishingly to encourage him; whereof the malicious Ladies taking advantage, gave him not the least respite. He made a pretext of the News that Madam de Moulionne had brought, to break off that tiresome Exercise; and that amiable Woman could never have arrived more seasonably for him, and therefore he thanked her as his deliverer. And as if he only had expected her, that he might take his revenge, he took her by the hand, led her to the place where the Marquis was, and as he was going, drolled most pleasantly upon his three skipping Dancers.  
After this the indisposed Lady came with her Governess, whom the three other Ladies having saluted, and entertained with much civility, they brought her to the place where the rest were. The Marquis in a short time had caused to be prepared a most sumptuous Feast; the Cloth was laid in one of the Parlours that looks into the Garden, where a little before he had regaled a lovely Princess; and the same Machine's which he had employed on that occasion, having likewise served for this Dinner, the Company were surprised at the Gallantry. The Table in appearance had nothing extraordinary; but over head hung a great Cupid, holding a Bottle in each hand, and so ingenuously made, that one would have taken it for a real Boy; there appeared nothing to hold it, but the end of its Scarf, which the wind seemed to shake and carry up to the Ceiling, and amongst the foldings of that Scarf there was a little Pipe hid, with so much art, that when any of the Company intended to drink, they had no more to do but to present the Glass to the Cupid, and at the very instant the Engineer that lay hid, or some body else making the Engine play, that little God poured out of one of his Bottles Wine, and out of the other Water, so that there needed no body but Servants to give and wash the Glasses. The Dinner was served up in the richest Dishes that ever any one of the quality of a Marquis had. All the time of Dinner a Set of Violins played in an adjoining Gallery, where by reason of the Echoes they seemed no less than an hundred. And on the other hand, whensoever the Violins made a pause, a thousand Birds in a Volary made a delightful consort, and very well supplied the place of the Instruments; they thought themselves to be in an enchanted Castle. But that was not the thing that gave the greatest satisfaction to that lovely Company; for when they had risen from Table, and that the Servants had removed the Dishes, for an augmentation of surprise, they saw the Cupid which hung over head, change its posture, and descending lower, take hold of the Cloth in one of its hands, and immediately vanish by an opening made in the Ceiling, from which at the same time issued out a delightful smoke of Perfumes, which shaped itself into a kind of Cloud. And as their eyes were taken up in considering that wonder, the Table likewise vanished, sinking down so suddenly into the Floor below, which was inlaid with the same Figures that the Table was, that having but just filled the opening that was made in the Floor, they believed that it had disappeared by Enchantment; however there was more invention than cost in that Gallantry. After this the beautiful Clelia took a Theorb, which lay on a Table with several other Instruments, and by her dexterity in playing charmed all the Company; to which joining her voice, she no less ravished all that heard her.  
These Perfections served only to increase the pity that the Ladies had conceived of her Distemper; but they so forceably re-enflamed the love of the Marquis, that it was now no more in his power to forbear it. And whilst the Chevalier employed himself in entertaining Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, and Madam de Moulionne, and that the lovely Hollander, and Madamoiselle de Kermas were gone to take a turn in the Gallery, he fell on his knees before that witty indisposed Lady, and entertaining her for some time with much pleasure, expressed himself to her with so much tenderness and affection, that she began to be weary of his Courtship; and Madamoiselle de Barbisieux listened with less attention to the fooleries of Montal, that she might lend an ear to their discourse. I am willing that all the World know that I adore Madamoiselle d'Arvianne, said the Marquis, turning towards the curious Lady; and though I speak low to her, it is not that I design to make a Secret of it. Alas! Sir, replied the agreeable Clelia, If you entertain for me the thoughts you say, conceal rather than publish them, else you will be censured for having made a bad choice of the object of your adorations. No, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, that would be a very unjust consideration to make him conceal them; but rather he should do so, for fear you may be counselled to reject them, as a thing that is common to too many. I know as much of the Marquis as any body can, replied the fair Clelia, smiling; and so soon as I understood that his Name was Monsieur, the Marquis of Riberville, I well thought to meet with some Flourishes from his hands. How? said the Marquis, in great amazement, but still with a transport of joy; Do you know me then? Yes, yes, Sir, answered she, and I know her likewise with whom you had your last Adventure. Good now! lovely Lady, said Madam de Moulionne, tell us that Story, I pray you. Ah! If you tell it, immediately added the Marquis, name no body; for there is nothing truer, than that that Lady who has been brought on the stage, was not in the Room with me, and that they are her enemies who have spread abroad that report. Ho! ho! said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, He is afraid the Parties should be named, and he speaks of a Lady in a Room; this must be a Story of importance. Dear Mademoiselle, continued she pleasantly, For all love dispatch and tell it us, that I may write an account of it to Hermin Villiers; for there lives a poor unfortunate Lady, who has the folly to imagine that he never loved any but her. The indisposed Lady, whom the Subject of such an Entertainment began to make a little cheerful, took pleasure to see the Marquis a little disturbed at that Raillery, whatever countenance he put upon the matter. However, with much sweetness, she told him; Be not alarmed, Monsieur the Marquis, I shall name no body, seeing you will have it so: And then turning to Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, and Madam de Moulionne, she thus began.  

NOVEL III.  
THE HISTORY OF Monsieur the Marquis of Riberville, and a fair Lady of Tholouse.  
YOU must know, Ladies, That Monsieur the Marquis having been last Winter at Tholouse, made a great many Mistresses there; but applied himself more particularly to two very handsome Ladies, who were Neighbours and good Friends; I am mistaken, if it was not reported that they were Sisters, or at least first-Cousins. And because he could not see the one with so much liberty as he could have wished, he forsook her, that he might give himself wholly to the other, whom he waited on with more freedom. The Thoulousians, who are an ill-speaking People, give it out that he had his satisfaction of the former. Ah! said the Marquis, interrupting her, that is truly a great calumny. I believe it, replied the charming Clelia; and if she had not been jealous of her Cousin or Sister, as you please to name her, that had never been reported of her: But to be short, it hath been said, and it is a great cross to her.  
The Amours of the second, continued then that amiable young Lady, made so great noise, by the care that the Cousin had to divulge them, that the Husband grew jealous, and discharged his Wife ever to receive the Marquis any more into her House; and that was the reason that they kept their Assignations afterward in a House without the City. The Lady slipped slily out of doors, by the intelligence of her Porter and Chambermaid, so soon as her Husband was gone to the Palace, whither he sometimes went at Four a Clock in the Morning. Yet they had not taken their measures so well one day, but that the concerned Cousin, who suspected their commerce, discovered the Secret. She had notice from her Spies, that they had seen her Rival disguised in Mourning, come out of her House, and by the Rampart march privately to the Town-gate; that the Marquis, on his part, had left his Chair-men at the same Gate, where he ordered them to expect his return, and that from thence he had hastened away on foot to the place of Assignation. She lost no time; and thinking that she had found the fairest occasion in the World to revenge herself on her unfaithful Lover, she went immediately and awakened the governor's Lady of Thoulouse, who, as you know, Ladies, is Sister to the Marquis. She told her that he was gone to Fight; and to colour the Concern that she had in it, added, That he had chosen a Cousin of hers for his Second; never Sister loved a Brother better than the governor's Lady of Thoulouse loves hers. All in a fright she called immediately for her nightgown, and in that disorder running into her Husband's Chamber; Alas! Sir, said she, I am just now told that my Brother is engaged in a Quarrel, and that he is gone abroad betimes this Morning, with the Cousin of such a Lady who is his Second; hinder them, if it be possible, from Fight. The Governor instantly gave Orders that Guards should be sent to all the Gates, and that there should be a search made after them without the City until they were found. At the Gate of Narbonne they discovered his Chair-men, with an ordinary Street Chair, without their Livery-Coats, which increased the suspicion. Being asked where they left their Master; they answered, That he had commanded them to stay for him there, and that he went on foot into the Suburbs. The Guards divided themselves, that they might pursue their enquiry, and from House to House asked if any body had seen such a Marquis with some other Gentlemen pass that way. At length a Countryman said, That he knew not who they meant, but that he had seen a Gentleman not long ago go into a House, which he shown them. The Watch entered the House, and knocked at the door where the Marquis was, and had upon the first noise barricadoed himself. The more they prayed him to open, the less he answered; yet offered no violence, because they believed him to be alone, and that having peeped through the Keyhole, they had discovered no body in the Chamber but himself. Nevertheless, upon his refusing to open the door, and fearing that he might escape, they set a Guard about the House, until that the Governor should be acquainted with the matter; but his Lady having prayed her Husband to take horse likewise, he himself arrived at the same instant. He entreated the Marquis presently to open to him; and having heard a confused saying, Alas! Do it not, we are undone if you open. Brother, said he, I know very well you are within, and that you are not alone; make no resistance, open, and we shall take care that your business may not come to the ears of the King.  
Here the lovely Clelia interrupted herself, to tell the Ladies, That Monsieur the Marquis himself could tell them better than she, in what plight he found himself at that time. I know nothing else, said she, but that he deliberated with himself very long before he made an answer. However, perceiving it impossible to avoid opening the door, and that whether he would or not he must obey, if it was still believed that he intended to escape with design to Fight, he fell at length to capitulate with his Brother-in-law. He told him, That he did not deny but that he was there with one; but that the matter was quite different from what it was believed; and that he could not do him a greater diskindness, than to oblige him to show the person that was with him. Brother, said the Governor, I promise to you, that no body shall enter but myself; but alas! he was the person of whom the beautiful Mourner was most afraid to be seen; insomuch that Monsieur the Marquis had no easy game to play; however, thinking to overcome the obstinacy of his troublesome Visitant, by discovering to him a Secret, that might engage him to withdraw without seeing the Lady. No, Sir, said he, you cannot come in; but promise to leave me at liberty, when I have told you who I am with. I swear, added he, without giving him leave to answer, it is with a Lady. That's no answer for me, replied the Governor, who began to be out of patience, you will oblige me at length to make use of my Authority; I command you to open this door. At these words Monsieur de Riberville protested that what he said was no false pretext. He swore, and threatened those that had put that trick upon him, telling the Governor, That by endeavouring to hinder an imaginary Duel, he would so soon as it was day engage him in a real one, if he could but meet with the Author of that Affront. In a word, The poor Gentleman the Marquis, used his utmost endeavours to prevent his misfortune; but his eagerness and passion did but hasten it; for the Governor being provoked, caused the door to be broken open; and entering into the Chamber by force, he was much amazed when he found no body there but a masked Lady.  
But, said Montal, interrupting her, Was that same Governor who was so strongly prepossessed with the thought that the Marquis was gone forth to Fight, satisfied to see nothing there but Coats, and would not he try if there were no Breeches underneath? That's no part of the Story, replied Clelia softly; it is only said that all of them were in great confusion; the Lady, because she was discovered by Monsieur the Governor, for her disguise had not concealed her; Monsieur the Marquis, because he had not been able to prevent the disgrace; and the Governor, because he had been innocently the cause of it. Poor Brother, said he to the Marquis, I am very sensible that I have come to do you a bad office; but you must both quarrel with such a Lady, who came and gave my Wife notice of the Duel, telling her, that you had taken a Cousin of hers for your Second; I should have left you in quiet, had I believed that it was only her she instead of he Cousin. He charged immediately all his Guards not to speak of it, upon pain of being reduced; but whether it was that one of these Gentlemen preferred his pleasure in telling that Story, to his own advantage, or that the Cousin herself took care to make it public, so soon as it was day, the Adventure was all the Town over. Every one that went to visit Monsieur the Governor, cried to him so soon as they came within distance, Well! Sir, well! Have you parted the Parties engaged as you ought? And in a word, the Raillery lasted above eight days. And this Relation, Ladies, was made where I was present, by a Lady of Bourdeaux, the Evening before we departed from thence, upon our journey hither. Judge then if it be but small danger to love Monsieur the Marquis, with whom one runs such terrible risks.  
I thought I had been acquainted with a great part of his life, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; but by what I have just now heard, I knew not the best intrigue of it. Let me die, said the Chevalier, if what the Lady has told us be not an incomparable Story. And besides, added Madam the Moulionne, she has expressed all that she said with so good a grace, that her Accent alone was able to charm all that heard her. Madam, replied Clelia, Monsieur the Marquis approves not all the praises you give me. I have good reason to believe, that my voice hath been a little rude to him whilst the Story lasted, and you see how severely he looks upon me still, because I have told you more News of him than he was willing to hear. Ah! cruel Lady, cried he, having amorously beheld her all along; The persons of whom you have spoken, are much more offended than I, at the Relation you have made to these Ladies; for I have had the pleasure at least to hear it told by a lovely mouth, which would even charm me, in pronouncing the sentence of my death; but I know not what reparation you can make to those two Cousins, who have not the same comfort that I have, for the injury you have done them. Ah! Sir, replied she, I have kept my word to you, and have named no body. It is true, Madam, answered he, laughing, the matter is not easily guessed at, since you have named Thoulouse, and told that the Lady went to her Assignation, whilst her Husband went to the Palace. But let that pass; all that I design, is to justify the Lady of whom some have had the charity to say, that it was she that was in the Room with me; for seriously, not to act the discreet Gallant do I say this, but that I may contradict a fearful Calumny; it was not she, but a young Client, to whom I had offered the small credit, that upon consideration of my Sister I had gained in the Town. The Discourse continued on the same Subject, till Madamoiselle Velzers and Mademoiselle Kermas returned into the Parlour, which I told you they had left, that they might take a turn in the Gallery. That Parlour was so delightful, by reason of the noise of several Fountains and little Cascades, (which seemed to interpose and hinder the Sun's entering at the Windows, and falling from thence again into reservatories, murmured along, and mingled themselves with the other Waters of the Garden) that it was resolved they should spend the heat of the day there; and Montal proposed that the beautiful Dutch Lady should be obliged to relate the Story she promised, whilst the Company was in the humour of hearing. I am confident, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, that Kermas and she have been consulting together, how they may give a fair gloss to the Letter which we read before Dinner. If there be a Charm for that, replied the Chevalier, it may be accomplished, and she to whom it hath been written, will no doubt invent some probable Story to justify her modesty; but I much suspect it. I need not invent any thing, answered Velzers, and you shall presently see that they who take upon them to judge of things by appearance, are often rash in their judgements. Gentlemen and Ladies, said Madam de Moulionne, interrupting her, Before ye engage in any thing, I advise you that we must go to our Lodging betimes; ye know that my Husband comes purposely from Paris to sup with us to night. How? Madam, said the Marquis, Will you not stay at Vaux some days? do you intent to return to day? Yes, answered Montal, the Lady has a necessity to do so; but it is her design to have you with her. With all my heart, replied the Marquis, provided that that fair young Lady (looking on Clelia) go likewise. Both you and she, answered Madam the Moulionne, and ye will do us a great honour, for without you our Company will be imperfect, and I have a design upon you to morrow. The old Governess perceiving that her indisposed Lady pleased herself much in the Company she was in, did not at all oppose the overture; she only sent a footboy to acquaint her Aunt with it; and afterward all the Company gathered about the fair Hollander to hear her Story, which in these words she began.   

NOVEL IU.  
THE HISTORY OF Mademoiselle Velzers, the Chevalier de la Grancourt, and the Count of Valdame.  
I Am to tell you a Story wherein I am very much and very little concerned; reconcile these two if ye can. Last Carnaval was a Twelvemonth, having gone to the King's great Ball, I sat near a Young Stranger of a very good Meene, called the Count of Valdame, a Swede; who had made room for me betwixt himself and the Chevalier de la Grancourt, because coming too late, the place that was kept for me was taken up. I had there the credit to captivate the Liberty of that Young Count, who eyed me much oftener than the Dancers; and it is said, that all of a sudden he fell so deeply in love with me, when he knew that I was a Dutch Woman, that it was impossible for him to live any longer without imparting to me his passion. Yet the Chevalier de la Grancourt who was one of his Friends, and to whom he confided his design as they went out from the Ball, told them, That it was not the Custom of France to discover Love so soon; that though I was of a Country where Men express themselves freely enough to Maids, yet I was brought young to this Court, and that it behoved him to court me with the same ceremonies that French Ladies expect, who desire that men should spend much time in Sighs before they declare their Passion. The Young Count with a great deal of regret obeyed him, and to say the truth, the poor Soul was burnt alive. He sought then all occasions to be where I was; at places where Ladies met for Play: at Comedies, whereof I was pretty fond; at Balls, and in a word in all places, where La Grancourt who put these follies in his head, made him believe I might be; in so much, that for the space of above two months wheresoever I was I saw no body but him, not knowing that his design was on me. In fine, one Evening about the end of the Spring, when I took the Air at Rombovillet, in company with several Gentlemen and Ladies, I was quite amazed to see a Consort of Four and Twenty Viols and Violins, come and give us a Serenade; and as we asked one another who it was intended for, we heard a Voice sing some Verses wherein I was named, which convinced all the Company that it was only designed for me. The Gentlemen that were with us ran immediately to that Voice, that they might learn who gave the Serenade; but the Music not knowing themselves who it was that employed them, answered only, That they were ordered to play so long as I pleased, and that they were paid for the whole Night. Then all the Company concluded that we must dance; and one of these Gentlemen would have taken me out to begin the Ball; but I was so enraged at the boldness that was taken, to name me in the Song; that taking him who came to desire my hand, for the author of that rude Frolic, I disdainfully refused it him; however it behoved me to dance, and patiently bear all that was said to me upon the account of my Gallant whom I knew not. Afterward I lived quietly more than six Weeks without further news; but in fine, the Swede sent me a melting Note, with a most rich Germane Cabinet; which in my absence was brought to our house, and which four hours after the Chevalier de la Grancourt came to redemand, saying, That there was a mistake committed, and that it was not directed to me. However, my Father who had already read the Note, though he was surprised to see it conceived in terms of Love somewhat particular, would restore nothing until he had spoken with me. Neither did he give back the Cabinet until that the Swede came to our house, and told him, That he was mistaken in writing my Name, for another that sounded like it. Yet all. that hindered not but that my Father took a more narrow inspection into my actions than was usual to him. Now I'll tell you the mystery of the riddle.  
La Grancourt, famous enough for many Tricks of Wit that he hath played, and which another than myself would perhaps call by another name; having found occasion to make a Fop of this Stranger, persuaded him to give me the Serenade; which, as I told you, I received in Rombovillet, and to make to me, the day following, a declaration of his Love in Writing, which he offered to compose for him; for it was the Chevalier de la Grancourt that framed the Letter which ye have read, and another which ye are still to read, and whereby the poor Swede thought that he daily discovered to me his passion. The Count only transcribed them, because he knew no more but to cast a bastard Letter. And ye shall see, said she, pulling out of her pocket a Packet of Letters and Notes, in what manner that impertinent Chevalier made me answer in the Letters that he wrote in my name. I brought with me all these fooleries with a design to divert you with them as being a novelty; and to inform you of that egregious Cheat. With these words plucking one of these Letters out of the Packet, Here, said she, is his first declaration of Love.  
For Madamoiselle Velzers.  
I Am impatient to spend my whole life, in discovering to you my Passion only by Sighs and Serenades. Should I die for having declared it to you other ways; I had rather die than you should not know it. Since the King's Ball, where first I saw you, and which shall make me say in all places, That there is no Security at the Court of France for poor Strangers; I have been almost a shadow that followed your steps, that I might ask you what you intended to do with the Heart that you have taken from me. My Eyes have a thousand times importuned you; but I well perceive, as to you they have spoken Swedish, which is a Language you understand not. I tell you then, Mademoiselle, in plain French, that I die if you declare not speedily what Fate I am to expect. You'll say that the loss will not be great, and that a great many others must die for the love of you; I make no doubt of it, but never shall any die more amorous nor more constant than  
The Count of Valdame.  
How, said the Marquis, Does the Chevalier de la Grancourt writ so well? Yes verily, answered she, and you have not seen all yet, for I have a great many more, that have seemed to me more gallant than this. And here is. the Answer which I gave to that goodly Letter.  
For Monsieur the Count of Valdame.  
PArdon me Sir, Your death would be a great loss, and I shall prevent it if I can. I am not so ignorant of Languages, but that I know very well that the eyes of Swedeland speak love, as the eyes of all other countries'; but I beseech you take it not ill that I always appear indifferent to you in Company, because of my Father, who is a little troublesome. I shall be one day in liberty to tell you, that if I caught your heart at the King's Ball, you have since won mine.  
Pretty Girl that I was! continued she, and for what a strange Piece would la Grancourt have had me taken? All they who give such answers, said the Marquis, are not to be condemned, and it is natural enough for a civil Maid to declare herself that way. Ha! Sir, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, I am your humble Servant, and differ much from your opinions; the Chevalier de la Grancourt was quite out; for though we were the most amorous things in the World, we confess it not so openly. I believe that of you very well, replied he roguishly, (because that Lady was suspected to be secretly in love with a Person of great quality, to whom it was believed she was married;) but all the rest of your Sex are not like you. Dispute that at another time, said Mademoiselle Velzers, interrupting him, I have not too much time to make an end of my Story in.  
The poor Stranger was so overjoyed, when he received so favourable an Answer, that I was told he was a long time transported, like a fool, not knowing what he did. A thousand times he embraced the Chevalier de la Grancourt, for the good counsel that he had given him, and attributed my good inclinations, to the little civilities that he was persuaded by him to show me. He protested never to have another Confident but him, and never to write nor speak but what he did dictate. And here I pray you observe the stupidity of this poor man, in imagining, though he could hardly smatter, and buy and sell in French, that I should believe that all these gallant Letters were his own. But lafoy Grancourt knew very well what Sow he had by the ear, and seeking one that might defray part of his expenses, he had good reason to cast his eyes on him. In the mean time he wrote to me a second Note, which ye shall hear, and which is a piece of Gallantry not to be matched; for in it I was no less than Mount Aetna, to which a Shepherd directed his Discourse. And this perhaps that fool la Grancourt composed, because the other had entertained such a fancy.  
Montal, who from the beginning of the Story had very familiarly fallen asleep, though he appeared to be one of the most concerned, to hear the Justification of Mademoiselle Velzers, awoke briskly at this time, when the fancy of Mount Aetna made the Company laugh a little. And imagining that they laughed at him; Pardon me, said he, still very drowsy; that lovely Hollander with the sweetness of her voice lulls me asleep. However, added he, I have very well heard that ye were speaking of a Note, and of Mount Aetna, and I have not lost so much as one word of the Discourse. But for all that, Madam de Moulionne and Madamoiselle de Barbisieux failed not to tell him, that it was a great shame to sleep amongst Ladies; and the Marquis, drolling likewise, said very pleasantly, If he sleep by day, Ladies, judge what he can do by night. But Velzers, who knew very well that she had somewhat that would puzzle him, thought it enough to give him the Note, that he might read and explain it. And he having a little rubbed his eyes, began with this title.  
The Shepherd of the North TO Mount Aetna.  
WHat Devil of a Monster is this? said he, after he had read it. Is it the Swede who is that Shepherd of the North? Yes indeed, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; and Madamoiselle Velzers is Mount Aetna; but read it: Let us read it then, said he, and so went on.  
Dear Mount, about which I have turned almost six months without rest; May thine amorous Echoes always answer my inflamed sighs, as they have now at length answered them. I see nothing in thee but what is full of wonders: Thou art covered with a Snow, whose whiteness renders thee in mine eyes the most amiable Object of my Plains; and thou seemest to be Ice without, though within thou be filled with an immortal fire: But O suffer no Shepherd in my absence to come and tumble in that Snow, nor yet any Thief or Robber to russle thee, to my prejudice. Farewell.  
All the Company were ready to split with laughter, to see the amazement wherewith Montal read that admirable Note; and in truth it was a Riddle for him who had not heard the beginning of the Story. But at length looking on Madamoiselle Velzers with an odd kind of serious aspect; 'Slid! said he, Mademoiselle, If you be that civil discreet Mount, the things he speaks of are indeed pretty neat things: A man that writes to you in that strain, must needs have acted a fair Part with you; and it is indeed an excellent way to justify the Letter we saw not long ago, to bring out still new Billets of this nature. He had no other answer, but a continued Fit of laughter, until that Madam de Moulionne spoke again and said; That Swede must needs have had as little wit as reason, in sending such a piece of Folly to a person whom he loved, the second time that he wrote to her. Good, good! replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, A man who understood not French, might take that Note for one of the finest things in the World, and it was enough for him that he found Mount Aetna in it; do you think that he minded any thing else? For the rest he referred himself to the Chevalier de la Grancourt. That Villain, said the Marquis, pursued his sport too far, and told fine tales of it afterward amongst his Friends, I'll warrant you. Not amongst his Friends, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, but to a Mistress of his own, whom he had long enriched at the cost of such Follies; for ye must know that she had the benefit of a vast number of Presents, which the Chevalier de la Grancourt persuaded that Stranger to make to me, and that I am to tell you in due time. It was a commodious fetch, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. La Grancourt never subsisted but by Fops, added the Marquis.  
The Swede then, continued Velzers, sent me that goodly Note, or it was his intention at least. And seeing the Chevalier de la Grancourt, upon occasion, set me out for a witty Maid, for a pretty little nibler at Poetry too, if that was wanting, and in a word, for every thing that could serve his ends; he made me likewise answer to that Note in the manner you shall hear.  
Mount AETNA TO THE Shepherd of the North.  

SHepherd full of Jealousies,  
Whose silly Soul appears  
Disturbed with vain and idle fears,  
Fears that from your folly rise;   

Know that Mountains, such as I,  
Although exposed they stand  
To storms and winds on every hand,  
Yet stand unmoved, and all defy.   
Once more, Shepherd, wonder not if I show not all my flames, till our interview. I am afraid lest the smoke of them should discover us, and that would not be the right way to order our affairs. Farewell.  
You must observe, continued Velzers, that the Chevalier de la Grancourt made me pray the Stranger to take in good part that I made as if I had no commerce with him, for fear we should have spoiled all if we came rogether. Indeed, my indifferency would have clearly convinced him, that he was played upon; but seeing he believed I did but counterfeit, my imaginary constraint, as they say, made him more amorous, than if I had spoken to him with all the tenderness of affection. This rage of writing lasted a whole month, during which he ceased not to admire my singular Wit which appeared in many such Notes; but never durst for all that turn his Eyes to the place where I was. The more he was seen to affect that stayedness, the more I was made to take notice of it in all places where we met together, yea and when sometimes I had a mind in raillery to ask him the reason, he withdrew, and made signs to me with his eyes, whereat I was not a little amazed. But at length, my Lover grew weary of making love only by Tickets and Billets; wherefore finding me one time at St. Germane alone in the Queen's Antichamber, through which I was going to the Lodgings of Madam de Montauster; he stopped me, and made such impertinent discourses, which I understood not in the least, being ignorant of the tricks of La Grancourt: and made such impudent Propositions to me, under the name of his Mount Aetna; that I was forced to fly out in passion and take him up with all imaginable sharpness.  
In the heat of this Jangling, as he accused me of inconstancy, I assured him that I never wrote to men, and that they who had delivered him Letters in my name, had counterfeited them, and intended only to put a trick upon him; this had very near broken all the measures which the Chevalier de la Grancourt had taken; for my Swede understood not raillery. He went immediately to upbraid him for the Cheat, and to tell him that he intended to see him with his Sword in hand: which would not have a little entangled the Chevalier de la Grancourt who stood upon his honour, if he had not made his bravery yield to the desire he had of preserving so beneficial a Fop. But ye shall hear the course he took. Having answered in higher terms than had been used to him, and made a thousand Rodomantadoes as to the Challenge, he told the Count, That he knew no reason why I had been so ill to him; but that so soon as he had informed himself of the matter, and justified his own proceed, he should be willing to fight, yea and to urge him to decide it with the first opportunity. Upon this both separating, the Swede went to his Lodgings, and La Grancourt made haste to make me write a lovely Letter, which next morning he sent to him by my Chambermaid; that Slut was in the Plot to cheat me: And in this manner the Chevalier made me speak in that Letter.  
For Monsieur the Count of Valdame.  
THough I doubt not, but you have had a bad Night, because of the harsh usage you have received from me yesterday; yet I writ not at present but to quarrel with you still. You had almost undone me by speaking to me in the Old Palace of St. German. And if Madam de Choisi, who heard us behind the next door, were not one of the discreetest and best Ladies of the Court, there would be strange discourses made of me; and the carriage that I affected towards you, would not secure me from censure. I could never have believed that you would have been so imprudent as to talk to me of our secrets, in those places where the very Walls have ears; I confess the rage which that weak action occasioned, drew from me many offensive expressions. However, I immediately repent what I had done; because I am not pleased to see you suffer; and what I tell you is so true, that I have wept for it all night long. I beg my dear Coûnt, that you pardon the trouble I have given you, and in revenge desire of me what you please, my Love shall grant you every thing that possibly can make amends for my Cruelty.  
The Chevalier de la Grancourt who always nicked his opportunities, came to the Strangers Lodgings immediately after my Chambermaid had delivered her Message, and affecting still much indifferency, told him that he came to wait upon him to the house of a Lady where I was to be, that he might ask me the reason of the last adventure. But the poor Fop who was by my Letter more than ever confirmed in his fancies, embraced the Cheat with great expression of kindness, prayed him to excuse the weakness of a Lover who was deceived by appearances; and having with much ado won him again, consulted with him what answer was best to be made to that Letter, being resolved to revenge himself to purpose, by the demands which I allowed him to make to me. The Chevalier de la Grancourt advised him at first not to let slip so fair an occasion of obtaining some favour. There is nothing like it, said he, to engage Ladies that way; And having made as if he considered with himself what demand was fittest to be made to me, he concluded at length that it was best to oblige me to grant a private interview, in what place I pleased to choose; which I was instantly acquainted with by this other Note adorned with an address which shows it to be of some worth; for the Direction is; To the most Cruel of all Beauties.  
Ha! really, interrupted Montal, that Address did not at all displease you; for it did you honour. Without doubt (replied she:) But to be short, here is the Note.  
To the most Cruel of all Beauties.  
I Had been dead, inhuman Lady, had not your Letter early this morning prevented my despair; for I have suffered last Night all kinds of torment, when I called to mind the cruel words that came yesterday from your mouth. Is it possible that so harsh terms could proceed from so soft a heart, and that an unfortuante Lover could receive so great a slight and not expire for grief? But I shall never pardon the wrong which that fair Mouth hath done me, unless it be desired by the same Lips; for seeing I must tell you so, I trust no more to Paper, since the time you so cruelly maintained that you had never written to me, And I shall never believe that I have received any Note from your hands, until that for my revenge you have given me a meeting, where I may a thousand times kiss those Arms that have been almost the cause of the death of  
The Count of Valdame.  
To speak the truth, said Madam the Moulionne, that same La Grancourt made a great fool of the poor Swede. The Story requires, (continued Mademoiselle Velzers,) that to be as good as my word I should give him the meeting that he desired, and that because of my Father, who made me closely to be observed; (which was the least thing however in the good Man's thoughts) I should find no better Expedient than to make my Gallant at Midnight come under the Balcony of my Antichamber, which lay in an open place off of the Street, and by throwing down a Silken Ladder to bring him that way into my Apartment. And you must know, if you please, that this was done. My honest Chambermaid promised to the Chevalier de la Grancourt, to appear on the Balcony, and to throw down that Ladder, on condition that he should invent some trick at the instant that the Stranger intended to get up, that might hinder him from effectuating his design; but the luck was, that the design was other ways, and by other people interrupted.  
The Coach of Monsieur de Soyecourt was coming that way, at the very nick when the Gallant was upon the Ladder; and the Torches having made light enough in the open place, to give occasion to the Son of the Marquis of Maucomble, who came immediately after in a Chair, to observe that Scalado, the young Gentleman stopped, cried out Thiefs, laid hold on my Gallant who was in disguise, and put him in the Officers hands, who carried him to prison, the poor Lover not daring all the while to name himself, nor to make his justification, for fear of undoing my reputation: Observe a little how great obligations I had to him; greater than you are ware of, said Montal; and 'tis well he be not as much obliged to you. To me? answered she; without doubt he is: Have you not seen very well by the Letter that was read not long ago, that he had all he desired of me? You jest, replied Madam the Moulionne, or otherways it has been the same way that you wrote all these Notes to him, to wit, by a third person. Ha! answered coldly the lovely Hollander, I think that is to be understood, and my looks give you no ground to judge otherways. ' Y faith! said Montal, the looks are nothing, and I never accomplished my designs on any with greater ease, than on those who cry out, Murder, when men speak to them of Love. And that is the reason, replied she inconcernedly still, that you apply yourself to me; do but persist, and you'll be sure to gain your point. Well understood, continued he; do you imagine then that you love me not already? Ladies, said he, directing his Discourse to the Company, This is one of the most dissembling Maids in the World; for though she seem to you so chaste, so disdainful and inexorable, yet it is only because we have complotted together, that I complain of her cruelty, to deceive the curious, and I will not tell all that we two have done by ourselves. At these words she grew so red, that the Company believing her vexed, were very angry with Montal; and Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, amongst others, told him, that she took no pleasure in such kind of familiarities; not but that she knew very well, that among good Friends they might be sometimes used in Gallantry; but because we may very frequently meet with persons, whose humour hath no sympathy with our own, and that making no difference of those to whom we speak, we give occasion to such foolish heads, to interpret things according to their own reach: Seriously, Chevalier, said the Marquis, you are a little too free; or to say better, you are one of those great Talkers, who to appear Wits and Gallants, know not for most part what they say. How? Are you against me too? replied Montal. Upon my faith! for the future I shall be so discreet and reserved, that ye shall twenty times entreat me to speak before I open my mouth. That is indeed as much as he can do, said Mademoiselle Velzers, smiling, (to show that she was not vexed;) but I will not desist from telling my Story.  
Ye know, continued she, the rumour that was spread last Winter, that there was an attempt made to rob us in the nighttime. Yes, answered Madam the Moulionne, It was said that there were Daggers, and Cords with nooses found in the Balcony, with which ye were all to have been killed, and it was all the Town-talk at Paris. Yet for all that there was no design against my life, replied Mademoiselle Velzers; the Robber was but my Gallant, who, as I told you, was cast in prison, and next day answered to his Charge under a borrowed Name, for the same reasons that hindered him the Night before from naming himself. Alas! said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, he did not deserve to be so gulled and abused. Montal that great Caviller would not have done so much, said Mademoiselle Velzers. At these words he was about to speak again; but the thought of his promise checked him so pleasantly that that was worth all that he could have said; and in the mean time she went on in this manner:  
The Chevalier de la Grancourt, who lost no occasion of making his own advantage at the cost of the Swede, made a very dextrous use of that opportunity, to fleece him of a considerable sum of money; and having agreed with the Officers for a small matter to set him at liberty, he told him that it would cost him a thousand pounds, and put nine hundred of them in his pocket. Ha! It was that money then, said the Marquis, interrupting her, that put him last Winter in so rich an Equipage. That may very well be, replied she; but however, so soon as the poor Prisoner was at liberty, he began again to send me Notes; and I wave a great many of them, that I may show you the pleasantest of all, which is this.  
Fore Matemosele Velzers.  
DE Missager, Matemosele, being went fore the King, sho didden order 'em to come to San Germens Hoose; ay affe senden to yw one pretty Duytch Capinet, to fit in ywr Shampber, ass yw desired at the Fair of San German. loof me wit all me soul, ass ay loof yw be all me life; and ay fore me part affe great impashience to imbrasse yw be de simbol of Materimonie.  
De Count of Valdame.  
This then is at length the Note which your Father received, said the Marquis. The very same, answered she; at least it is the blurred Paper which came to my hands with the other Letters. Well, to the purpose then, said Madam de Moulionne, How came they to your hands? That you shall know in due time, replied the fair Hollander; I have something else to tell you first. Good now! said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, before she enter again into her Relation, will some body explain to me what is the meaning of a Symbol of Matrimony; this term seems to me very pleasant, though I understand it not. Ah! Madam, You have too much wit, replied the Marquis, not to understand the true meaning of it. I swear to you, answered she, that I know not in the least what it signifies. But, Mademoiselle, replied he, how could that way of speaking then have pleased you? How now! said Montal, interrupting him briskly, and being weary of silence, Perceive you not very well, that it is because the Symbol of Marriage and Concubinage is one and the same thing? O the impudent man! replied immediately, Madamoiselle de Barbisieux laughing and blushing both together, He only held his peace thus long, that he might watch an occasion to tell me such a Foppery. I am mad, continued he, to hear so many words spent about a trifle. Why a Devil do not you rather let us come to an end of our Story? Come on, said Mademoiselle Velzers, he has reason. Observe then; and thus she prosecuted her Discourse:  
That was the incomparable Note which accompanied the Germane Cabinet that the Swede sent me; and that ye may understand this part of the Story, ye must know that the reason why he wrote to me in that wonderful Jargon, was because he had seen me prise that Cabinet much in the Fair. And having bought it, with a design to send it to my Lodgings before I could return, he chose rather to write to me the best way he could, that he might accompany his Present with a Note, than to expect his Secretary who was gone to St. Germane. It was blockishly and heedlessly done; but his imprudence did him no great hurt, and the Chevalier de la Grancourt was the great Master that set all things to rights again. The latter however was much surprised, when at his return he learned that the Cabinet was sent to me. And when he understood that my. Father would not return it back, unless the Author of the Note came, and gave consent to it in his presence, it was said, that there never was a man so out of countenance as that Cheat; for he was afraid that if his Fop came to our Lodgings, he might discover how much he had abused him. However, I have told you how he came off at that time. He made him believe that I was undone, if he did not come and tell my Father that he was mistaken, and deny that he directed the Cabinet for me. By this means he shunned the Information, got back the Cabinet, and feigning next day a Letter, wherein I ordered the poor Lover to cause his Present to be carried to a certain House; the Chevalier de la Grancourt being in correspondence with the people of that House, seized it, and made a Present of it to his Mistress. In the mean time I was no less astonished upon my return home, to find my Father out of humour; and I could hardly persuade him that I was innocent, by telling him that that Stranger was a Fool, and had taken a fancy that I was in love with him. I told him the Compliment he made me in the Queen's Antichamber; the signs that he gave me that I should not be so familiar with him, when I had a mind to laugh at the extravagancies that sometimes he told me; and in fine, the entreaty that one of his Friends made to me to divert myself with him on occasions, and out of pity not to contradict him; for, said I to my Father, it is said, that such kind of Blades are not to be exasperated; and as for the Cabinet, he sent it to me, because he saw me prise it in the Fair. But, said Madam de Moulionne, interrupting her, you took him really then for a Fool? There is nothing truer, answered Mademoiselle Velzers; I was so well persuaded of it, that I accustomed my Friends to entertain the same opinion. And besides, the Chevalier de la Grancourt himself helped to confirm me in it, telling me, that it was the folly of that poor man to fancy that Women loved him. O! the Impostor, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; can any man be more cruelly imposed upon? But, continued she, how came you to discover all that Mystery? Truly, answered the Hollander, we are not come to that yet; and there happened a great many other Adventures, before I could come to the knowledge of any thing.  
After the business of the Cabinet, the Count of Valdame whom I took to be a Fool, made Courtship to me, for the space of a month at least, with tranquillity enough, and I allowed all that he said he had done for me, and that I had done for him, because I considered him as fantastical. But, in fine, a considerable Inheritance recalled my Father to Middlebourg, and it behoved me to go along with him. Ye are now to hear of fearful matters that happened on occasion of that Journey, and whilst we continued there. In the first place, Before we departed, I saw my poor distressed Lover shed floods of tears, which might have perhaps affected me, if another besides himself had testified so much tenderness; but the conceit that I had of his folly, was a guard to my discretion, against all the assaults of commiseration, and the more he wept, the more I laughed. I had all the trouble in the World to hinder him from following us to Holland; and I am persuaded that without this valedictory Letter, wherein I discharged him to attempt it, nothing could ever have taken him off of it; it was made up under a Cover with the ordinary Direction, For Monsieur the Count of Valdame; but upon the Letter itself were these tender and sweet qualities, To the most amiable and most affectionate Lover, from the most afflicted and best beloved of all Women. And I believe that that was written with a Chickens Blood; the Contents of it were as you shall hear.  
To the most Amiable, etc.  
I Leave you, my dear Count, and God is my witness, that as there shall be but one half of me in Holland, so long as you shall remain here; so I should hearty wish, that you might come after us, but my bad Fortune obliges me to forbid you so much as to think of that, by reason of the ill Judgements that may pass thereon; and I command you by all the power that you have given me over yourself, to stay in France until my return. I do not think my Father will be long at Middleburg; but should that happen, sacrifice to me the troubles that my absence may give you, and consider for your comfort, That the pains which I shall suffer are no less than your own. Farewell, my dear Count. Farewell the most beloved of all men. Writ often to me by the secret way that I shall instruct you in; And believe that I shall always be yours, since once I have been so.;  
How then! said Madam de Moulionne, and was there an Always in it likewise? Right, answered Mademoiselle Velzers; I was so much enamoured in the Letters of the Chevalier de la Grancourt, that I observed no bounds nor measures. And that was therefore the reason that he stayed willingly in France, until, that three Weeks ago I came back, in the company of Monsieur the Chevalier, said she, pointing to Montal. But tell me, Madamoiselle, said the Marquis of Riberville interrupting her, had he already shared any way in your favour when you made that Journey? that is true, answered she, and I forgot the best of all; yes, yes, he was already persuaded that I had used him kindly, and the order of the History requires, that I should have granted him all that he could desire of me, before there was a word spoken of our departure. But admire a little, if you please, the extravagancy of the Chevalier de la Grancourt, and to what pleasant acknowledgements of thanks he exposed me, next day after he had given him one in my place; for it was in sequel of that rare adventure that he wrote the Letter which this morning was likely to have undone my honour and reputation. But how came it, said the Marquis, that he perceived not the change? Sir, replied she, pardon me, if I give you no reason for that. I am not sufficiently acquainted with the ceremonies which are observed in such rencounters, to satisfy your curiosity. All that I can tell you is, That next day he seemed ravished with certain pleasures which, as he said, I had afforded him, and which were Hebrew to me who knew not all the mystery. But, added Madam the Moulionne, how and which way could he think that you could come to such an assigtion, and lie abroad? Good God, Madam, answered Mademoiselle Velzers, have you not heard as often as I, that love is ingenious in flattering itself, and thinks nothing impossible? To give every thing its due, said the Marquis, if it be true, that imagination produces our sweet pleasures, La Grancourt by that trick cheated the Stranger but in one half. These pleasures, replied she, cost him dear, during my stay at Middlebourg; and I question not but Monsieur his Confident pumped out of his purse above Ten thousand Crowns, under pretext of Trafficking for me. Is it possible? said the Marquis again in great amazement. I tell you nothing but what is both possible and true, answered she: And observe, if you please, how that Knave accomplished his design.  
The first Letter that he wrote in my name to that poor Fop, amongst many Protestations of eternal constancy in my love, contained a nost earnest suit, that he would choose for me one of the finest suits of hang that was to be found at Paris, and send me the price before he sent the hang, that I might with all expedition order the money to be paid in to him. To write so to such a Lover as he, was as much as to have said, Give it me generously. Nor did he fail to do it, and having entrusted his Chevalier with the sending of it; (for this faithful Friend had gained so much on his mind, that without his counsel he could do nothing.) The Voyage of this Tapestry into Holland ended at the house of this Cheats Mistress, where she likewise found the German-Cabinet. He provided this Slut also of a Bed of Crimson Damask, with Gold and Silver Fringes, which cost him as much as the Tapestry, and gave her for apparel pieces of the finest Stuffs that were ever made in France. I know not, said Mademoiselle Barbisieux, what end this will come to; but I think La Grancourt hath done a great deal not to be discovered, and not to have given the Swede ground of suspicion. He never wanted good Precepts, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, to make me desire all these things; but at length, seeing it would be difficult, that upon my return into France the cheat should not be found out; can ye imagine, do ye think, what Plot he contrived? My poor Lover had sworn to him a thousand times, that he loved me with so violent a passion, that if I should chance to die, he would poison himself that he might not survive the loss of me. La Grancourt imagining that so passionate a Lover would keep his word to him, resolved to make me die in fancy, that so by a noble despair, he might ease himself of any further trouble in bringing the Play to its Catastrophe. To this end, he makes me write that I found myself indisposed; To which the Swede made such affectionate answers; that it would break your heart, should I but read them. Afterward, the Knave sent him Letters whereby a third person at my direction, gave him account of the progress of my distemper, and amongst others there was one which touched him so feelingly, that to the great astonishment of the Chevalier de la Grancourt, he came one day booted and spurred to the Lodging of his faithful Confident, to take his leave of him, being resolved at what rate soever to come see me at Middlebourg. What trouble has a Cheat to find remedies for so many emergents! cried Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. Knavery and Envy are like one another, said the Marquis, they carry about with them their own punishment. La Grancourt believed himself fallen from his height, continued Mademoiselle Velzers, when he found the Swede so resolved on that design; and for his greater perplexity, the Lover was got on horseback, and all his Servants with him, and he durst not leave him so much as a quarter of an hour, to go write him Orders in my name not to departed. Nevertheless, the Chevalier Grancourt having bethought himself a little, pretended at length that he would accompany him to Holland, and having persuaded him to alight that he might rest a little at his Lodgings, whilst his own Horse was making ready, he begged leave to go speak a word or two to a Friend that lived hard by: but that was to frame a Letter written with my own hand, wherein I assured him that I was in the way of recovery, and that for his better assurance, we should shortly see one another again. The Chevalier de la Grancourt returning, a little after he had caused the Letter to be delivered to him, pretended himself delightfully surprised, upon sight of it, and having given God thanks for my cure, found no more difficulty to put a stop to the Journey. And thus he also awarded that last blow. But all this increasing only the fear he had of being at some time or other discovered, made him also without compassion hasten the hour of my death; and here is the fatal Letter by which, eight days after, I made it known to my poor Lover, at that very time when he swore most deeply never to survive me, and had his Opium always by him; so that La Grancourt was already contriving how to order his Funeral, so soon as he had read the Letter.  
For my Faithful Lover.  
OUR Destiny, my dear Count, suffers me not to see you again, and I am so weakened by my Sickness within these four days, that there is nothing surer than that I must die before an end be made of this Letter. I well foresee that this troublesome News which you expected not, will assault you with cruel thoughts: and that as I would not think of living if you died before me, so I make no doubt but my death will put you into horrible despair .... Alas! were it true that Lovers United again below; I should not so much lament to die .... Farewell my dear Count, I can dictate no more, Grief and Sobs stop my mouth. I have given Orders that this Letter be not sent to you, until I be dead. I die wholly yours, and the most Faithful of all Lovers.  
The Chevalier de la Grancourt had added also these words in trembling Characters; Farewell the most beloved that ever shall be, to the end that the Count for grief or otherways might the more speedily departed this life. But, continued she, laughing, it is probable that the Swedes like all other men, think not themselves obliged to keep their promise to the dead. My Lover was so far from killing himself, had hardly a quarter of an hour sighed and lamented his loss, but amongst a great many cares that afflicted him, he asked if he should likewise lose the Money he had paid for the Hang, and whether my Father would not re-imburse it him; at which la Grancourt was so amazed, that he was ready to have died in his place. I believe it very well, said the Marquis, laughing hearty; for that was a rough Brush for his cunning. Madam de Moulionne also and all the Company laughed at it; but still with a great surprise, and with a moral reflection on the sudden change of the Swede. Traitorous men! cried she; and after all this can it be said, that there is any man worth a Rush? Good now! replied the fair Hollander, let me make an end. I am not at all surprised at their conduct, and we must not expect that these Gentlemen are so heroical, as to die gloriously for us. They would be great Fools to do so, said Montal, and far greater still if they did it after, rather than before the death of that which they love. And when would you have them do it then, said the Marquis? I am of opinion, that if any one should die of despair, it should be when he has for ever lost that which was dearest to him. That is a Tale of a Tub, replied Montal; for Desire being dead with the Object, we come to our wits again; and as the living are made for the living, we let the dead go, for another that can eat and drink. So then, I should trust much to you, said Madam de Moulionne, if I intended to have a Gallant. How, to me? replied he, I am the most constant Lover in the World; I was like to have killed myself ten times for the cruelties of my Mistress; and that fair One, (looking on Madamoiselle Velzers) was a witness of it in Holland. Yes verily, answered she, drolling, it was that was the cruel Mistress. Yes, yes! sweet Laugher, replied he, it was you; and you know that there was many times much ado to hinder me, from falling into the folly of poisoning myself; but I shall have a care for the future, and the greater after your death, than at another time. You need not swear to make me believe it, said she, looking somewhat coldly upon him. Madamoiselle, replied he, to sweeten what he had said, Perhaps seeing I love you with extraordinary passion, the first shock of my grief would bring me to a natural death; but, continued he, looking on the Company with his usual Drollery, Be assured, I would not kill myself, and it is not the fashion now adays for men to stab themselves for Love. But what reason have you, answered the Marquis, to be willing rather to kill your self before, than after? Ha', ha'! replied Montal; What reason have I? When we must often see a Woman, with whom we are desperately in love, the Object moving our faculties, and Love provoked by denials, making us mad, we may sometimes prefer poison to so uneasy a life; but remove all hopes of enjoying the person, (which can only be done by death) and we come to our right wits again. That is a good reason for a brutish Fellow, who might love a Woman sensually, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux▪ but for a virtuous Gentleman— Good God said he, interrupting her, I know what you are about to say; but ye would be all fairly lurched, if men loved you only like Angels; and when we hear such Preachments of the spirituality of Love, all are but conceits to lay us in the Cradle. Ah! replied Madam the Moulionne, I maintain that there are some men, who love with the greatest honesty imaginable, and without any design. And for my part, answered he, I maintain that that is a thing impossible. They pretend perhaps more honesty than others, but that is only to bait the hook, and it is a way that never fails. Ladies, than said the Marquis, If we believe his Philosophy, there will be no commerce betwixt the two Sexes, but what must be very dangerous. You play the Wag, said Montal to him, but you understand me not. Well, well, be gone, replied the Marquis; neither these Ladies nor I will hear you any longer; and we had rather that Madamoiselle Velzers would tell us, how the Chevalier de la Grancourt got out of the mire wherein we left him sticking.  
How he got out? answered she. Two days after that he fought a Duel with a man that killed him; otherwise I believe he had never come off with credit. It is not long then since that happened, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; for it is no more than three weeks since the Chevalier de la Grancourt was killed. You may easily imagine that it is of fresh date, answered Mademoiselle Velzers, seeing I told you that it is but three weeks since I returned from Holland; and the Chevalier de la Grancourt was killed but two days before. Yet I believe, continued she, that had he lived longer, he would have found out some new invention to have rid himself of his man. And he had even begun another Stratagem to bring things so about, that the Swede should departed from Paris, and give him up all the Letters which he fancied he had received from me. He told him, that if my Father made the least difficulty, to repay the Money that the Movables cost, the only way to bring the old Man to reason, would be to threaten to publish the Letters of his deceased Daughter. However the success of that Intrigue was so uncertain, and the consequences of it would have proved so intricate, that I assure you the Chevalier de la Grancourt did far better to find a way to be killed, than to trust to it. But if his death relieved him from trouble, it wrought vexation enough to my Father and me, so soon as we returned to Paris. Two days after, the Stranger came, and in his own language which my Father understands very well, condoled with him for my death. To which my Father, who was possessed with the thought that the poor man was a Fool, and that one must seem to believe all his fancies, made answer, as if it had been true that I was dead. This he could the more easily do, because a Lady one of our Friends, had detained me at her House, as we passed that way, and being not as yet arrived at Paris, I could not by my presence falsify his Discourse. He considered also the fancy of the Swede, as a means to deliver me at length from an importunate Fool, and believing that all he said of the Tapestry and Damask-Bed, for which he desired back his Money, was such another Dream as that of my Death: That he might not anger him, he gave him likewise answer, That he expected Bills of Exchange, and that so soon as they were come, he should have his Money. The Stranger came several times to ask news of the Bills of Exchange, until that being put off almost fifteen days, and losing patience, he at length sent another Swede, to tell my Father that he could wait no longer; that persons of our quality never wanted a thousand or twelve hundred pieces, which he desired only to be paid off; that he stood in need of them for his Journey into Swedeland; and that to be short, he must needs have his Money. My Father that knew the other Swede very well, whose Name was Monsieur de Grustaw, and who had only taken upon him that Message, because he was a Friend of ours, as well as of the Count of Valdame's, at first played upon his credulity, for having taken all the fancies of the Count for real truths; he also laughed hearty to see him in the same mistake concerning my Amours, insomuch that never poor man was more astonished than Monsieur de Grustaw. On the one hand he considered that my Father scorned baseness; on the other side he had never found any folly in the Count of Valdame; and being forced to entertain bad thoughts of both, for a long time he could not tell what to say. Nevertheless, being fully persuaded by my Father, that the Stranger was hypocondriac, my imaginary death, and my pretended Letters, which were not of my writing, the Relation of the Carriers, who had carried no Furniture into Holland, at the time and with the mark that the Swede mentioned, and a thousand other as probable circumstances, having sufficiently convinced Grustaw that the Count was cracked; and that besides that, he had not seen him for the space of a year, in less than which one may turn Fool. He excused himself to my Father for having undertaken the Commission; and showing himself much afflicted for the poor Gentleman's misfortune, he took his leave, returning to the Count again. And here comes in the pleasantest Adventure of all; for the Count having earnestly enquired what success he had had in his Negotiation, Grustaw believing him to be a Fool, observed the same measures, as my Father had done in his Answers. He told him that he should not in the least disquiet himself, because my Father was a man of Honour, that would certainly do him right as to his Money. And in the mean while he prayed him to go take a little rest; asked him if he slept well a-nights, from whom he had learned that I was dead, and how long it was since he was made believe that untruth: In fine, he wheedled him with all the gentle ways that melancholic persons are commonly won by. The Swede answered him, That he was infallibly assured that I was dead, and that I had given him notice of it by a Letter, which Monsieur Grustaw interpreted to be another effect of madness; but nothing could be more pleasing than this that follows: Monsieur Grustaw thinking he had found the Secret, to bring the young Count to his wits again, by proving to him that I was alive; and for that end having next day understood that I was come to Town, he entreated my Father to bring me to the Lodging of the poor Swede, to convince him of it, that so afterward they might bring him by degrees to understand, that all his other imaginations were as false, as his conceit that I was dead. My Father carried me thither on that design; but I cannot forbear still to laugh, when I think on the condition that I found him in. He was placed between a Physician and an Apothecary, whom in his own Jargon he abused and cursed bitterly, because they would needs persuade him that he was ill, and had threatened him, that if he would not by fair means, they would force him to take a Clyster. So soon as the poor man perceived me come in, his luck was bad, and these Gentlemen had great satisfaction; for being strangely surprised to see me alive, he fainted away, which gave them fair opportunity to lay him upon the Bed, where praying my Father to lend them a hand, and drawing the Curtain betwixt them and me, that I might not behold a spectacle offensive to a Lady, they administered the Remedy proposed, which made him indeed stark mad when he was come to himself again. Ah! Fantasme, cried he immediately, casting his eyes on me still with terror; De bad Imaage of a Woman, from I affe so mich looffed; and fie, fie, yw, said he, addressing himself to the Apothecary and Doctor; Sortsellers, (he would have said Sorcerers) That de Tyvell affe me to do wit yw? I cannot call to mind his proper terms; but in a word he Jargoned in his own way a great many such things, as if he would have accused the Physicians, and Monsieur Grustaw, that they had raised my Ghost to torment him, which obliged me to say to him; How then! Monsieur de Valdame, Do you love me no more? And for my sake will you not at least condescend to be cured? What reason have you to believe that I am dead? Give me your hand, and that you may be undeceived, take mine. To which the poor Gentleman, answering me only with his eyes, cried out at length in Swedish, which he addressed to Monsieur Grustaw, and who interpreted it to me: Ah! Grustaw; Am I then indeed a Fool, as they would make me believe? And if it be not so, can it be possible that they whom I love most, should have endeavoured to put such an affront on a person of my quality? That my Friend, that my Servants, and all should conspire in the same thing? With these words he turned his face to the Wall, that he might see no body any more; and the Physician thinking that he was going to sleep, made a sign with his hand that the Company should withdraw. This we all did, except Monsieur Grustaw, who remembered the Clyster, and stayed constantly by his Bedside. Alas! said Madam de Moulionne, I pity the poor Gentleman's condition. That was the way, added the Marquis, to make him become a Fool in reality. He fell into a great Fever, continued Mademoiselle Velzers, and I know not as yet what the issue of it may prove. But that I may return to my Story: That unfortunate laughingstock of Love and Fortune, having discharged his Clyster, and finding no body with him but Grustaw, addressed himself once more to him, all shaking and trembling at the thoughts of what was passed. Tell me then, Grustaw, said he, speak seriously; Am I a Fool, or am I not? Is it upon the account of some revenge that I am so used? Or am I in any Distemper that needs this usage? I think not; but however explain to me in a word this mystery. Apprehend not that you have to do with a Fool, whose humour must be soothed and complied with: What Infirmity soever ye would make me believe I have, yet I think I speak reason still; tell me at least upon what ground is it that you build this my folly? Grustaw hearing him speak in that manner, answered, That he would willingly shed the last drop of his blood to see him in good health; and that he might very well believe if he were so, they would not have taken the pains to use him as a sick person. You know, Sir, said he, that I am a poor Gentleman, whose fortune depends solely on the Favour of Monsieur your Father, and that being so much obliged to you as I am; besides that I should be very loath to put a trick upon the Son of one of the greatest Lords of Swedeland, I would not willingly do any thing that might in the least displease you. Forbear these Compliments, replied the Count; and seeing you ought not to doubt but that I have (at least at this time) some good intervals, because I reason with you so soberly of my misfortune, satisfy me, I pray you. Well then, Sir, answered Grustaw, What would you have us think of your wit, when you would make men believe that Mademoiselle Velzers hath been in love with you? that you have received a thousand Love-Notes from her; that she hath given you Meetings; that she hath granted you the highest Favours, she who is a very modest and discreet Maid; that she has asked of you Hang, Furniture, and ; and by an excess of Fancy, you imagine her to be dead, when she has not been so much as sick; you go and comfort her Father, and at the end, you demand re-payment of imaginary sums of Money. What would you have us, I say, think then, but that all these are visions and fancies that have got into your brain? Perhaps it has come upon you at first by the contagion of the French Vanity; for the Love-Letters which in great number you have caused to be written to you, are no small sign of this; and coming afterward by degrees to be persuaded of your own lies, you are at length fallen hypocondriac. Let my affection and age excuse at your hands the freedom of this rebuke; I wish it might work a cure upon your mind, which perhaps is for ever out of order. Many other things besides, they spoke in Swedish; the Count made his Objections to Grustaw, and Grustaw answered them. He told him that it was a thing absolutely false, that he had ever seen me at any Assignation, or that it must have been some other Woman that he took for me; that when I confessed that he had given me any Present, or that I had written to him, it was only with a design to divert myself, and not to contradict him, because the Chevalier de la Grancourt had persuaded me that he was a Fool. He told him so many other particulars, that the poor Patient discovered at length that the Chevalier de la Grancourt had always abused him. Ah! then, said he, dear Grustaw, now I clearly see from whence both your mistake and mine proceeds; the Rascal whom you have just now named, hath villainously played upon me, and the condition that I am in, is a deplorable effect of my credulity and his knavery; it hath cost me fifteen thousand Crowns, and may perhaps still cost me my life. They discoursed afterward more particularly; and the unfortunate Swede calling to mind all the appearances pro and con, made no more doubt, but that the Chevalier de la Grancourt had converted to his own use all the Money and Presents, which were only intended for me. But I assure you there was no body so much amazed as I, when Monsieur Grustaw came and informed my Father of all, especially when I came to know that my Chambermaid was accessary to the Intrigue; for I could never have believed that she would have betrayed me so shamefully. Interest can do any thing, said the Marquis, with such kind of persons. What became of her? added Madam de Moulionne: Was she so impudent as to stay with you till these Intrigues were discovered? No, without doubt, answered Mademoiselle Velzers, the Slut left me when I was still in the Country, where she had notice of the storm that was preparing for her at Paris; for my Father had written to me of the last Fancy that the Stranger had had. Nevertheless we sifted her a little, and by her means discovered many things, which perhaps may help for the recovery of the Hang and Bed; but I am afraid it will not be a matter so easy to be done. From her also I got part of the Letters which I have showed you, and which she kept to make sport with; for it was she that received them for me; and Monsieur Grustaw put the rest into my hands, for fear that though they were counterfeited, yet they might be published to my disadvantage. In the mean time, continued she, and I think I told you, the Stranger fell into a high Fever, for mere vexation that he had been so gulled, and it is not yet known what the event of it may prove. Monsieur Grustaw and my Father these two days past have had many Conferences together, whereof I can give you no account, unless it be to take measures, how they may proceed against the Heirs of la Grancourt. And this is the sum of the Story which I had to tell you, which if I mistake not, frees me sufficiently from the Gallantries whereof I stand accused, and I think it will not a little contribute to the Embellishment of the Romance that we have begun. Now let any speak who please.  
The Chevalier de Montal would have spoken, as pretending not to have been fully persuaded of the truth of that History. But they were told that it was time to be gone, and that the Coach was ready. Madam de Moulionne pressed all the Company to go take their places, and that was the reason that no body minding the Chevalier's discourse; it behoved him to refer the telling of his thoughts until they were upon the Road. Neither at that time found he any body for him, when he had spoken his mind; for rather than to suspect the Modesty and Discretion of Mademoiselle Velzers; the Company thought it better to do her the injustice to think, that for all she was so sprightly, yet she had not Wit enough to invent on the spot an Intrigue so well circumstantiated.  
In the mean time the Marquis continued his Adorations to Clelia, and as he leaned to one side of the Coach, to whisper her somewhat in the ear, the fair Hollander espied a paper in his pocket; which without being perceived by him, she could easily pull out. Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, who saw it as soon as she, gave her a sign not to lose the opportunity; and told her softly, That it was perhaps some sweet Love-Letter, that might serve her to be revenged on him: But the Marquis purposely turning to know their design, prevented the blow, and crying that it was unjust to rob him on the one side, whilst he was losing his heart on the other, he put his hand quickly to his pocket. Monsieur the Marquis, said Madam de Moulionne, show us that Paper. What Paper, Madam? answered he. The Love-Letter, said she, of Madamoiselle de Seucelles, which we have seen sticking out of your pocket. Ah! replied he, the Trick is dull; you would here wrong me in the esteem of the fair Lady whom I love, by attacking me with another person whom I love not: but Mademoiselle D'arviane hath too much Wit, not to discover the artifice. To all this the charming indisposed Lady answered only with little smiles, which made her pretty Mouth admired; but at length that she might entertain the Company in the gay humour that she found herself in; she became, or pretended to be a little curious. Who is that Madamoiselle Seucelles, then? said she to Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. May nay not I know the commerce that passes betwixt her and the Marquis: And is her Beauty so powerful, that I ought to fear he will forget me so soon as he sees her again? It would be nothing at all, replied Madam the Moulionne, if you had no more to be afraid of but the Beauty of that Lady; for it is not with her that be is in love; and she is but the Confident, or to say better, the Agent of one of the Loveliest Ladies of the Kingdom. Ha! replied Clelia, let the Company do me right then. I have told the Story that I know of the Marquis; therefore I entreat some body to tell me that. Alas, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, you may be told it in a few words.   

NOVEL V.  
THE HISTORY OF Madam the Countess of Touruevil.  
MOnsieur the Marquis is in love with the Countess of Tourueüil, so that you may already judge if he hath not planted his Amours in a rich Field. Every one knows that that young Lady hath been sacrificed by her Father to a Husband whom she could never love; for the Count of Tourueüil is one of your pretended Bigots, and a clownish man; and there is nothing more gentile, and less devote than his Lady; Sympathy does not commonly spring from such opposite Qualities. Monsieur the Marquis of Riberville, who seems cut out for making his advantage of all good occasions, paid a Visit one day to the Countess, just when the old jealous pate and she had been gravelling, and the ground of their quarrel was, because by a capricious whimsy worthy such a one as himself, he had caused a picture that hung behind her bed to be daubed over; by reason, said he, that it was a naked piece which was not fit a young Lady should look upon, and which might bring idle thoughts into her mind.  
Well! said the Chevalier, interrupting, and he had reason; for it was a cunning piece of Policy by that means to remove from Madam the Countess all pretext of tentations. Who knows, but that she might have come a duning, when he was about his spiritual exercises? Hold your peace, you caviller, replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, no body asks you the question whether he had reason or not in doing what he did. The Countess de Tourneüil who felt no tentations by beholding Pictures, or who thinking less harm than these Zealous Pater-noster-men, did not seek occasions from inanimate things; was extremely troubled at the grievous effect of her Husband's impertinent scrupulosity. And her discontent grew so high, when she had called to mind a thousand other displeasures that she had received from so ridiculous a man; that she would live no longer with him. She told the Marquis, That she had a resolution to separate from him, in which he had a special care to confirm her, until the day that was pitched upon for putting the design in execution; And the day being come, the Lady about Midnight in a Gentleman's Apparel slipped out of her own house; came to one of the Marquess', about three leagues from Paris, and stayed there all the rest of the Night. There passed nothing but what was honest and civil, says the Story, and nothing but what any fair Lady, being in the place of the Countess of Tourneüil, might have done without danger, in acknowledgement to the Services of the Marquis; for he excused her upon promise that she would show him all kind of favours, when she could once return to France, and be there Mistress at home, wherewith the Marquis was satisfied .... Ah! cried the Chevalier, you are sweetly paid off, Marquess, you are rightly served, and there is your recompense for the unseasonable discretion you used with that Lady; if it be true though, that you used any: for I take you not to be so ignorant of the way that Women would be used. If what is supposed of me be true, answered the Marquis, perhaps I carried myself with no less respect towards that Lady. We know very well, replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, that you put on a garb of Civility when you have a mind, and it concerns you to do so here. But in fine, continued she, I have supposed nothing in that Story. The Marquis swore inviolable fidelity to the Countess, that he might oblige her to remember her promise one day. They laid down their measures that they should correspond by Letters, when the Lady was got into England, where she pretended a design to go see her Friends. Madamoiselle de Seucelles, of whom we have spoken; and who hath a House in Herminvilliers, or to say better, near it; for Herminvilliers is but one House; that Lady, I say, who is overjoyed when she can perform some certain good offices, was pitched upon to receive and deliver the Letters. It was also resolved, That the Marquis should interpret to himself all that seemed to be written only to that good Lady, and that there should be a little mark on the margin of the Letters, to give notice every time that he was to explain them in that manner; and that was a Caution against the Curious, if they happened to be intercepted. The day following she went away in the habit of a Gentleman, came to Calais, embarked in the first Vessel, and at length arrived at the Court of England, from whence she writes daily with much tenderness to the Marquis. A● that is the reason which made me suspect that he was going secretly this Night towards Herminvilliers, because we have been told that he goes thither frequently in that manner.  
Judge you, Madamoiselle, added she, addressing herself to Clelia, what is to be thought of a man who hath so fair hopes, and so near at hand, (for the Lady is said to be upon her return) and who nevertheless plays the languishing Lover with you. What? said the lovely Clelia, is the Countess coming back again? Madam, answered the Marquis, you have been told a tale as to what concerns me in the History of the Countess; but though all that is told you were true; yet you may securely listen to me, if nothing hinder you but her return. Ha! replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, I have been assured that she was come to Calais, and that her Husband by capitulation had consented to be no more Master at home. Madamoiselle, replied she, I know the whole History better than you. Truly, said Madam the Moulionne, we make no doubt of it, considering what Mademoiselle de Barbisieux hath told us. That is nothing, replied he pleasantly, Mademoiselle de Barbisieux is Jealous, because I have given my heart to Madamoiselle D'Arviane; and one should not believe what a Jealous Lady may say. But in fine, his is the Story which I brag that I know better than she, and it very well deserves to come in with the rest.   

NOVEL VI  
THE HISTORY OF The Count of Tourueüil.  
ABout two Months ago, the Count of Tourueüil went to pay a Visit to a person of Quality, some fifteen or sixteen Leagues from Paris. There was but one Parish Church for three or four Gentlemen who live in the Neighbourhood of the Village belonging to that person. One day, as the Count was there at Mass, he saw a young Maid, whose Father was Steward of a little estate that lay thereabouts. She was not above fifteen years old, and had Eyes not to be beheld without danger; she pleased the Count so much as that she was like to have marred all his devotion. He came out of the Church in great disorder, & as it was his custom to resist a little before he gave way to tentation; so he studied how he might avoid a second sight of that Girl, he sent her word by the Curate of the Parish, that he entreated her to come no more to Mass before his departure for Paris. This first means taking no effect; (for the Father and Mother of the Maid were honest folks that feared God, and who would by no means have her lose Mass;) he caused it he proposed to them, that if they would put her into a Cloister that she might become a Nun, he would pay what Money might be demanded with her. But they made answer that they had a portion to give with their daughter in marriage; that they intended to see her provided of a Husband, yea and that their Master was about to marry her. So that the poor Count of Tourneüil, reduced to despair resolved to fly for it, and returned with all expedition to Paris; but he felt the wound still in his heart. That all powerful Idea left him no where in repose. It was to much purpose for him indeed to fast and mortify the flesh; the pulse of a quaking Bigot beats quicker than that of another, the stripes of discipline did but more and more warm him. What must the poor man do in this case? they asked him if there was no way left of accommodation with his wife, that seemed to him to be a message from God, nothing appeared more proper for his cure than she, and being persecuted by that pitiless friend that continually tormented him, he condescends that she should return upon what conditions she pleased, provided she did it speedily. News of this being sent to London, she repassed the sea and came to Calais, where the Count had promised to go and receive her; but by ill luck the temptation had leisure to abate, whilst the messengers went between France and England, so that when the Lady came to Calais, she found no body there to receive her in name of the Count She was complemented only by a man with a long beard and hood, who told her that there was no way to be saved but by submitting to her Husband; and seeing that was not the thing that troubled her most, she re-imbarked next day with greater hatred than before against the Count of Tourneüille. And this is the reason Ladies that she returns not.  
First, as he had ended these words the Coach stopped. They found that they were come to the house of Monsieur Provost, where Monsieur de Moulionne was arrived two long hours before, with his usual Companion, that is to say his little Solicitor. The Marquis took his Clelia and Madam de Moulionne by the hand, whom he led into the chamber of her old Husband. The Chevalier de Montal took care of the other Ladies; and that lovely Company being out of the Coach, gave themselves to other Divertisements.   
The End of the Second Book.   

Mock-Clelia, OR, Madam QVIXOTE, etc.  
BOOK III.  
THE Fair Madamoiselle D'Arviane, or if you will, the New Clelia appeared in the Eyes of the old Judge the most beautiful of all the Company, and he began at her to salute the amiable Ladies that his wife brought along with her. Having done so, he led them into the garden, to fetch a walk; it is a place short of the magnificence of the Garden of Vaux; but exceeds it in shady groves. All the Company sat down on a carpet of grass whilst supper was making ready, and Madam de Moulionne having told her Husband that he must be obliged after supper to tell some Story, in obedience to a law made by the Company; and the good, Complaisant and merry old man having informed himself more particularly of that law; he answered, that he was ready with all his heart to obey it; yea even before supper if they pleased; and that there had been an Action decided in his Chamber that would furnish him with matter. Really Monsieur the Judge, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, you will do us a kindness; for we are now in a posture of hearing it. Ladies, replied he, the Story will be a little frolicksome, but the subject so requires. I hope, said the Lady, you will tell us nothing but what we may lawfully hear? O! Madam, answered the Judge, I know what respect is due to the lovely sex, and I shall be loath to lose it before so chaste a company as I take yours to be. You must know then that the other day we annulled a marriage, and upon this ground was the fuit commenced.  

NOVEL VII.  
THE HISTORY OF THE Baron of Coulan, and Madamoiselle de la Templiere.  
THE Baron of Coulan, who is a handsome well-spoken Gentleman, and much of the same shape and stature, said the good old man, looking on the Marquis of Riberville, with Monsieur the Marquis there; I mean, (qualifying a little what he had said) a man of an excellent Mien. Spare me, Sir, if you please, said the Marquis, interrupting him, I am your most humble Servant; I am yours, Sir, replied the good man, and continuing his Discourse; that Gentleman, said he, having then familiarity in the House of the Guardian of a young Lady, called Madamoiselle de la Templiere, of the Province of Poictow, got into acquaintance, and became passionately in love with her. She was pretty, sang and danced well, had much wit; and what was the most real, perhaps, of all her good qualities, she was to have twelve or fifteen thousand Livers a year.  
That was a Beauty, without doubt, said Madam the Moulionne, interrupting him. So it was, said he; but taking ill that she should have spoken, Wife, said he, I would have you be quiet, and not interrupt me; this made all the Company for some time break the thread of the Discourse. Sir, answered they, Fear not that there shall be a word lost of all you say, for we hear you with all imaginable intention. Well then, replied he, if that displease not the Company, I must acknowledge my weakness, it troubles me tho. That answer having made a kind of Law against Cavillers, the Guardian of that young Lady, continued he, deserves not so many praises from me, as I have given to the Lover and his Mistress. He was a covetous man, and by consequent capable of all sorts of baseness, for there is nothing that avarice prompts not men to do. He delayed as much as he could to give her in Marriage, because he found the enjoyment of her Estate very sweet, and probably he feared nothing more than to be called to an account; but all his delays were of little use to him, seeing the parties had a great mind to one another, and murually loved; it behoved him to comply with the inclinations of the young Lady, who was witty, and would have wrought him a great deal of trouble in case he refused. However, making the best use he could of the violent passion, which he knew the Baron of Coulan had for her, he caused this Proposition to be made to the Gentleman; That he would consent to the Marriage, provided he would give him a Warren, which he had long covered, because it lay convenient for him; otherways, that he should desist from his Suit. The Baron of Coulan, who would have given his life for the enjoyment of his Mistress, made no difficulty at first to condescend to it; but the night before the Marriage, when the other pressed him to seal a Deed of Conveyance for that Warren, with a full discharge of the Purchase Money, he had a great mind to have his Wife, and to keep the Warren still, imagining therefore that matters were gone too far for the covetous Guardian to dare to break them off, and that he might be afraid lest after the Marriage, his covetous Proposition should come to light: He hoped, perhaps, at length easily to disappoint him; but that was the reason that the Guardian of Mademoiselle broke the Marriage clear off, and forbade the Lover his House. He likewise enjoined his Pupil not to receive him any more, upon pain of being shut up in a Cloister; but to discharge young Lovers from seeing one another, is to command them to do it. And thus our Couple contrived the matter; for the gentile young Lady was resolved to proceed further; and one day when her Uncle dreamt of no such thing, she consenting to be conveyed away by her Lover, went and married him in a Village, where there was an Abbey of Nuns; and as she came out of the Church, entered into the Monastery, from whence she immediately preferred a Petition, that she might be permitted to go live with her Husband, notwithstanding the caveat and oppositions of her Uncle.  
But, Sir, not to interrupt you, said Montal, dryly, and rising from his Seat; Went she into the Convent before she lay with the Baron of Coulan? A fine question indeed! cried Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, pulling him rudely back to his Seat; he must needs come out with that impertinency. Sir, said she to the Judge, Mind him not in the least; for the Chevalier de Montal is one of the greatest Fools in France. Hold, Madam, said the good man, mildly, What the Gentleman has proposed, is not the most unreasonable question in the World; and it had been far better that Madamoiselle de la Templiere had done what she did, before she entered into the Convent, than since. Ah! replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, That's another matter, and I know not what she hath done. It is alleged, continued he, That as her Guardian prosecuted the Baron of Coulan for the Rape, and that he pretended as a proof of the violence, that that Gentleman was obliged to put the Lady into the Monastery, by reason that she would never consent to the consummation of the Marriage; the gentle Dove was got with Child by him through the Grates of the Parlour, to show that it was not for lack of good will, that she had not perfected the Marriage before. At these words there was none, no not so much as the fair Clelia, that could forbear to show a little surprise, at first by a smile which they checked by biting their lips, but which at length broke forth into an excessive Fit of laughter. In the mean while Madam de Moulionne speaking again, Is not this a fair Tale, said she, that Monsieur the Judge has told us? Hark ye, Madam, answered he, I tell you nothing but what has been pleaded, and I refer myself to the Minutes of the Court.  
The Nuns, who were concerned for the pollution of the Convent, pretended to have been committed by the Baron of Coulan, maintained that he begot that Child in the Pensioner's Cell, Madamoiselle de Messina another Pensioner being present, who fearing lest the Gallant might be mistaken, because she lay with Madamoiselle de la Templiere, sewed up the bottom of her Smock every night; that to accomplish his design, he had got over the Wall of the little Garden, into which looked the Chamber-window of the Lady de la Tompliere, and that being there, he had made use of a Ladder wherewith they pruned the Trees, and by that Window entered into the Chamber. That is far more probable, replied Madam de Moulionne: And why so, Madam? answered Montal; For my part, I think, that there is a great deal more appearance that the feat was done in the Parlour, than elsewhere; for there was need of no such great mystery to get in; and though the young Lady boiled not much at the profanation of the Convent, yet without doubt, she liked that place better which is not consecrated ground, than another.  
The four Ladies during this Discourse, asked one another a hundred confused questions, to make it thought that they minded it not; but Montal having drawn from Madam de Moulionne a kind of a Box on the ear, for some foppery that he had whispered to her on the same Subject, they began again to laugh in consort, and so earnestly, that they made it well appear, they had not lost one word of all that he had said.  
Montal in the mean time withdrew so pleasantly with his Box, that the good man and the Marquis could not for bear to laugh also; the Judge however rebuked his Wife for it; but she told him, I pray you, Mr. Judge, meddle with your Story, and take no cognizance of this: She said; that nevertheless, looking every minute behind her, to see the countenance of the Chevalier, who so soon as the thought of his affront was a little over, came to sit down by Madamoiselle Velzers, but she would not admit of him, and the like did all the rest, by whom he offered to sit down, insomuch that he fell a railing against all Women, and was forced to stand on his legs.  
Amidst this Conversation, Monsieur the Judge was told, That there was a Lackey come from Monsieur de Lucheres, to know if he was arrived, and to acquaint him, that his Master, who had two or three words to say to him, was not far off. This obliged the good old man to leave the Company, that he might receive that Gentleman; yet before he risen, Madam his Lady asked him, if he would not complete his Story, and if it ended at so fine a period; who answering, That that was all, and the matter they had decided; he told them, That the Court had annulled that fair Marriage, discharged the Baron of Coulan, to beget any more Children on the Lady de la Templiere through the Grate, and had condemned both him and the Guardian in a certain penalty; the one for the Rape, and profanation of the Grate, and the other for having demanded the Warren, with permission nevertheless to the said Coulan and la Templiere to be married once again, provided it were performed with all the requisite Formalities. And thus ended the Relation of the Judge, who at these words left all the Company in the Garden until next meeting.  
When he was gone, the Marquis began to speak: If, said he, I were as confident as Montal, I would tell you a pleasant Story of that same Monsieur de Lucheres, who, if I mistake not, is a great fat Norman, and whose Lady is as innocent as he is cunning and witty. Is he of Normandy? replied Montal. Ah! If it be Monsieur de Lucheres of Normandy, I know him as well as you, and his Lady also; and I'll tell you the Story, if the Company please. Tell it then, replied the Marquis, I yield you the honour; and we, interrupted Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, if there be any fopperies in it, we will not hear it. Ladies, answered Montal, I assure you the sting is only in the tail, and you may hear the beginning without any fear; I shall give you notice when I come to the tickling point, and shall stop there, if you please. Let it be so, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; but I give you notice, that in case you chance to trip, my hand is heavier than Madam de Moulionne's. Well, well, said he, you shall do all that you please; only give me the hearing a little.   

NOVEL VIII.  
THE HISTORY OF Monsieur de Lucheres, and his Lady.  
THat I may dispose you to believe the Adventure of that gross Man, I must tell you what his Lady was before he married her. She was Widow to a Person of Quality, who was very rich, most peevish, exceedingly jealous, and deadly old; three qualities that made him look out for a Wife who wanted wit to take notice of them, and who was simple enough to believe that all rich men were cast in the same mould. He met with that happy disposition in this Lady, who was born in Picardy; I name her Country to you, that I may not do too great honour to Normandy, by attributing to it such rare productions. She was of a good Family, and was very proud of that; but her Portion was but small. It is not my design to tell you all that happened during their Marriage, I know but too little of that; you shall only judge of the Piece by the Pattern. Ye have heard say, that heretofore the Queen having asked a great Lord of the Court, when his Lady would be brought to Bed, he answered, When your Majesty pleases, Madam; the mistake perhaps was that that good Lord had taken one word for another; but when Madam the Lucheres made a like answer to the like question, it was out of a design, made up of civility and submission to the pleasure of a great Princess; and her simplicity went so far, that that Princess having since said by way of wish, Heavens! Madam, How great a pleasure would you do me, to be brought to Bed in August, that you might go with me to Gourbon? She returned home in all haste and told her Husband, that he should send for the Midwife; that she would by no means disoblige so good a Princess, and that she intended infallibly to be brought to Bed next night. This, Ladies, is the true Character of the Wit of Madam the Lucheres, and what to my knowledge happened in her Husband's Life-time. Now I'll tell you a pleasant passage that occurred on the day of her second Marriage.  
How fast do ye run, Chevalier? said the Marquis, interrupting him; and know you nothing else until the time of her second Marriage? No, answered Montal. I'll tell you then somewhat, said the Marquis, for you forgot the best passage of all.  
She was about six months a Widow, and as she was beloved of all men, as well by reason of her singular beauty, as of that candour and ingenuity wherein she excelled all others of her Sex, so, few passed that way near her House, without stepping aside a little to visit her. Monsieur, the Duke of Longueville, in his Progress through that Country, came one morning very early to her House, and was at her Chamber-door before she had time to be advertised of it; she was still a-bed when the Prince entered her Chamber. Alas! my Lord, cried she, In what confusion does your Highness here put me? Just God my Lord, Have you so little kindness for me, as to surprise me in this manner, and to necessitate me to fail in my duty? (all her trouble was that she could not curtsy a-bed) be pleased then, said she, my Lord, to stay a moment, and come no nearer. Afterward she risen before him in her Smock, went and took her nightgown, advanced and made him five or six reverend Curtsies; and then glad that she had done her duty, returned back, and went to Bed in the same manner she had risen. The Duke of Longueville sat down by her Bedside; and among many things that served them for discourse, they fell at length to speak of the Lady's Village: I think, Madam, said he, that this Lordship of yours has many Privileges. Yes, my Lord, answered she, it hath the right of Bakehouse and Brewhouse; and besides that, I can make all my Tenants keep Pigs for me. Ah! Monsieur the Marquis, said Madamoiselle de Barbisteux, You add some ornaments to the Story; for is it possible that a Lady could be so simple? Upon my Honour, Mademoiselle, replied Montal, he says true; never was there simplicity like to that of Madam the Lucheres. Can you tell no more then, continued he, directing himself to the Marquis. No, answered the Marquis; and you may now relate the other Fopperies, if these Ladies will hear you. Oh! no, let him have a care of that, cried they. Good now! Ladies, replied he, Trust to my word; it is too soon yet to take the alarm, and I have promised to give you warning when it is time. Well then, said Madam de Moulionne, Let him go on; and if he dare tell any Waggery, let him venture. Z'ouks! answered he, I am in continual fear and distrust among you, and I had as good be amongst my Enemies. Go on, go on, said the Marquis, hay will not be so severe to you as they say. Ah! Cursed Gravity, replied Montal, It is you that undoes me in their esteem, and by the opposition of a counterfeit modesty and civility, with which you would disguise yourself, notwithstanding all that is publicly known of your life, spoils every thing that I speak here. This reparty made the Company laugh; but Madamoiselle Velzers said, Good now, Let him make an end of his Story, that he may win a Box or two. Yes, yes, replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; That is the way we should speak, if we have mind to hear Waggery; you seem to be as good as he. Leave off these Debates, answered the Chevalier, and if I am to be beaten, let it be so; But I will go on with my Relation.  
Two or three days before the Lady married Monsieur de Lucheres, a Gentleman, near of Kin to her Husband, desiring to give some occasion of Raillery on the Wedding-day, told the Bride, That she was happy in marrying Monsieur de Lucheres, whose merit, good humour, and a thousand other rare qualities, made him esteemed by all men. And that which at present I think most advantageous in him, Madam, said he, is, That you may be assured, he will use you much better than your former Husband did. Ha! Sir, answered the witty Lady, My first Husband used me well, and I were to be blamed, if I should complain of him. Alas good man, he hath left me twenty thousand Livers a year; what would you have him do more, than give me all his Estate? The Estate is fair, replied the Gentleman; but that is not enough for such a Lady of Quality as you are, if she be not treated with all the respect that is due to her, and that your first Husband never did. Ah! Sir, Excuse me, said she. Good Heavens! replied he, He hath bragged of it himself to me that speak to you. He used you as common people use their Wives, and as a Farmer would use his, but not like a person of your Birth and Quality. And how was that then? answered she, all amazed. Good, good, replied the Gentleman, making a laughter, as if you did not know it; but you carry yourself like a modest Lady, in concealing the faults of your dead Husband. I assure you, Sir, said she, if you express yourself no otherways, I know not what you would say to me.  
And I assure you, said the Marquis, if you make not an end very quickly, you shall not be well beaten; for I see the Judge bringing his man along with him, and there they are already at the end of the Garden.  
I conclude, said Montal, and he expected that at these words the Ladies would have been gone for fear of hearing the end of the Story: but none of them budged from their places, which began to put him in some fear. I appeal to you Ladies, said he, if there has been the least scandalous word in all that I have told you. No, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisicux, and hitherto we have nothing to say to you. Well! replied he, fair Ladies take the pains then, if ye please, to be gone whither ye will, for the rest will not be of the same strain, and there is none but Madam de Moulionne that can modestly hear it. How, I, answered she, I will not hear it no more than they, and I will be gone with the rest. We pretend not to be gone, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, we have a design to drub him sound, if he be not discreet. They stir not, replied Montal; and I'll die if they be not more curious to hear than I am to tell it; but to punish them, added he, speaking to the Marquis, I'll whisper it you in the Ear, and they shall not hear a word.  
With that, drawing near in effect to the Marquess' Ear, he told him; You must know then, that upon the debate that was betwixt the Gentleman and Lady, who could not devise how her Husband had used her ill; the Gentleman told her, Is it not true, Madam, that when he would pay you his amorous respects, he— he said it roguishly, and I sweeten it purposely, lest these Ladies, who would not hear me speak aloud, should listen to what I tell you softly, and take thereby occasion to quarrel with me. The Marquis could not forbear to burst forth in laughter at the manner how the Chevalier had told him that little piece of waggery; and, said Madam de Moulionne, my life for it, he has been telling him some egregious foppery. I knew the Story very well, answered the Marquis; but I confess I should have much ado to have put it in so clean linen. Do not tell them that, replied Montal, they I be stark mad that they have not heard it. And yet for all that I am apt to believe, said he, that they have not so much as lost one single word of all I said; but however it be, that was the conceit that the Gentleman told Madam de Lucheres, and she answered him; Should not my Husband then have used me so? Good God Madam, replied he, make you any doubt of that? persons of Quality take a far more civil course with their Ladies; but your Husband either understood not what Civility was, or, thinking he did enough to leave you his Estate, made no account to use you better. Alas! Sir, replied she, I believed that all Women should have been used at that rate, and I endured it contentedly and without murmuring; but what would you have? I was an Innocent young thing on whom he imposed; for had I known that he should have gone another way to work; I stand so much upon my quality, as not to have suffered any thing that might have wronged it.  
The marrow of the Jest was, that some days after, the Lady was married to Monsieur de Lucheres; and when the Bridegroom was put to Bed, and would have carressed his Bride, she would by no means suffer him in the manner he desired; she struggled against him with all her might and main, saying that she would be sooner cut into pieces, than be made consent to it, and that women of her quality were to be used otherways; that if her late Husband had taken advantage of her tender years, she should have care that another should not do the like for the future. In fine, the pleasant dispute lasted so long, that the Gentlemen who heard all at the Door with some of the guests, was foreed to come and undeceive her by Laughing and Drolling on the Bridegroom. I am far mistaken, Ladies, if any of You ever expose your Husbands to such raileries.  
Here Montal made an end, and the Ladies had not much time to reparty, because Monsieur de Lucheres came to join the company. He saluted the Ladies and Marquis, hugged and embraced the Chevalier because of former acquaintance, and after some brisk compliments on all hands; Monsieur the Judge told them that it was time to go to supper. All the company went up into the Hall, and sat down at Table. It was no entertainment prepared with Gallantry, like the Dinner that the Marquis of Riberville had given them; but the Supper was nothing worse, and they who know the sumptuous humour of Madam de Moulionne, will make no doubt but that having foreseen that she was to entertain so goodly a company, she would not fail to do things handsomely. It was a sign the treat was good because they fed hearty; and so soon as their hunger was a little abated, they began to talk, and drink Healths. The Marquis began with a Health to Madam de Moulionne, which he addressed to the Chevalier de Montal. So, answered the Chevalier, it is because she gave me a box on the Ear that you would have me drink her Health. Away, said she, Monsieur le Chevalier, drink it, I shall give no more blows. But Madam, replied the Marquis, may not we know what it was he told you? par ma foy, replied Montal, I'll say it once more. Hold there, interrupted Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, you sit pretty near me, and you know what I have told you of my heavy hand. Z'owks, answered he shrugging up his shoulders, and looking pitifully on Monsieur de Lucheres; where am I got now? poor friend, said he, you believe that you have fallen into the company of Angels, and they are Devils. I have found no such thing as yet, replied that Gentleman, and if all the Devils were like them, men would give themselves to the Devil more freely than they do. Well, well, answered Montal, you'll know in time what stuff they are made of, however I will pledge the Health that the Marquis has drank to me. I think you, Mons. the Chevalier, answered Madam de Moulionne. After that they drank a Health to the Judge, who did the like to Madam D'arvianne; and that fair Lady being entreated to sing by the Marquis of Riberville, who never took his Eyes off of her, she delighted the company with a short merry Air, which put the old Judge in an excellent good humour. Then did Jests sly about, joy and mirth reigned without control, and a thousand little tricks were invented for sport and laughter; amongst which was not the least the cheat that the Footboys put upon the good little man the Solicitor, whom the Judge had brought along with him; for these Rogues knowing that he mortally hated water, served him nothing else in a double Glass, at the foot whereof they poured in Wine to an equal height with the Water; and the poor Dandy-prat was observed to make faces every time he pledged a Health, not daring to tell the reason, nor why he drank not all up, having only touched the Glass.  
At length, after that the fruit was set on the Table, Madam de Moulionne leaning to the Ear of the Marquis; Sir, said she, if we would hear another pleasant story, we must oblige that little man, to tell us what lately befell him. I believe Madam, answered Monsieur de Lucheres who had heard that discourse, it will be no hard matter to be obtained, and if so be you tell him that you desire it. No, said she, my Husband perhaps will take it ill if it come from me; some body else must start the matter, and Madamoiselle de Barbisieux will be the fittest Person in the World for that. For what will I be fit for? replied that Lady who heard herself named. Monsieur the Marquis will tell you, said Madam de Moulionne; and the Marquis told her in effect what the business was.  
Immediately she called for Wine, and prayed the Company to do the like. Then applying herself to Monsieur the Judge, she told him, that she was going to drink a round to his good health; but that seeing she was informed that some balked their Glasses, he that left a drop of Wine in his Glass, should forthwith relate the most pleasant Adventure of his Life, and that without exception of any, no not of Monsieur the Solicitor. The good little Man perceiving very well what the design was, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, laughing, That the Plot was not so secretly laid against him, but that he heard very well what Madam the Moulionne had said to the Marquis; but that he had rather resolve to leave nothing in the bottom of his Glass. In that case, Mr. Solicitor, she answered, you shall not be obliged to any thing. With that he thought to avoid the blow, by gulping down all that was in his Glass; but he was never so surprised, as when he saw all the Wine remain, and that he began at length to discover the Cheat. Ah! Poor Mr. Tigean, cried the Judge, You are trepanned. My faith! That's true, Sir, answered he, and I have not as yet drank one drop of Wine. In the mean time the Company laughed till they held their sides again, and Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, in pursuance of her design, said, Come, come, Mr. Solicitor, you would willingly find an evasion; but you have incurred the penalty, seeing your Glass is not empty; and you must tell us the Story of your Priory. Ah! answered the little Man, I appeal to Monsieur the Judge; that is not just. Poor Friend, replied the Judge, I have not the greatest Authority here, and you are concluded. They have obliged me myself upon my coming to tell them a Story; and if they be resolved that you relate yours, there is no remedy for it; I advise you to drink three or four good Glasses of Wine, and do as they bid you. That is very hard though, Sir, said he; but to be short, Ladies Wills must be obeyed; if they laugh at me, at least they are not the first that have done so.  
With these words he called for a Glass, and a Bottle of the best Wine, of which according to the directions of the Judge, he drank a Health to his Auditory; and that Liquor having put a little more life in him, than the Water which he had drank, he began the History they desired in this manner.   

NOVEL IX.  
THE HISTORY OF THE Abbot of St. Firmin, Madamoifelle de Beffemont, and the Solicitor Tigean.  
IT is not I alone who have contributed to the Occurrences of this Story, and there are others besides myself, that have a large share in it; but it is I who have been tossed most. About six months ago, a Gentleman, or who called himself one, a modest man in his behaviour, and whom no body would ever have taken for a Cheat; but I assure you, we must not judge of people by their looks: That Gentleman then who said he was of Thoulouse, courted for Marriage a Maid of my acquaintance. She was a Gentlewoman, that had long waited on Madam the Duchess of ..... I cannot hit of her Name; but so much I know, she gathered above two thousand Crowns in her service; and besides that money, she had a great many other good qualities; for she was of a tractable and gentle disposition, scolded to the life, and rejected not the Merchants. In a word, she was a Girl whom the Abbot of St. Firmin, he that makes such pretty little Songs, saw and courted often; yet no body mistrusted any harm, and they were both looked upon to be very civil persons. He that sought her in Marriage, was called Monsieur de Broyonne; and you must observe, that it was a Name he had taken to himself, the same with that of a Gentleman of Thoulouse, who possessed a very handsome Estate. This he did, that he might more easily beguile the Maid, if she should have informed herself of the Estate, which he pretended to have in that Province.  
Matters proceeding very well, to the great satisfaction of the Lass, and the Articles of Marriage being signed, there was nothing wanting but a Bill of Exchange for four thousand Livers, which the future Husband said was upon the Road, and which was sent him from the Country, to buy Necessaries against the Wedding; but that Bill being too slow in coming, for it was only in his fancy, our Gentleman at length who had his design in all this, bethought himself to counterfeit a Letter, wherein the reasons of the delay were specified, whereat he seemed to be desperately afflicted. At the same time he set himself to prepare another, which he wrote himself as well as the former, and in this he had news of the death of a certain Prior in Languedock, whose Benefice being worth three thousand Livers a year, was at his disposal. The news being come to the Gentleman, you may judge how much joy he expressed; it could not have appeared more real, if it had been true; God gave him by that means a way to regain the money, whereof he was disappointed by the Bill of Exchange; and that served not a little also, to make the Maid judge herself more happy, considering the fair Patronage that was annexed to her Husband's Estate.  
She could not let one day pass over, without acquainting her Friends with it, and the Abbot of St. Firmin first of all. This Man having heard of three thousand Livers a year, thought that with that he might have opportunity enough to make Songs at leisure; and nibbling at the Bait, Good God said he, Mademoiselle, Seeing you have an absolute power over that Gentleman, may not you so carry matters, as to make him nominate me to that Benefice? He will rather choose to oblige such a man as I who have some reputation, and who shall besides bestow on him a considerable Present, than to favour perhaps some unknown person, upon the bare recommendation of some great Lord, who will never thank him for it. Hark ye, Propose the matter to him, and let me be obliged to you, for having added three thousand Livers a year to my small Living; it will be a way to cherish my Muse. Dad! Let it be so, and we shall feed on Capons. The Damsel promised to speak about it, and in effect spoke the same Evening to her Sweetheart concerning the matter. This Blade thought that he had already fleeced the Abbot of St. Firmin, of three or four hundred pieces. He made answer to Madamoiselle Beffemont, for that was the Maid's Name, that she was absolute Mistress of all that belonged to him, and she might pass her word to the Abbot, that the Benefice should be his, and that she should likewise order the acknowledgement which he should make.  
The Mistress full of joy, next morning told the Abbot the good News, who went to thank the Gentleman, and offer him the greatest friendship in the World. There passed not one day after, but that he sent him Copies of Verses; I know not how they call them, Songs or Sonnets I think, wherein in expectation of his Presentation, he described the pleasures that the Rent of the Priory would procure them, which should be still as much at the disposal of the Gentleman as of himself; and in fine, he sent him a great many other fine things, to which the cunning Knave answered only in the same kind by Verses, making no haste to give him his Presentation; for he would in no ways trust to the Abbot's liberality, nor did he believe that his purse was strong enough to furnish the sum which he pretended to expect. Nevertheless, seeing he had passed his word to his Mistress, to present that Abbot, and that she daily pressed him to be as good as his word, he must needs at length have condescended to do it. But that he might so order matters, that she should for the future, pray him as much not to give the Benefice to the Abbot of St. Firmin, as she had till then pressed him to the contrary, and by the same means have leisure to wait the coming of a Fop, of some better stock than that Abbot (and that was I, as the Devil would have it) I'll tell you the trick he devised. As there are no Maids who have not played Pranks, some greater, some less, but always enough to give occasion of speaking ill of them, when they come to be known.—  
Take it among you Ladies, cried the Chevalier de Montal; the Solicitor speaks to You now. O! We understand well, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, and we perceive he revenges himself on us; but have a little patience. Alas! Madamoiselle, Pardon me, replied the little Man, I spoke without minding what I said. Nay, pray, said Montal, Proceed, Mr. Solicitor, and fear no colours; had you said as much truth all your life time, as you have now spoken, there could not be an honester Lawyer in the World than yourself. Hold there, good Chevalier, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, giving him a knock with her Fork on the fingers, You are very pleasant, in saying that there is no virtuous Maid. I said it not in these terms, continued he; but seeing you give me an example, I think I should not lie if I said so; yea, and in my opinion, there is nothing truer. Impertinent man! cried Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; and then addressing herself to the Judge, What do you think, Sir, said she, Should we not take this man and drown him? Do ye hear, replied the good old Man, There is no body but yourselves that know whether he have Reason or not. How then! said Madamoiselle de Velzers, Do you also question our Virtue? And are you afraid to be mistaken, if you speak to our advantage? Not so, answered he, but I say that Monsieur the Chevalier must needs be acquainted with your Intrigue, in saying what he says. Alas Sir, said Montal driely, there is not one of the four, you see, but I would rail against, if I had set myself to it. What! said Madam de Moulionne, without excepting Madam D'arvianne, whom you never knew but to day? That's all one, replied he, I know her well enough to maintain that she is the discreetest of all the four. That amiable indisposed Lady, at these words blushed a little, as if she had known that he maliciously praised her discretion, because sometimes she was apt to fall into some fits of folly; and the Marquis by several signs rebuked the Chevalier for it. In the mean while the Judge said, ye have all pressed and tormented Monsieur Tigean to tell you his story, and now ye are no more for it. How! answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, care we no more for it? we have not forgot where we stopped, and pretend not to have lost any thing by the Foppery of the Chevalier. Master Solicitor, replied Montal, will excuse me, I have not done him so great a dis-kindness as is believed, and I have only given him some time to recover a little courage from his plate; have at you, Monsieur Tigean, continued he knocking the Glass against his, a good Health to you. The good little man pledged him, and all the company being again composed to hear, he began to renew his discourse in this manner:  
It seems it was my luck to suffer under the effect of that stratagem, which the said Gentleman contrived to take off his Mistress from pressing him any more to confer the benefice on the Abbot. Having then digged out of the Grave some calumnies that had been formerly raised of her; as for instance, that she had been long in good terms with the Duchess' Husband, and that one day when the Duchess came unexpectedly back to her Chamber, she had found the Duke so out of breath and in disorder, and the maid so red, that there was some ground of suspicion that he had urged her, and that she had defended herself; having, I say, picked up this somewhere; the cunning Thoulousian purposely let fall the matter, one day as they reasoned together, asked her, if she was well acquainted with that Abbot, and if she was sure that he was her friend. O! answered she, he is the best friend I have, and a man that would lay down his life for my concerns. Trust him no more, replied the Knave, for he hath told me such and such things of you, and under pretext of gratitude, for the favour I am to show him, in presenting him to the Priory; as a true friend he hath done all he can to dissuade me from marrying of you. I leave you to consider what rage Mistress Beffemont was in against the Abbot of St. Firmin for this pretended treachery. Ah! Sir, cried she, he is an Impostor, and since I must tell you so, a villain that hath always made foolish pretensions to me, and hath told you that out of Jealousy; but if you love me, you will revenge me on him; and in stead of giving him the benefice, you will give him a hundred Bastinadoes. She said this with terrible rage, because the truth had perhaps offended her; and as people are apt to mistake, she imagined that no body but the Abbot could have told him these tidings; though he was all the while most innocent. On the other hand, my Cheat meeting the poor young man as he was coming out of his Lodgings, told him with the highest impudence: Monsieur Abbot, my Mistress is furiously incensed against you, and hath positively discharged me ever to present you to the benefice, because you have employed some body to give me notice of calumnies that have been raised against her, and I advise you to remedy that before it take farther rooting; which he said that he might incline him to go to her instantly, and that the Gentlewoman being extremely in rage, and using him roughly, they might effectually quarrel together, as it happened indeed; for as the poor Abbot was entering her Chamber to Justify himself, she no sooner saw him, but that she took fast hold of his hair, and having laid him on the floor, she so kicked, beat, and tore him with her nails, that the Neighbours were fain to come in and part them. Good God said Mademoiselle de Barbisicux, there was poor Orpheus torn to pieces by a Nymph. It was what you please, replied the Solicitor, but the Abbot of St. Firmin for revenge, in pleasant Notes warbled out all that he knew of her, in so much that he made the bravest Lampoon that ever was, and the Knave that served them the trick had the satisfaction to see them engaged together in a long and pernicious quarrel. Now it comes to my turn, and I am now to Act my part in the Play.  
Some days after, Madamoiselle de Beffemont came to the Hall about some business, and seeing I was particularly acquainted with her, as she stood by a Shop, I came to wait on her; Good morrow, said I, Madamoiselle, Good morrow: Well? when shall us Dance at your Wedding? Alas! Good Neighbour, answered she, all is spoiled almost, and you can never imagine the base trick that the Abbot of St. Firmin hath played me; that Traitor, said she, to whom I freely discovered all my secrets; with whom I used no Ceremonies, and whom I took for the best of friends, has gone and told fooleries to Monsieur de Broyonne to take him off from marrying me: Gatzo! that's bad indeed, answered I, and he is in the wrong. It had been nothing, replied she, if he had not been obliged to me; but it was to reward me for a Priory of three thousand Livers a year that I was procuring for him; can there be a more unworthy piece of ingratitude? What were you procuring him a Priory of three thousand Livers a year? replied I. Yes, yes, said she, dear Master Tigean, a Priory worth so much, to which Monsieur de Broyonne has the right of Presentation, and which he left freely to my disposal. But really, said I all in amaze; do you forget that I am your humble Servant, and that besides I am not unthankful to those who do me a kindness? why do you not think of me when such fair casualties come in your way? you have heard me so often say that if I could obtain a benefice I would leave the Law? Alas! said she melting in tears, it shall be no bodies fault but your own, if he ever have it; and if you come not unto his place; for I shall die rather than consent that he be presented to it; and if by his artifices he carry it over my Belly, I shall object all the incapacities that may hinder him from the enjoyment of it: I know enough of his life to grin my point; and at this very present, he is kept by an old hypocrite, who every time that she has a mind he should go to a certain place of assignation, puts out at her Window a Waiffe of Linen which he observes in passing by, and that serves them for notes of advice.  
The invention is not bad, said Monsieur de Lucheres interrupting, and it is the way not to be betrayed by Servants. Do ye believe that then? said Madam de Moulionne. Do I believe it Madam? said Montal, make no doubt of it. Yes, yes, I believe it very well, added Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; for there is nothing more damnable and wicked than some of these begot Hypocrites, and to me myself, one of these mineing Sluts hath played a thousand tricks; I shall tell you the story when it comes to my turn to speak.  
For my part, replied the Solicitor, I studied how to provide myself of a Priory, without minding what was told me of the Abbot of St, Firmin, and indeed I did not much listen to such things; for I never took pleasure to hear tattles. I fancied that all that the Gentlewoman knew of him, was but the effect of some counterfeit secret that he had told her, as it is usual with those that endeavour to cheat maids, to tell them tales and lucky adventures that they never had but in conceit, to the end that by this tacit setting off of their own merit and prowess, they may wheedle them into a compliance.  
Ha! Master Solicitor, cried the Chevalier at these words, you undo us with your digressions, and you so discover all our Arts to these Ladies; that they will clearly see through them, when we come to make use of them in laying our Siege. It is true, added Madam the Moulionne, these Traitorous men begin that way, when they dare not all of a sudden speak of their passion; they tell stories, as Master Tigean says, and silly maids that would have scorned them if they had spoken point blank of Love, suffer themselves to be affected by the example of those chimerical adventures, by which they insensibly instill the poison of their pernicious Maxims, which make vice virtue, and so maids undo themselves. Good Madam, cried Mademoiselle Velzers twice, be charitable to some, and believe at least that some here, are not to be caught that way: Believe that some there are, to whom Monsieur le Chevalier may long enough brag of his happy adventures, before they can be tempted to increase the number of them. I doubt of that, replied Madam de Moulionne. Come, come Madam, said the Chevalier bluntly, you are in the right, for she that would be excepted, would be the first to yield to be tickled that way. You want not vanity, answered Monsieur de Lucheres, and I believe Mademoiselle is more insensible than you say. But Madam, added the fair Hollander, have these tales made sometimes an impression on you, seeing no body goes free? No, answered she, because I was married so young that I was not capable of them; but I cannot tell what they might do if I were still a maid, and that my business were not done. Ha', ha'! replied Velzers, it is then because your business is done, I am glad of it. That made the Company laugh, and Montal that fool keeping still the matter on foot, i'faith, said he, Monsieur Judge you may be very proud that you do Madams business so well.  
The good old man was half asleep, when the blow was given him, upon which he waked, and blushed at the same time. Ha! answered he, ye are all good people, and ye will never suffer a man to be melancholic in your Company. Upon that the Marquis spoke again, because he perceived also the little man ready to fall asleep: Gentlemen and Ladies, said he, Master Solicitor will go to Bed, if you will not hear him, for he is almost asleep. Ha! excuse me, answered he looking up briskly, excuse me; I use not to be guilty of such incivilities in so good Company, and if ye please, I shall end my story. By all means, said they, Master Tigean, we pray you do it.  
I pressed then the maid, continued he, to bring me to the speech of her Monsieur de Broyonne, who having protested to her that the calumnies of the Abbot had not in the least lessened his Love, made her the same compliments in relation to me as he had done for the Abbot, and left all to her disposal. I agreed to give him a present of four thousand Livers in hand, for the furthering of my grant and succession, wherein I was desirous he should have a share; for a mark of the long friendship that had been between us. Which donation was one of the Simonies a la mode, by the nicety whereof men have found out the secret to avoid all other condemnation, but that of God's Judgement, securing themselves in the opinions of men. And without doubt I ought to be very well satisfied to have lost that money; for it was better I should lose it than hazard my own salvation. These are pious thoughts, Master Tigean said the Judge, and so long as you are in that mind, you cannot fail to regain your money. Alas Sir, answered he, I have no more thoughts of that. Then returning again to his story: after that I had, said he, made that fair donation, my Gentleman told me that he would not touch my money till I had well informed myself of him; which the Traitor did, that he might engage me in honour to pay him instantly, as I did, telling him he feared me; but I did not think I had said so much truth, then: Not but that I had been before informed of that Priory, nay I hae received an answer from the Convent, that Monsieur de Broyonne was really the Patron of it; but it was not the same Broyonne that we knew. However, having paid my money, and received my Presentation from that Knave; I sent to Rome for my Bulls. In the mean time my man who waited only for my Crowns, that he might marry; espoused the Nymph, who delivered him also her two thousand Crowns, for which he gave a good Acquittance. We were the best friends in the World. I treated them daily; and was not well pleased when I was not for the future called Monsieur Prior. I therefore gave all my friends notice of my preferment, who wished me joy; and there were none (no not so much as a Lady, (who would never own me for a kinsman whilst I was a Solicitor) but began then with open Arms to receive me and call me Cousin, in hopes, perhaps, that the Priory might one day or other fall to one of their Children. Though my money got me no more but that Illustrious acknowledgement, it was somewhat however. These public rejoicings lasted at least six weeks; at the end of which they were increased by the arrival of my Bulls. Then did Monsieur de Broyonne think it time that we should be gone, that he might put me in possession, and at the same time carry his new Wife down to his estate in Languedock. I spent two days in receiving the Adieus and Compliments of my friends, and asked every one that came to me, what is your business? what would you have me do for you? Which, I believe, procured me the greater number of Visitants. Afterwards we set out for that brave Journey, whereof I was at all the charge also, giving every night over and above Music to the new married Couple, and to the maids of the Towns and Villages where we Lodged, that I might begin the Life of most other Benefictaries; and in this Jollity and Mirth we arrived at length within a day's Journey of the Priory. There, our good man told us that he must needs go before, that he might give orders for my reception; and recommending his dear Wife to my care to bring her gently on in her Journey, whom he affectionately took leave of; the Gallant shown us a fair pair of heels, with my four thousand Livers, and the two thousand Crowns of the new Lady de Broyonne, and I doubt so long as we live, we shall never more see him. In the mean while, I continued my Journey next day with the Lady, whom I incessantly thanked for the good Office she had done me; to which she strained herself to make answer by other compliments full of so tender friendship, that I could not in gratitude forbear to shed Tears.  
But, said Montal; being in that manner alone with a young Wife, did not Master Solicitor make a little Courtship to her? Alas, Alas! Sir, answered the good little man, had I offered to meddle in that, she would have found me as great a Cheat in Love, as her Husband was in other matters; for no sincerity, as to that affair, can be expected from my Age. But in fine, continued he, next day towards the Evening, we arrived at the Priory; and having declared the cause of my coming, I was received with great joy and respect. Madam de Broyonne was Lodged in the Apartment appointed for Ladies that came there by chance; and for myself, I was conducted with Pomp and Ceremony into the Lodgings of the Prior, where if I slept not well because of the joy that I was in, I slept at least better than the new Wife, who could not conjecture what was become of her Husband, and wherefore he was not as yet come to the Convent. The Monks being ravished, that their Patron had made choice of so beautiful a Wife, solaced her the best way they could, and told her that he would come perhaps next morning betimes and surprise her a-bed; which was indeed true. But it was not the man we looked for, it being the true Monsieur de Broyonne of Thoulouse, who returned from Paris much about the same time that we came from thence; and who was not a little at a stand to find himself married without knowing his Wife; and that he had presented a Prior and could not remember the Person. He was conducted to his pretended Wife, but she knew him not, nor intended to know him. I was likewise brought in presence, and asked by what Authority I became to be Monsieur the Prior. I shown my writings: The Bulls were true indeed, but the Presentation was false, and therefore they told me I was a Cheat. Some youngster Monks who loved to promote the Whipping trade, said I deserved honestly to fetch a walk about the Convent, and afterward to be referred to the secular Magistrate, that I might serve for an example: But the true Monsieur de Broyonne, who well perceived by our countenances that we had been cheated; saved the new married Wife and me from that affront, and all our remedy was Patience.  
And this is, Ladies, the story that Madam de Moulionne had a mind to laugh at once more; but if ye will take my advice, ye shall all go to Bed, it will do you more good than all the reflections that ye can make upon my adventure.   
The End of the Third Book.   

Mock-Clelia, OR, Madam QVIXOTE, etc.  
BOOK IU.  
ALL the Company followed the Counsel of little goodman Tigean. The Ladies a little weary, because they had not slept well the night before, through their change of Bed, willingly withdrew, in imitation of the Judge, who was already gone into his Chamber, without speaking a word; and the Marquis of Riberville, and Chevalier de Montal did the like. But next morning all met again in Madam de Moulionne's Chamber, that they might consult how they were to spend that day, which was one of the fairest days of Summer; there was none wanting but Monsieur de Lucheres, whose affairs had obliged him to be gone by break of day.  
A hundred kind of Recreations were immediately proposed; but the Company seeming puzzled in their choice, Mr. Tigean resolved the difficulty, telling them, that it was best to begin with a good Breakfast. Along then, said the old Judge; Monsieur Tigean is in the right; we shall have some little thing made ready, and a glass of good Wine may give us counsel. Breakfast was instantly prepared in the Hall, whither all the Company went, and had their mirth awakened again with their appetite; but the little goodman the Solicitor, would not be cheated a second time, with another Glass which was offered him, and wherein the Wine as one carried it to his head, fell down into the foot of it. A Solicitor at Law is not to be cheated twice at one time, said he; it is his part to catch others. It is true, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, laughing; how well did you catch the Man with the Priory? That's very true, said Madam de Moulionne; we let pass that Story last night, without lamenting Mr. Tigean's misfortune. Alas! Poor Mr. Tigean, added she; he is so honest a Man. Yes, I am very apt to believe what you say, replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. Oh! cried Madam the Moulionne, No body doubts of it, and there he stands, who hath never been guilty of the least trick, for the space of forty years that he hath followed his profession, which is a matter hardly to be thought. Ye make account to jeer my Solicitor, said the Judge; but it is true, that without disparagement to others, I never knew a more conscientious Lawyer than the little goodman Tigean, and therefore it is that I love him. Monsieur, answered he, It is only your goodness, that makes you entertain so good an opinion of me. That's very well, said Montal, who came to join in the Discourse; but notwithstanding the good opinion you have of him, you shall see that Monsieur Tigean for all his conscience, will not perhaps spare to comfort himself, for the loss of his four thousand Livers, at the cost of Mrs. Beffemont, whom he brought back to Paris, and will run the hazard of cheating her, by making Love to her. Good God Sir, replied briskly and pleasantly the little Man, I am twice your Age, and am no Courtier; but for all I have said, perhaps I might cheat her less than you cheat your Mistresses; for all is not Gold that glisters, and Women are not satisfied with words. At these words the Company burst forth in laughter, and left Montal for a time in some confusion, because he expected no such reparty. But in fine, Madam de Moulionne, fearing that that Challenge of the Solicitor, might draw the Chevalier into a Conversation a little too free, as the matter seemed to engage him to, diverted him, by starting another Discourse. Well then, said she, What shall we do to day? Shall we fall to our Stories again? Every body hath not obeyed the Law that we made yesterday. No, answered the Marquis of Riberville, who till then pleasantly entertained Clelia; and it is yourself that is in the fault. Ah! For my part, replied she, I know not any; my Husband and I made no Love to one another before we married. But, Madam, said the Chevalier, Have you never had a Lover since you were married? Saving the respect that is due to Monsieur the Judge, added he, drollingly, your eyes were never made for the face of a Lady that should live to this time without Pretenders; and if I thought that you had never had any, I would from this instant become your Gallant myself, even in your Husband's presence. Sir, replied the Judge, smiling, Do her not that Honour; I assure you she has others besides you, and more importunate too. I love Monsieur the Judge, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, for being so candid and sincere. Well, Madam, continued she, speaking to Madam de Moulionne, You shall tell us then, if you please, the History of your Gallants, since you are not destitute, and you cannot pretend to be exempted from the Law, which hath obliged others to relate their Adventures. Ha! answered Madam the Moulionne, It was I that made the Law, and the Lawgiver is above it. However, it is our intention, replied Montal, that it shall be above you, and that you shall tell us even at this instant, who these Lovers are; otherways we shall give it out, that you manage such shameful Intrigues, as you dare not avow. Ah! said the Marquis of Riberville, I believe that is the thing that Monsieur the Judge fears least, and that he has no distrust of Madam. Mafoy, said the good old Man, Fortune is all in these affairs, and Women are loyal or disloyal, as occasion offers. Lucretia was the most steadfast Lady of Rome, and yet she yielded before she killed herself. To these words Madam the Moulionne would have answered; but fair Madamoiselle d'Arvianne, who heard ill spoken of Lucretia, took up the cudgels, and told him, that he ought not to injure the reputation of that Roman Lady, and that in good earnest he was mistaken; for the poor young Lady was by degrees falling again into her Fits. In the mean time the Judge, (who knew nothing as yet of the fancies to which she was subject, and whom they could not, or rather maliciously would not tell, that she was hypocondriac, to the end they might have the pleasure of the Dispute) maintained still that Lucretia only killed herself, for shame that she had granted what was desired from her. Mademoiselle sharply maintained that it was false; which for some time he took much like a Gentleman, but at length began to be vexed, thinking she designed to make him ridiculous. He told her however first, That in Titus Livius, and in all the other Historians, who had spoken of that Roman Lady, what he said appeared upon record; but she made him answer, That Titus Livius, and all the rest lied; and as he was about to open his mouth to say something, Go, go, said she, all in a rage; that's an infamous Calumny, and no body but an old corrupted Senator like yourself, who hath always been in the Faction of the Kings, and is an enemy to the Liberty of the People, would have in that manner dishonoured the memory of Chastity itself. There was ground enough to suspect, that she who made such reproaches, had not her wits in a right frame; but the good Man was quite beside himself, to see that the Company instead of informing him, were ready to die for laughter. He began likewise to imagine, that she upbraided him for having been loyal to the King, during the Siege of Paris, whereas the melancholic Lady took him for a Roman Senator. This Point, wherein he was very nice, made his Colour rise; and he told her, that he did not at all repent his being against the Rebels, and that he would be a Servant to the King to his last breath. The Fits of laughter redoubling at all these quids pro quo's, redoubled likewise his disorder; insomuch that being mad against all the Company, and filled with a terrible rage, he made a sign to the little Solicitor, to follow him out of the Hall, caused the Horses be put into the Coach, and before the Company (who laughed still as they searched for him in places where he was not) could perceive his design, he took his journey back again to Paris.  
At length fearing his departure might vex Madam de Moulionne, of a sudden they moderated their laughter, which till then nothing could repress; but when they found that the Lady was not much troubled at it, they ceased likewise to disquiet themselves; and said, that they should thereby have more liberty to do what they thought fit; she herself said, that it would give her occasion to tell the Company the Story of her Lovers, which she would never have related in her Husband's presence. In the mean time she gave order, that care should be taken of the indisposed Lady: The anger which the interest of Lucretia put this poor Maid into, made the Fit of her Fever more violent than the last she had had, and it was both a pity and pleasure, to hear the complaints which she still made against Monsieur the Judge, because he had spoken against Lucretia. But that which gave greatest amazement was, that Monsieur the Marquis would needs stay by her, bring her her Broth himself, and attend her with so much care, that it behoved them to pull him from thence, to oblige him to join the Company again, who designed to go dine in the little Grove; and yet he had not condescended to that, had it not been chief, that he might leave Clelia in a condition of sleeping more freely, if she should chance to incline to rest.  
The Company fell to play upon him at a pretty distance, when they saw him come forth of the sick Lady's Chamber; and Madamoiselle de Barbisieux told him, What? I see then, Monsieur the Marquess, you are in earnest; but have a care, it's no small matter to have Mr. Aronces for a Rival; and I would not advise you to go on so far in your Love, lest you be not able to come off again when you have a mind. Add not to the fear that I am in already, answered he, smiling; I doubt that I shall love her at long run more than I would, and that she will not answer it as I could wish. That will be a great punishment, said Madam de Moulionne; and if the example of an unfortunate Lover of mine, can contribute any thing to your Cure, while yet it is time, I offer myself to tell you instantly the Story, poor Monsieur Marques. Well then, tell it, Madam, answered he, with a tender Love as she had spoken to him. Observe all of you then, said she, turning to Montal, and Madamoiselle Velzers, who discoursed together softly; and after began in this manner.  

NOVEL X.  
THE HISTORY OF Monsieur de Graumont, and Madam de Moulionne.  
I Was last Winter at a Ball, where was a very handsome young Gentleman, who attracted the Looks of all the Company, by reason of his Beauty and good Mien; it is enough that I tell you I admired him also. He took me out to dance, and by his pretty Flourishes of Discourse, increased the esteem I had for him; but a quarter of an hour after, I found myself ill, by having suffered him to sit so near me: Yet let not this be interpreted, either to his or my disadvantage; for the reason was, because he carried about him a certain perfume of Roses, which by a whimsy of Constitution I could never endure; and the smell of that stirred up some Vapours, which joining to my Sickness, obliged me to leave the Ball, that I might with all expedition return home. In the mean time I met with the strangest Adventure that ever ye have heard. My Lackeys having had no time to light their Torches, and being gone out to call my Coachman, another Coachman, who was asleep in his Box, awaked at their call; the Fellow thinking they called him, he having the same Name with my Coachman, brought up his Coach, not knowing what he did, so drowsy he was. I being mistaken on my part as well as he, and my Distemper giving me no time to ask questions, I threw myself into the Coach with my Maid; and in this manner, a little after, I was brought to the House of another Man. The poor Maid that was with me was astonished, when she found the mistake, and that nevertheless my Distemper grew worse and worse. The Coachman besides took on terribly against us, fearing that that mistake might put his Master out of all patience, if he came from the Ball, and found not his Coach. And to be short, that Brute would have suffered me to die without relief; but by good fortune Madam de Graumont, the Mother of him whose Coach it was, being still at play in her Chamber with one of her Relations, sent to know why the Coachman made so much noise; my Maid learning that there were Women in the House, implored for me their help, and told my Name and the mistake, entreating them that I might be laid upon a Bed. Madam de Graumont, one of the most obliging Ladies in the World, having heard the News, came down immediately with her Cousin, and causing her Son's Chamber-door to be opened, which was the next and most commodious, and a Fire to be kindled therein, comforting and at the same time regretting my condition, caused me to be laid on her Son's Bed, who upon his return was much surprised, to find a buxom Woman on his Bed; for, said she, smiling, I am indifferently buxom, and so much the rather, in regard her Son was the Gentleman, with whom I had danced at the Ball.  
How, Madam, said the Marquis, Was it the lovely Youth then, of whom you spoke in the beginning, that was the Son of the House? Yes, replied she, the very same, and his Name was Monsieur de Graumont also. Ah! said Montal, I impatiently expect to hear the Compliment he made you. The same that perhaps you might have made me, if you had been in his place, answered Madam de Moulionne. I'faith! Madam, replied he, I doubt of that, and you will not say so; for I know very well what I should have done, if I had found you in my Bed. That young Man, continued she, was at least as foolish as handsome; who like Monsieur the Chevalier de Montal, imagined that all Women ought to be in Love with him; who made impudence a virtue, and thought that to be the only way to speed with us; who, in fine, had liked me at the Ball, that the Adventure may be the rarer, and who had committed terrible extravagancies, as I have been told since, when he spoke of me to his Friends; came running like a mad man to his Bed, so soon as he knew that I was there, and whether I would or not, laying his face on mine. Ah! Madam, said he to me, softly enough, but with such transport, as astonished his Mother, and extremely offended me; What is Love about to do with us? And who could have told me an hour ago, in the despair that your withdrawing from the Ball put me into, that I should find you again in my Bed, where perhaps, added he rashly, with words intercepted by sighs, my heart hath many times already wished you were in secret? That was a pretty violent passion, said the Marquis, laughing. My Distemper oppressed me, replied she, whilst he told me all his Fopperies, and my senses were almost all stupefied by vapours which stifled me; but I assure you, that action conduced not a little to bring me to myself again; and I was so surprised, that I became redder than fire, for all I was so pale before. Sir, I answered him (finding strength to thrust him away, yet not before he had given me, as I think, three or four kisses) You have not, I say, well considered what you do, and I know not whom you take me to be: I attributed it only to chance, that I was unfortunately carried to another House than mine own; but I find now at length, that the mistake of the Coaches, is an Art you have devised to betray me. Then finding that neither his Mother, my Maid, nor all the resistance that I made, could hinder him from kissing me still; Insolent Man, cried I, Hold, or I shall make you know, that you have not to do with the person you think of. Madam de Graumont also chid him severely; asked him what treachery it was that I accused him of, and if he knew not that I was a Woman of Quality, who ought to be treated with more respect. My Maid being vexed at the affront he had done me, showed him likewise how much she resented it; so that the poor Youth, whom the excess of Love and good Fortune had really blinded, by offering him in his Bed a Woman whom he hated not, remained in great confusion, when he began to reflect upon what he had done.  
Nevertheless, he endeavoured to colour his action, and would needs have it thought a premeditated piece of Gallantry, that he might contribute, as he said, to my Cure; for, added he, speaking to Madam his Mother as briskly as he could; to be put to strive against so rude a Kiss, as that which I have given the Lady, is an excellent means to revive all the senses, and there is nothing so good against fainting Fits. But when he saw that I cast myself down to the foot of the Bed, and that I prayed Madam de Graumont to complete my obligations to her, by sending me home, he was, as it were, thunderstruck, and all his Gallantry vanished. I believe he had the folly to imagine, that I was to be in his Bed all my life-time.  
He conducted me not back, for I would not suffer him; but next morning so soon as I was up, I received a Ticket from him; I cannot tell if I can relate it in the same terms; but however I shall do it as near as I can: And this was the Address he gave it.  
To her who hath ravished my Heart.  
HAve you slept well last Night, Madam? If it be so, I think you happy. For my part, I have done nothing, but think of you, and on the means to have you again in the same place where last Night you called me insolent. Alas! Madam, you languished there for pain; O that I might see you there languish for pleasure. Are you one of those that are offended when men love them with transport, and tell them of a sudden the thoughts that their beauty hath produced? No, Madam, you have too much Wit, and you must needs love me. Yesternight your Eyes spoke friendship to me concerning the matter; they told me indeed you were a most beautiful Lady: But they informed me likewise that I was a pretty handsome Youth, and they took pleasure to behold me. Besides I have been told that you have an old Husband. All that, Madam, prescribes to you what you have to do. I must tell you likewise, that I am believed to be so Giddyheaded, that no body will ever suspect that I manage any serious design. Let us lose no time, Madam, it is the part of Maids only to suffer their Lovers to languish and they have their designs in it; but that is below a fair Woman.  
That young man was a Fool; said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. Not so, replied the Marquis, I rather believe he has gained his point with some Women by that liberty; for there are some who are won ten times sooner by soolery and impudence, than by all the cares and secrecies that one could render them; and the Gallant imagined without doubt, that Madam de Moulionne was to be caught that way. You have guessed right; said the Marquis; but the mischief was that impertinence never procured any thing from me but boxes; these words were directed to Montal, and that besides, added she, the young man was really in Love with me, which perhaps he never was with those with whom he had succeeded. And that gave me occasion also to revenge myself sufficiently on his insolence; for in the rage into which his carriage put me, so soon as I perceived that he was in earnest, there was no kind of fierceness nor slight which I did not use, a little to bring down his Pride. It was to no purpose for him to change his method with me, and to become at length as respectful and timorous, as he had been bold and impudent; for I never gave him a pleasant word: I undervalved always the best things he said; and favoured with my conversation all those whom he thought inferior to himself in worth; shortly, I did him so many diskindnesses, that about a month after, I was almost the cause of the death of a man, whom I had preferred to him in a Ball; and this is the account of that disaster.  
The Baron of Graumont (for he was a Baron) laid Siege to me continually, and wheresoever we happened to meet together, though Princesses were there, I had always his first Homage and respects. He thought then to have had me out to Dance the Brawl in the Ball; having even preferred me to Madam the Marchioness of Samee, who would have Danced it with him; but I refused him my hand, that I might give it to another of whom I knew he was Jealous, though he might as well have been Jealous of a Watch-house. My little Baron had much ado to digest that affront, and I never passed him, when any one led the Brawl, wherein he had at length engaged with another, but that by the by he let fall some complaints, which testified his indignation. But seeing I was curious to know how far the patience of a man who had been so fickle, might go; (for I forgot to tell you that he scarcely loved his Mistresses two days together) I put not there a stop to my cruelties; and having come to ask my hand again to Dance a Corrant, I gave it him indeed, that all the Company might not be witnesses of a little intrigue that concerned only us two; but I returned him not his Corrant, and when I was again taken out to Dance, I went and took out his happy Rival in stead of him, which was like to have put him in despair.  
Wherefore anger for some time took place of Love; and his Rival having given me the hand to lead me to the Coach, when the Ball was ended; Madam, said he aloud and very fiercely, I have in my Pocket The women's School, and you shall read it when you have a mind. I guessed what he meant by that, though he cited that women's School impertinently enough too; for being that which Moliere composed, it could not be applied to his purpose. It was enough to him, without doubt, to think that in speaking of the School, it would be supposed that I deserved to be sent thither to learn manners; but however, these were his own words. His Rival, who thought himself obliged to make a reparty, told him very soberly; Sir, that is not the way to gain the Lady. Oh! that is most true, answered the little man in passion, and I know it very well; nor shall I ever gain her, if Heaven grant me not the favour to become as great a Fool as you. From that they risen to higher words, quarrelled, and both drew, but the Fool was still Fool, and delivered his Sword to the Baron, who in disdain threw it back to him. In the mean time he that had the worst was wounded, and the Combat made a noise. My Gallant was forced to abscond, so that I had ground to fear that absence might make me lose so passionate a Lover. Nevertheless I received next day another Note conceived much in these terms.  
To Madam de Moulionne.  
I Am hid, Madam, and I endeavour to escape the Death which men deserve, that draw a Sword contrary to the King's Laws, because if I must die speedily, I will have it to be only of Love; but I swear also that I shall die of it at your Feet, or that you shall use me more kindly. What, ungrateful Lady? I have sighed more for you than for ten others. You are the first, (if it must be told) for whom I have felt true Love; I have been always preferred where I desired it; and in the sight of all people you prefer to me a Fool. Ah! I am in furious despair; and if such a man as he deserves your favours, I shall die for anger that I cannot slight them. At least cruel Lady, believe that I writ this with Tears of Love and Rage, for you have reduced me to a condition that deserves pity; let it not be more difficult for me one day to take from him your favour, than it was last night to take from him his Sword.  
These Letters, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, are really very pleasant, and I begin to be pretty much in Love with that mutinous style: Well, what answer did you make to them? Very good! said Madam de Moulionne, you jeer me if you think that I was so much a Fool as to answer such fopperies; would your Maids answer them? What hurt do you think would be in it, replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, were it only done for diversion? for you did not receive these Letters as a Mystery, but communicated them to your friends. Yes certainly that is true, said Madam de Moulionne; however I pretended to tear and throw them into the fire before his Footboy that brought them, that he might tell him so much, to put my Gentleman in greater trouble; and for that end I burned little pieces of other paper. But Madam, interrupted the fair Hollander, did he intent to Droll, when he wrote to you in that foolish style? Not at all, answered Madam the Moulionne, he spoke most sincerely, and it was from the heart that he threatened or reproached me. Ah! replied the Holland Lady laughing, he was a Treasure to you Madam; and you must needs have had much pleasure with a Gallant of that stamp: Yes, answered Madam the Moulionne, I had pleasure enough by it in the beginning; but he tired me at length because his Extravagancy went too far.  
There was no great trouble in taking up the matter of the Combat, which was considered but as a Rencontre, and so my Gallant began to appear again. At what hour soever one had a mind to see the Baron de Graumont after that in our street, he might see him directly opposite to my Gate, lying in his couch in the posture of a Fool, on the other side of the Rivulet; and hardly did he leave his station half an hour, to go Dine. None of my Lackeys came out a Doors, but he called them and recommended to them to tell me somewhat at their return; and at length he prevailed so much, that Monsieur the Judge taking greater pity of his condition than I did, or if you will, out of policy, thought fit to command me to receive him, than to see him continually planted there. I was all amazed when he himself brought him one day into my Chamber, where I was entertaining two Ladies of my acquaintance. A Malefactor carried before his Judge looked not paler than that Martyr of Love did, and of purpose to increase his pain, I told my Husband very seriously, do you know, Sir, whom you bring hithet, and that it is a man in Love with me, who daily commits a Thousand Extravagancies? Madam, answered my poor Lover all shaking; Monsieur the Judge, is not Ignorant what violence you do to the Soul of those who have once seen you; and if he approve not what I do, neither does he approve that you should force a poor wretch to despair, who desires nothing else but the happiness to see you. No, Wife, added my Husband, who had much ado to forbear laughing, and seeing Monsieur the Baron desires no more but to see you, let him see you as much as he pleases. With these words he left us all together.  
How Madam? said Madamoiselle Barbisieux then, is it possible that so gallant and sprightly a man as you described the Baron de Graumont to be in the beginning of your discourse, could be so stupid, to see himself made the laughingstock of any man without minding it, or at least that shame and vexation did not work his Cure? These sprightly blades, answered Madam the Moulionne, become usually the greatest Fools, when they fall in Love to purpose. And besides, know you not that Love grows stronger by resistance? ye wonder at what you say, continued she laughing, because it may be ye have not resisted your Lovers so much as I did my Gallant: But it is your own fault, and you are all Cheats. Madam, said the Marquis, it is not at all necessary that all Ladies should be as cruel as you, and put their Lovers to so hard a trial. For my part, replied Madam the Moulionne, I have no greater pleasure than to see these insolent and presumptuous blades who have so good an opinion of themselves, love without a suitable return of affection; and I confess I reckon it one of my good fortunes that I had the advantage to reduce one of them desperate. But Madam, said the Chevalier de Montal, who told you that your Baron did not counterfeit all the Extravagancies that he played, finding that there was need of Ceremonies to gain you? Ah! replied Madam the Moulionne, I assure you there was no counterfeiting in that, and you will presently confess as much.  
My Lover having spent some months in following me wheresoever I went, without any success, and without having even ever found an occasion to his mind of speaking to me in private; he resolved one Evening to slip secretly into my Chamber, he hide himself under my Bed, saw me undressed at his ease, and go to Bed, and when he thought I was asleep, he came and sat down by my Beds-head, where he had the patience to wait until next Morning that I waked: And was he honest? said the Chevalier; I think he was, said she smiling, or at least I felt nothing to the contrary. When I awoke and saw him, I was not a little surprised; and bethought myself that if I should cry out, and so render many witnesses of that piece of folly, the matter might be variously interpreted. Malicious people, thought I with myself, may think of it what they please, and will say that I stayed till it was day before I cried out, without considering whether or not I might have been asleep. These good reflections made me resolve not to speak a word of it; but only contrive some way to send him off without the knowledge of any but my Maid, whom I instantly called in, and whom I acquainted with my adventure. It was no easy matter for all that, to persuade my Baron to it, who falling on his knees by my Bedside; Madam, said he, I will not budge from hence till you have heard me. Befall you and me what may, I am resolved to die if your disdain continue, and he that intends only to die observes no measures. No Madam, I will not remove from this place unless you do me justice; I desire only to be heard, and if you grant me not that slight favour, which you refuse not to the meanest of men; tremble at the very thought of what my despair may force me to do. That threatening which seemed to me Ambiguous, made me very quickly promise to hear as long as he pleased, provided he gave me his word that he should commit no Extravagancy. And then the Fool told me, I doubt not Madam, but that you have reason to complain and revenge yourself on me. I have failed in the respect that was due to you; I have written to you with too much freedom. In fine, Madam, I took you for another, when I believed that you would as easily Love me as other Ladies have done; but I acknowledge my fault, Madam; is there no pardon for me? what delight have you to force me every minute to despair, because you have found that it is impossible for me not to Love you? Oh! said he, you take advantage on my misery; for if you thought that I could cease to Love you, you would perhaps fear to lose me, you would comply a little with my humour, and not force it as you do to the most terrible of all extremities; and that, said he, kissing my hand, notwithstanding all the resistance I could make, is one of the detestable Maxims of you Beauties. Why cannot I retrieve my heart? continued he; then returning to his discourse again; I know, Madam, that the transports of Love which I fall into, are no ways pleasing to you, and that you will never entertain any favourable inclinations for me, so long as I commit the Follies that I fall into daily. Yes, yes, I put myself in your place, and I well conceive that a Lover whose grief makes so much noise, is not made for such a Lady as you; but help me to lose that bad habit I have of complaining; leave off at least for once to give me cause; be but content to use me no worse than all those whom you look upon with indifference. Well, said I, you may take my word for it, I shall use you better for the future, only begun quickly; and I suffered him again to kiss my hand, that I might oblige him to withdraw with greater diligence, so great was my fear lest he might have been found in my Chamber; but the nicety of his Love made him conjecture that all the favours I shown him were only upon a design, and taking thereby a fresh occasion of complaining; he importuned me a whole quarter of an hour longer with his grievances; but afterwards departed.  
I see nothing as yet, said Montal, that should convince me but that all was counterfeit; a man might play the Fool and Madman more than all that, for the pleasure of getting his will of you. Nor is it by that yet, replied she, that I pretend to convince you. He must first vex me, and by the satisfaction that he does me, you shall Judge if he was in earnest or not; mind what comes after.  
He left my Chamber then, and was willingly conducted by my Maid out of the House. That Girl so ordered matters that no body in the Family either saw or heard the least passage; and he might have even avoided the Eyes of those that were abroad; but as he was half way out of the Gate, he fancied that he discovered his Fool at the end of the street; and indeed it was the very same, who was coming to pass by my Gate, what entreaty soever my Maid then made to him to slip into a Neighbouring Lane, before that the Gentleman whom he heard but did not see, should have leisure to perceive him; the Madman could be persuaded to nothing, on the contrary he held her by the hand without the Gate, under the pretext of adjuring her to be his friend with me; gave his Rival time to come so near as to observe him; kissed again the Maid's hand, that he might give the other ground to suspect that it was mine, then letting the Maid retire; and fiercely Eyeing the other, who was not a little surprised at what he had seen, he crossed his way in the posture of a Triumphant Rival. How is that! Madam, said the Marquis interrupting her, did he who was dying for Love of you; to whom you had just before given so good hopes, satisfy you in that manner to his own vanity, so soon as he was gone out of your sight? It was not only done, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, but by one who nevertheless pretended to be much in Love. You have reason, said Madam the Moulionne, my Baron was one of those who though they play their Mistresses an hundred idle Pranks, yet love them still very well; his Ascendant carried him to these vanities, and his face forced him whether he would or not to love me.  
The very same day I had notice given me of his Impertinency; for that Rival whom I had always used civilly to exasperate the Baron, thought he had good ground to complain; and having deferred his Journey till another day, he came to see me before I was dressed, that he might upbraid me, for being less affected with his modesty and respects, than with the insolences and impertinencies of Graumont, and gave me an account of all that he had seen. I confess I was surprised at it, because I was so innocent as to imagine, that it was best to conceal that the Baron had passed the Night in my Chamber; but at length I judged it better to be the first in publishing it myself, lest the mystery might otherways prove more dangerous, and accordingly I did.  
In the mean time, the other who was wholly taken up with the thought of the fair promises that I had given him, to use him for the future more kindly, and had not in the least considered, that his imprudence might have provoked me to anger, resolved after Dinner to come and pay his respects to me; but so far I was from entertaining him with a better reception, as he expected, that I did not so much as look upon him: He asked my Maid the reason; she answered, that she knew nothing of it. He returned next day, and I caused my Gate to be shut against him: He waited until I went forth to Mass; but so soon as I perceived him, I commanded the Coachman to put back, and resolved rather to lose Mass that day. Insomuch that falling into an excessive rage against me, and thinking I made a Fool of him, he began again his Follies. Now I'll tell you very near the terms of a Note, which I received from him, upon occasion that he had been told that I usually laughed at, and made sport of his Love.  
For Madam de Moulionne.  
I Am told, Madam, that your excellent Wit seems pleased to laugh at my pains, and that in all places you make so pleasing descriptions of me, as are not only sufficient to make yourself, but even the most melancholic Company merry. I am not at all troubled, Madam, to be a Subject of Divertisement to yourself and Friends, provided it be not of too long continuance; but call to mind, that there are some certain slights and contempts that produce cruel Tragedies; and that a Lover hath suffered a thousand with patience, so long as they were secret or serious, who has not been able to endure a contempt shown publicly, and with derision. I thought fit that you should learn this from me, Madam, and that it is better of a sudden to cut off the hopes that a Man entertains sometimes, than to amuse him for sport and recreation. I tell you no more. Farewell.  
Still Threaten? said the Marquis. Yes, answered Madam the Moulionne, and by the By also very profitable Instructions; for though Rage did dictate these Notes, yet there can be nothing more wisely conceived, than what he says he was willing that I should learn of him: And for your sakes, fair Ladies, added she, I make this moral Reflection; Women must never amuse and keep in play, those whom they intent never to love. Why then, Madam, said Mademoiselle Velzers. Have you given ground to your Baron to reproach you with that? It is not my fault, replied Madam de Moulionne; he imagined without ground that I intended to amuse him; for if I expressed any kindness for him, it was only to prevent him from committing some Extravagance in my Chamber, which would have displeased me; and to incline him more easily and speedily to be gone. This is so true, that as I have already told you, he himself suspected it. I agree with you, answered Mademoiselle Velzers; but when we amuse any one, it is also upon some consideration, and sometimes to prevent the Follies, which would not please us neither. There is no doubt of that, added Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; and it is the men who amuse themselves, interpreting often our actions in a quite contrary sense than they ought. But let Madam de Moulionne make an end, that we may at length know what became of her Baron de Graumont.  
Seriously, continued she, he terrified me by the threaten he made of acting Tragedies; and distrusting a man of his humour, whom I saw continually fall into the excesses of so strange a Folly, I desired my Husband to rid me altogether of him, lest at length he might do some mischievous act. I was confirmed in that resolution, by the late example of a Maid whom a brutish Rascal had poisoned, because he could not obtain her from her Father and Mother; and I thought with myself, that it was no pleasure to be exposed to so dangerous Amours. My Husband therefore finding one day the Baron in a convenient place, told him plainly his thoughts concerning all that passed; and that Discourse made the poor Youth so ashamed, that he took a firm resolution to cure himself of his Love, at the cost of her to whom it was made; and this is the course he took to accomplish his design with greater ease: There is nothing, said he, but empty hopes of bending that Woman, that gives fuel to my flame. Come, let me outrage her in such a manner, and out of humour do her so sensible an injury, that I may never have ground to expect pardon, and by consequent a reciprocal affection. In this thought worthy of himself, he began next day to play the Man, fully dis-engaged and at liberty; before me he affected a Jollity, like to that wherein I saw him at our first acquaintance; in the sight of every body he talked to me familiarly, with a show of the greatest satisfaction imaginable; and all this to the end, that it might be thought my rigorous proceed were now at an end, as he had already made the report go. Insomuch that being at a stand what to think of that new way of carriage, I considered some time if I should be angry at it or not; but I quickly resolved what to do; for so soon as I had asked the cause of his Joy, which was the only thing perhaps he expected, that he might have occasion to shape me an answer, he maliciously fell down at my knees, and gave me aloud so abusive thanks, that never was Woman more amazed, nor in greater rage than I was. Good now! For what could he thank you? said the Marquis. For what you please, answered she; it is enough that I tell you he offended me so much, that I gave him a Box on the ear, much better laid on than that which Monsieur the Chevalier may remember. Let us wave that, Madam, said Montal. With all my heart, continued she; but I am indeed an enemy of such as talk idly. Yet this was not a means to put a stop to the Follies of the Baron; on the contrary that Box persuading him, that he ought not to observe measures any more with me, he continued to tell me so many offensive things, and with so much contempt, that he succeeded in his design of making me his irreconcilable Enemy. But I have my revenge also, and it is by this that I intent to prove to Monsieur the Chevalier, that my Lover did not counterfeit folly and madness, that he might the better accomplish his designs with me; he will judge by the sequel, that when one is master of himself, he never takes such desperate courses, as the Baron was prompted to.  
After that he had achieved his great Exploit, he spent nine or ten days without the least thought of Love. All his thoughts ran upon his Box on the ear. A short absence; the design of curing himself; the little appearance of obtaining his pardon; the reflection he made on my faults and cruelties; on his own good aspect, which deserved more favourable usage; and on the pleasures that he found in his indifferency before he had seen me; all this made him believe that he was perfectly cured. He was the first that drolled upon himself, for the Extravagancies he had been guilty of, and that he could not conceive how he came to be so much and so long in Love. In fine, he was too happy, if his ill luck had not brought him afterward to a sight of me, at the House of a Lady of his Acquaintance and mine, to whom by chance I paid a Visit whilst he was there; but the defects that he found in me when he saw me not, appeared no more at next view; I appeared to him more beautiful than ever; he made a wrong construction of a little disorder that my hatred put me into upon the sight of him; felt a sensible remorse for having offended me, and his Love being all again in flame, he cast himself on his knees before me a second time, without speaking a word, as a man struck dumb with grief. I made at first as if I had not perceived it, turning as much as I could towards the Lady with whom I was entered in discourse; but finding the matter last too long, and that I could not any more demean myself as if I had not seen him, I risen and took leave of the Lady, with as satisfied a countenance as possibly I could, and withdrew, as if I had not so much as minded what the Baron had done.  
I appeal to any, who have had the folly to think to cure a violent passion, by offending the person they loved, and who have miss their aim, if he was in a desperate case or not. He continued like a stunned man, as I have been told, almost a quarter of an hour , and the Lady whom I had been to visit, after she returned from bringing me to my Coach, found him still on his knees in the same place. She comforted him, recomposed his mind the best way she could, and advised him once more to write to me, which he did. But I cannot exactly call to mind that Letter, as I did the others; because there were no more of those brisk expressions in it, which for diversion I loved to read over again to my Friends; and that to see him lament seriously, and like a Gentleman, especially after the Jirk he had given me, was not the thing I required, because I resolved to have no pity on him. And therefore I read that fair Letter but once; and when two others that were with me when I received, and forced it from me out of curiosity, had done the like, I threw it into the fire.  
It deserved tho to have been preserved, that I might have thereby given you an instance, of the various transmutations of Love; for as I have told you, there was no more of that threatening style in it, it was in a strain proper to affect any Woman, that had not been so much incensed as I was. He begged me pardon for his last insolence, in terms which clearly shown, that he could not without tears have couched them in writing. Judge, said he, Madam, what desperate Love may not force me to act against myself, since it hath reduced me to that pass, to seek a cure for it, by offending you as I have done. He confessed that he had justly incurred my indignation; that he had been too presumptuous in the beginning of his Amour; that a youthful transport had made him act in that manner, being deceived by some good successes on his rashness with other Women, and that he had since fully changed that turbulent inclination. That at the instant he discovered my virtue and merit, he had entertained nothing but submissive respect for me; that he had not conceived any hopes or desire, that might bring prejudice to that virtue; that he had loved me as an Angel might love me; and that if he had seemed guilty of some transports, which appeared inconsistent with the moderation of a man that loves in that manner, they were occasioned by his grief, to see me obstinate in refusing to hear him, and in taking cognizance of the change that my virtue had wrought upon him: And then concluded by a thousand oaths, that he would kill himself, upon the return of the person that carried the Letter, if he brought him not back word that I had pardoned him what was passed; wherein he kept his word too religiously.  
How, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, did he kill himself? No; he did not kill himself outright, answered Madam the Moulionne, but he did at least as much as was necessary for the work; and when my answer was brought back to him, that he should have already killed himself, and that he made too many words about it, they say he drew his Sword, and casting himself upon it, run himself quite through the Body. Ah! He loves you, Madam, said Montal then; and seeing he hath been so great a Fool as to kill himself, I make no more doubt of his Love. I knew very well, answered she, that you would doubt no more of it, when I had once told you this circumstance; for you told us yesterday that Love might carry people to that extremity. And were you no way affected at that accident, Madam? said Madamoiselle Velzers. My passions were at that time too much divided, answered Madam the Moulionne, for me to be able to give you an account how I received that News. I trembled all over when I heard it; for the News of any man's death as well as his would trouble me; but my heart however felt a kind of satisfaction, in the thought that it would clear me from the Calumny, of having condescended to the will of the impertinent man, as he had the insolence to give it out. I felt also another Consolation, because his ambiguous threats put me always in fear, that he had a mind to send me going unto the other World, and I was far better satisfied that he himself made the Journey. In the mean time his Mother soon after came to render me a Visit, and to pray me to have some compassion of her Son; but, what would you have me do, said I, Madam? you are too virtuous a Lady to desire that I should abuse my Husband, and that's the thing your Son demands. We had a very pleasant Discourse on this subject, she adjured me to find out some expedient for the Cure of her Son, without interesting Monsieur de Moulionne or myself in the affair, and I obstinately refused to show him any favour. But perceiving that she desired no more but the permission to order him in my name to suffer his wound to be dressed, I told her she might speak in my name what she pleased, and provided she employed none of my Servants to do it; I was not concerned at what ever she thought fit to say.  
Did he die then at length? said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. So far from that, said Madam de Moulionne, that I found him next day at Mass just over against me: The wound that he gave himself was not at all dangerous; a little remnant of Charity that people have for themselves, without minding it, make them always choose places that are not mortal; and that poor Lover pierced only the fat of his side, which he had squeezed hard in his hand before he gave himself the thrust, insomuch that it proved but a wound to be cured easily with a pennyworth of Salve. And I failed not to tell him so when as I was going out of the Chapel, he came and spoke to me of it; but I gave him a fresh ground of displeasure, so sensible, that pretending to faint away for weakness, he fell down at the very door of the Chapel; that he might be revenged on me by the hubbub that action would occasion. I trouble you too long, with the Relation of his Extravagancies; he committed four or five more for some days time, and then resolved to return into his Country, where now he hath been two months, and I desire he may remain there until I go fetch him back. However this is a fair example for Monsieur the Marquis, and the dangerous effects of Love in those who cannot obtain a reciprocal affection, aught to persuade him to be careful how he ventures.  
Ha! Madam, cried Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, there is no comparison to be made between your Baron and Monsieur the Marquis; and no Woman will ever use him as you have used that Extravagant. It's no matter Mademoiselle, said the Marquis, I shall make the best use of that Example, and endeavour to live a little more civilly with Clelia, that she may not oblige me to kill myself. But indeed, Madam, added he, you have told us a very wonderful Story; and I think strange that it hath been so little talked of, that we could never learn it but from your own mouth. I wonder at it also, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; for it might have given ground to many Gossipping tales; and Calumny is very modest in the Neighbourhood of Madam de Moulionne, that it hath so secretly buried such adventures. They have been sufficiently talked of amongst my Neighbours, replied Madam the Moulionne, but there are so few Persons of Quality amongst them, that Fame finds no mouths there, to carry the News of these transactions to Persons of so much worth as you. And besides, the best passage happened in presence of some who were so much my friends as not to divulge them, knowing that I was not well pleased therewith. You had reason not to be well pleased with them, Madam, said wittily the fair Hollander; for your cruelty would have got you a very ill name. You jeer, replied Madam de Moulionne; but probably you would not have had the constancy that I had to see a poor Lover suffer, especially if he had pleased you as mine did the first time I saw him. For I am not so nice as not to confess, he seemed to me to be so Lovely a Youth, that when the vapours obliged me to withdraw from the Ball, my distemper was Augmented because it deprived me of the opportunity of seeing him so long as I desired, one whom I did not dislike. And it may be also, Madam, answered Madamoiselle de Barbisicux, if he had not offended you, by thinking to obtain your Love at an easy rate; you would not have been so hard hearted as to have made him suffer so much? Ah! spare your May Bees, replied Madam de Moulionne; though he had taken another course, he should have had no better success; and I like not to be talked of; but your meaning is that if You met with such an adventure, continued she, you would not be so scrupulous; and I am glad to know your humour. Seriously, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, I would be sorry that a man should stab himself for love of me, or at least I would not have him kill himself; that I might not be inclined to pity him afterward. Nevertheless, added she, it is true your Baron did not take the right course to gain your Love.  
Ho! do ye think then, said the Chevalier de Montal, that the Baron was in Love? or that his passion at least may be called the effect of true Love? No, said the Marquis, and though there be no Lady more proper to Charm, than Madam, I should rather call it a headstrong effect of the Baron's vanity, and of a violent desire to surmount the difficulties of her resistance, than a real impression of Love. For proof of this, it is certain that if Madam had but shown him the least favour, he would not have failed to have ranked her amongst his other Conquests. Alas! said she laughing, you are in the right, and he did not deny it himself. I remember that he proposed to me one day with the greatest sincerity imaginable, that I should favour him out of pity, to the end he might Love me no more; was not he in good earnest? adding that other ways he could never be able to refrain. I never had so great a mind to laugh as when he made me that Compliment. You had indeed good reason to laugh, replied the Marquis; yet he told you the truth. How, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, would you make me believe, that any man could be so great a Rogue? the word is somewhat high indeed, but I cannot find a milder for such blades; would you persuade me, I say, that any man can be so base to cool so suddenly, after that he loved a Woman so ardently, as to fall upon a Sword for her. There are some of a more singular humour than that, said the Marquis; and since we are got upon that subject, I'll tell you a Story.   

NOVEL XI.  
THE HISTORY OF THE Marquis of Franlieu, and of a Lady of La Flèche.  
YE know the Marquis of Franlieu, who who is at present very Famous at Court for his Gallantries. That brave Gentleman being in Anjou before he bought his Place at Court; was dreaded there by the Husbands as much as here. As many fair Ladies as he saw, which is not rare in that Country; were so many hearts infallibly his own. The most haughty and fierce forgot all their Maxims of cruelty when they beheld him, and there was not any who desired not to taste a little of his friendship. In fine, he acquired a sweet habit, of obtaining all that he desired without so much as a sigh, unless they were sighs of Gallantry. But his good fortune continued not always, and it began to forsake him at La Flêche. There the Marquis fell in Love with a young Lady, and the Lady loved not the Marquis. The resistance which she made seemed to touch his honour, and the Lady stood on her points also to bring down the Pride of the Gallant. She brought him almost to the pass that Madam de Moulionne brought her Baron de Graumont; for after a whole year of assiduity, vexation, and pain, and after excessive charges, Love reduced poor Franlieu, to resolve at last to stab himself if he could not bend her stiffness. He carried the Dagger to the Lady's House, and hide it under the Toylet of the fair one, that it might be ready when he stood in need of it. And as the Lady had put him into his usual despair, he thrust his hand in a terrible rage under the Toylet to bring it out, and there is no doubt but if he had not been mistaken, he would have stabbed himself without mercy; but instead of the bloody weapon, he caught hold only of a Busk, (so great disorder are men's minds in when they are about to kill themselves) and gave himself a mighty stab in the heart with it, which proved not Mortal.  
Ha', ha', that is exceeding Good! said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux. It was an Argument of no small Love for the Lady, replied the Marquis, to have had so great transports as not to distinguish a Dagger from a Busk; and it is also a proof that she drove him to no easy extremities, when she reduced him to the condition of committing so great a mistake: For, added he, though the adventure of the Marquis of Franlieu occasions more laughter than pity, yet the design alone is considerable: But observe also, Ladies, how he revenged himself on his cruel Mistress, when that blow with the Busk had made her repent her disdain. For she perceiving by her Lover's behaviour, who fell at the same time into a swoon, that he was really in Love; and finding the Dagger afterward, she judged that it was not his fault, if he had not killed himself, but the fault of the Busk which he found there. And as she was resolved to recompense all the tedious days that he had spent, by that which might render a night agreeable to one that hath long sighed for it; they say that he had hardly been with her the half of that sweet night, but that he found himself in extraordinary great trouble that it was so long to day. The Lady who believed, and with good reason; for she was very Lovely; that one should rather wish the nights which she bestowed, longer than other; was strangely amazed at his impatience, asked him the reason of it, and told him that without doubt, he found not the blessing for which he had sighed so long, worth the trouble of enjoyment. But that was not the thing that occasioned the Marquis' trouble. No, Madam, answered he, I tyre not in your Company; it is more secret Delicious, and Charming, than any that good fortune can ever offer me; but if you must know the reason, it is because I am so overjoyed, and have had so great pleasure, that my heart cannot contain so much at a time, and I wish it were day, that I might go and impart some of it to all my friends. How! Sir, replied she, will you do me that affront then? I most humbly beg your pardon for it, Madam, said he, but it must be so, I never Love, Sigh or Pine, but for the pleasure of publishing the favours I receive. The poor Lady wept, took on, added prayers, carresses, threats, and all that she could to divert the Marquis from his design; but she could obtain nothing from the foolish indiscreet Franlieu; he made her answer that at least he must intrust the secret to the first he met; and so he left the Lady even before day, that he might satisfy that horrible itch of speaking. By good luck, the first man he met was one that cried Brandy about the streets, & he was content to tell his adventure to that honest man, that so he might put the young desolate thing to despair, who not knowing what she did, followed him out into the street, and published, I think, her own shame, by accompanying Franlieu farther and farther, still conjuring him to keep the matter secret.  
How, Hath the Marquis of Franlieu been guilty of that baseness? said Madamoiselle Velzers. Is he of that humour? And are there Ladies at Court such Fools as to listen to him? O! Do you think, answered the Chevalier de Montal, that the Misses at Court stand so much upon discretion? They desire a great deal of Love; and as little secrecy as men please. There are even some Women, that would be vexed if men were so reserved. Have ye not heard what has been said of the Duke of Candalle, and of the Vicecountess of Talut? No, said Madam de Moulionne; and you bring us an example elder than any of us; the Duke of Candalle hath been dead so many years. But still! What is it that is said of him? I remember it, said the Marquis of Riberville, speaking for Montal, and I'll tell you also that Tale.  

An Adventure of Monsieur, the Duke of Candalle.  
IT hath been reported, That the Duke of Candalle, after he had taken all imaginable pains to compass his designs with that Woman, whose Follies were not so public at that time, as they have been since, got at length into her favours: And that as they were just about to withdraw, after they had spent the night together, she made him take a thousand oaths, not to speak a word of his good Fortune; Sir, she said to him, You will promise me then that you will not speak a word of it? And the Duke having sufficiently sworn to persuade the Lady, that he should be more reserved than he used to be on such occasions; she answered him, Well, well! Sir, If you will not tell it, I'll tell it myself; for it is too great an honour for me, to do a favour to such a man as you, and afterward mince the matter. This has been reported, Ladies. And in effect, the Vicecountess of Talut, so soon as it was day, went and told all her Friends the kindness she had showed the Duke; but on design, say they, that by publishing it herself in Raillery, no body might believe Monsieur de Candalle, if he chanced to speak of it; but her cunning had bad success, for they did her the honour to believe that what she said was true.  
You would have, said the Chevalier to the Marquis the Indiscretion of that Vice Countess, to have been an effect of some rational thought of hers; and for my part, I maintain it to have been an effect of her looseness. But, said Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, you have spoken of the Duke of Candalle in such a way, as it would seem, he was not discreet in his Amours; was he a man that bragged of Lady's Favours? Bless me! said Madamoiselle Velzers, Expect you discretion and secrecy from handsome men? If their Beauty were so unfortunate, as not to afford them some occasion to tattle on, they would daily invent grounds of speaking, and there is none of them but brags. Say not so, replied Madamoiselle de Barbisieux; I have known one that suffered his. Head to be struck off, rather than reveal the Favours that had been done him. Mademoiselle has reason, continued the Marquis; it is the Count of Bermilly she means, and it is but a year ago since that happened. Alas! said Madam de Moulionne, What I have heard already, hath made me very much regret his Fortune, and I have a great curiosity to be informed of all the Story. You have much kindness then, Madam, for men that are secret and discreet in their Love, said the Chevalier de Montal. In the mean time, if we may be believed, no men are more insignificant to you than these Blades; and you lament too much those that are good for nothing. I should think them good for something, replied she, laughing, could they be found daily, and could I but meet with one of them; but do not you perceive, that so soon as any of them appear in the World, they cut off their Heads? But, continued she, addressing herself to Madamoiselle de Barbisieux, tell us a little how that misfortune befell the poor Count of Bermilly. I am going to tell you, answered Madamoiselle de Barhisieux.    

NOVEL XII.  
THE HISTORY OF The Count of Bermilly.  
I Might make a long History of the Amours of that poor Gentleman before I come to his tragical End; but seeing they are about to cover the Table, I shall abridge the Relation in a few words.  
He was a handsome man, gallant, brave, and of great worth. One day as he followed a Lawsuit in a Parliament-Town which I will not name, he had the honour to be loved by the Lady of a Precedent who was to be one of his Judges: That Lady who was no less lovely than himself, stood in need of no second interview to make him in love also; so that that sympathy for some time produced very pleasant effects for both: They met together privately; talked and did whatever ye please. That little Commerce lasted at least six Months without obstruction; on; but something happened at long run which marred all the matter; too much circumspection spoiled their affairs. There lived with the Precedents Lady a Niece of her own, whom she advised the Count to court, for the better concealing their Intrigue, and the greater convenience of seeing one another. He obeyed her counsel; a rival came in play who raised daily quarrels against the Count: He was forced to dispute his Pretensions to that Niece in appearance, to whom he had none in reality; their enmity became so public, that it divided all the Town. Whilst these matters were in hand, the Rival was one evening killed in the street where the Precedent lived. The Count was suspected for it; next day he was apprehended; there were some Britons who made Oath they saw him commit the fact, and he was condemned; though the poor man was three leagues out of Town when the Murder was done, and that it was easy for him to have proved that he was employed all that night in matters quite contrary to the kill of men.  
Sure enough, said the Marquis, he was busied with the Precedents Lady? You have said it, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, and he chose rather to lose his head, than to save his life at the expense of that Lady's Reputation; but the Chevalier wags his head at it, (continued she) and believes not this to be true. How come you yourself to believe it, answered he, if that Masterpiece of Secrecy hath told nothing thereof? There is repugnancy in all you have said; for if the matter hath been kept secret, no body can know it. Ha! Sir, replied she, neither was it discovered till long after, by the means of a Chambermaid that was in the Plot, to whom the Precedents Lady hath done some bad Offices since. But, replied he, might not that have been done out of spite by the Chambermaid? It is very well known, such Sluts can say and do mischief enough when they are offended. Nay, said she, there is nothing more true than what you have been told; the Murderer has been apprehended since, and hath at his death publicly declared that the Count was no way guilty of the murder of his Rival; but that it was himself only, because having been abused by him, he could not other way be revenged. The Chevalier is only incredulous, said Mademoiselle Velzers, because he is not the man that would do what the Count of Bermilly did. How I, replied he? no, I assure you, and I have no such kindness for Wives that abuse their Husbands as to do them so good an Office; If it were for a Maid, somewhat might be done, said he, looking on Mademoiselle Velzers; it is no great Crime in her to favour a Gallant, and if she had made choice of me, I could die rather than tell it; but for Wives, fie! their infamy cannot be published too much. You become a Saint, when the question is of dying, said the Marquis to him, and you are like those old Debauchees, who never entertain a good thought but at that hour.  
These words were hardly ended when dinner was brought, and they dined delightfully in the fresh shade of the Grove. Afterward they consulted how they should spend the rest of the day. The Camp that was lately in the plain of Trevers, said the Marquis, is now at Fountainbleau, and if ye will follow my advice, we will go see the Troops muster this Evening, and afterward return to Vaux. With all my heart, said Madam de Moulionne; but do you not consider that you leave Clelia here? Ah! Madam, answered he, I beg that fair ones Pardon, I had almost forgot her. We will carry her along with us, continued he, and that divertisement perhaps may do her more good than Solitude. These are your Lover's a-la-mode, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, who love so long as they are in Company with a Mind; but let them be but a quarter of an hour out of sight, and they think on her no more. He pocketed up some other Jests, for the Infidelity he had committed, without minding it; afterward, they went to see how the sick Clelia did, and if she was in a Condition to go with the Company. Her Fit was not fully over, and she remained still in a deep Melancholy, which made them for some time doubt, if they should propose to her to go abroad so soon; but the good woman that had the care of her, who just before dismissed her Aunt's Footboy, said, that on the contrary to take the air by going thither, might divert her, and that she seemed herself to have a great desire to be at Fountainbleau. So, about Four of the Clock they took Coach, and directed their way to Court, where they arrived two hours after.  
All the Troops of the King's Household were drawn up in a line from the Pinetrees which stand on the Highway, and had the house of Fountainbleau in Front; nothing was ever in better Order. Monsieur the Marquis of Pegulin was placed on the side of the Campaigne, the Guard-du-camp at the head of his Dragoons with their blue Cloaks and Caps; and his three Troops made three very handsome and well equipped Squadrous. Next came the Duke of Nowailles at the head of four Squadrons of the Lifeguard armed with Back and Breast and Buff-coats, whereon Gold and Silver Embroidery was not spared, and who had all particoloured Caps. After them came two Squadrons of the King's Gendarms, commanded by Monsieur de la Salle, all likewise in rich Embroidery; as many Squadrons of light Horsemen, under the command of the Marquis de Vannes Cornet; as many Scotish Gendarms, commanded by Monsieur de Hautfueille; six Squadrons of Musketeers in white and black, led by Messieurs d' Artagnan and Colbert; two Squadrons of the Queen's Gendarms commanded by the Count of Kermeno, with as many light Horsemen; two Squadrons more of the Dolphin's Gendarms, led by Monsieur de Richfort, with a third Squadron of light Horsemen, which was a new recruit levied by Monsieur the Marquis of Lowvoy, consisting of threescore and fifteen, either reformed Officers, or old light Horsemen with great Beards, and almost all of a stature, their Horses likewise all of a height, and excellent Buffe-coats, the sleeves laced with silver-lace; and there was nothing so much admired as that recruit, at the head of which was the Marquis de la Valiere: After all came three Squadrons of the Gendarms and light Horsemen of Monsieur the Duke of Orleans: And all these Troops had Tents of the same colour of their Caps ranked in good order. So that being made in the same manner as the Roman Tents are painted, they afforded new matter to the Imagination of Clelia to work upon, who without strict examination of the comparisons she made, took the Camp for that of King Porsenna, where she was detained as an Hostage.  
The Marquis of Riberville perceived it by some words she let fall, and endeavoured by all means possible to dissuade her from thinking so, lest that might again put her into some new disorder. Having also learned that the Court Ladies put themselves in the habit of Amazons to follow the King to the Camp; he moved the fair Ladies of his Company to do as they did: and the more to divert his sick Clelia, he took care to provide them with little flat Hats richly decked, and other necessary ornaments, and fell himself to dress that lovely Maid, who by that divertisement seemed in effect for some short time to lay aside her Melancholy; but whilst he waited on her through the Camp, where she charmed the eyes of every one, he could not hinder but that the sight of the Tents, which resembled still the engraven Tents in the Romance of Clelia, revived again her former imagination that she was kept in hostage, and that taking an opportunity to save herself, whilst he was busied in telling Madam de Moulionne the Names of some Officers that drew off, she secretly and by degrees stole away from the Company, and road at full speed towards the great Canal which she took for the Tiber, and whereinto she threw herself, that she might swim over in imitation of Clelia whom she believed herself to be.  
The Marquis who saw her no more, imagined that her retreat might be an effect of her distemper; but he was very far from guessing at the last adventure she had had; and it was long before he would discover any thing of it. However, he and all the Company having made diligent search after her, the news came to his ears; he learned of some about the Canal, that she had been seen with much precipitation to force her Horse into the water, as if some body had pursued her; also, that a very fair and handsome young Gentleman seemed to follow her a little after, and seeing her fall from the Horse as she entered the Canal, she had been infallibly drowned, if that Gentleman had not alighted and jumped into the water in his  to rescue her. All the Company hearing of this last extravagancy, grieved extremely that they had brought her to Fountain-bleau, and Madam de Moulionne and the Marquis were in fear, that the relations of the fair sick Lady might reproach them for having exposed her to that disaster; but that was not the thing that troubled the Marquis most. He made it his business to inform himself more particularly of the matter; he was told that the Gentleman had sent for a Coach into which he put Clelia, and carried her away with him, which raised in him no small Jealousy. He made diligent search in Fountain-bleau, and prayed the Chevalier to do the like; they found the place where the people that belonged to the Coach had stopped, but they were informed that having changed their Apparel, Clelia and the Gentleman hastened into the Coach again, and that no body knew what way they had taken, which increased the Marquis his grief. He asked what that Gentleman's name was; but was answered that no body could tell; so that never man appeared more out of humour. Clelia's old Governess made heavy complaints to the Company, and seemed so forlorn that she would hear no reason; she went away in rage, and notwithstanding all the care was taken to persuade her stay till they had news of the Lady whom she had in charge, she disappeared. It is true that Madam de Moulionne calling to mind, what that old woman had done much alike two days before, when the Marquis believed Clelia carried away, hoped that this last adventure might be as happily discussed as that of Vaux; and I am assured, said she to the Marquis, that the Gentleman is the same who told you the Story yesterday Morning; he may have seen and known his Kinswoman all alone, in the dress she was in, and may have entreated some Lady of his friends to carry her back to her Aunt. But that presumption was not enough to disperse the fears of the Marquis; and though so weak an appearance might have given him some comfort, yet it could not be long, since that Kinsman of the fair Maid was found shortly after at Court where he kept Guard, and appeared no less troubled than the rest at what had befallen her; insomuch that they resolved not to leave Fountainbleau before they received some intelligence; and seeing it was already late, the Ladies consented to stay there all night, whilst the men went to the house of Clelia's Aunt; but they returned back as ill satisfied as they went, and brought no other news but a full assurance that the poor Maid was really carried away; for her Aunt was already informed of the matter, and they were told that she went immediately abroad to find some remedy to the disorder, and to complain of it to the King himself.   
The End of the Fourth Book.   

MOCK- CLELIA, OR, MADAM QVIXOTE.  
The Fifth BOOK.  
IT was impossible for the Marquis of Riberville, to take any rest that night, whether it was that his grief for having lost Clelia was the Cause, or that he feared he might be called in Question for the Rape, if the Author should not be discovered. He would not so much as leave the Chevalier de Montals' Chamber, to whom he talked of it continually; but at length the latter who had a mind to sleep, told him, I am fully satisfied, Marquis, that you are really in love with that fool, and that she has infected you with her fancies; for of a wise man that you were before, you are now become void of common Sense; why do you imagine that you can be called to an account for that Rape? Is it because you are in love with her, and that it was known she is with you? I must be also called to an account for it then, and all the Ladies that are with us; and besides, do you imagine, that if that accident were not a design laid to remove a Maid from us, whose friends are unwilling that we should make sport of her follies, do you believe, I say, that that same Aunt, who, we are told, is come hither to complain, would not have been on her knees already before the King to beg Justice, or at least would not have informed him of the matter? for in such affairs there is not one night let slip, and it was the duty of that Aunt to have, at least, given notice of her Arrival to the People of the Inn where your Heroine changed her . Notwithstanding we have been at the Inn, you have seen the King, and his Majesty knows not so much as that any Lady hath thrown herself into the water. We passed again by the same Inn, and heard of no such thing; and besides all this, your fair one hath a Cousin here who is in love with her: All that he does, is to seem much afflicted at her adventure; without giving himself farther trouble; and is there not great probability then in what you fear? Your Reasons are somewhat, answered the Marquis; but that which could not come to the King's ears to day, because he was busied in seeing the Muster of his forces, and which could not have many witnesses, because all people were in the Camp, may be more divulged to morrow, and the King may be informed of it; the Aunt also of Mademoiselle d' Arvianne may very well defer making her complaints till to morrow. Never fear, replied the Chevalier, that that will ever wrong your affairs with the King; I tell you once again, that the Aunt, and they that have carried away the Niece understand one another very well, and will never speak a word of the matter: And for a mark that there is intelligence betwixt them; which way could that Aunt have been so soon informed of the accident, which she was not only informed of, but also gone to take some course about it, before we could get to her house? Ah! said the Marquis, that is no reason at all; the Governess of the Maid might have sent an Express to her so soon as she left us, and we took horse so long after, that she had time enough to use that diligence. Well, let me alone, replied Montal, let it be as it will, I must sleep, and according as we shall find matters to morrow, we shall consult how we may remedy what is amiss. With that he sunk down into his Bed, and the Marquis was necessitated to go to his, having no body to discourse with any longer.  
Next morning, as soon as it was day, they met in the Lady's Apartment, and fell to discourse again on the same subject. The company thought that the Marquis had no reason for his fears. On the contrary, in imitation of the Chevalier de Montal who had jeered him for it already in the night time; they told him that none but the Lover of a Clelia would imagine himself answerable for the Rape, though others and not her Relations had carried her away. They went all afterward to Court, where they heard nothing of that matter; and then resolved to return back to Vaux, and to tarry the rest of the week there, that they might comfort the Marquis, (if occasion so required) for the loss he had sustained.  
They arrived about Dinner time. In the mean time, the Servants of the house informed them, that at the same instant that they went to sup at Madam de Moulionne's house, a Gentleman was found in a swoon in the Garden, by reason of a Spirit that had appeared to him as he was walking there. This is strange, replied Montal, the World than is full of Enthusiasts, and are there such fools as to dream of Fancies of that nature? Ah! answered Mademoiselle Velzers, here is your man of parts; and if we fall upon this subject, we may expect discourse enough from him. And is there any thing more impertinent, replied he, than that rational men should give way to such rave? It may be the man of whom they speak, has seen his shadow, and that is all. How! do you not believe Spirits then, Chevalier? said the Marquis, interrupting him. He? replied Mademoiselle Velzers, who knows what he believes? I know, answered Montal, that I believe you to be the most unjust person living for entertaining such thoughts of me; but hark you Marquis, that I may speak to you freely, I'll tell you in a word what it is I believe. I have a most steadfast faith for all that my Confessor tells me I should believe; and I agree that Spirits have sometimes come back again, I never doubted of that; but to imagine that they appear now a days, or at least so often as men say; I cannot brook it. I shall never believe that a Cat or Rat making a din by throwing down something casually; that a glimpse of Moonshine making Morris-dancers on a wall; and in a word, that all such like things are Spirits of the other world. Good Heaven, said Madam the Moulionne, how soon would this man change his Language, if he had met with that which eight days ago happened to the good man Santois, an ancient Alderman of Paris. Very well then! Madam, answered he, what happened to that same good man Santois the ancient Alderman of Paris? Alas! replied she, looking on all the Company, there is nothing truer than what I am about to tell you, and that good man lives near to us, and is an honest man if ever was any.  

NOVEL XIII.  
THE HSTORY OF Monsieur Santois his Spirit.  
WHilst poor Monsieur Santois was at Prayers on Thursday last, and as he intended to turn the leaf of his Book, he heard somewhat under his hand make a noise, and was all in a maze when he saw that it was the leaf torn out of itself; but so neatly, that it seemed some body had done it on purpose.  
In good time, said the Chevalier, interrupting her, you tell me great wonders indeed! as if he had not torn it himself. O! not at all, replied she, and you will acknowledge as much in the sequel.  
At first the good old man had the same thoughts that you have, and believed he might have plucked it out himself, without minding it, by reason of his serious intention; but having turned over another leaf, and finding the same thing happen again, he began to be afraid, and rung his little Bell to call in his Children; they came all running in, and he having told them how matters went, they endeavoured to persuade him that he was in some mistake, and to bring him out of that place. But the good man unwilling to pass for an Enthusiast, replied, Well, children, ye shall be Judges yourselves, if so be the Spirit is in a humour to tear a third leaf; for I would not have you think me Hypochondriack. Whereupon, opening his Book, he would have turned another leaf, and that leaf was torn as the rest were. His Son-in-law, though convinced of the matter, yet still averred that his Father-in-law had torn the leaf himself, for fear the old man might fall sick upon it, if the matter were passed all doubt; and alleged for his reason, that neither his sight nor feeling were good enough to discern whether he handled the leaf roughly or not: But the old man being vexed, took his Spectacles, that he might try once more, and observe the matter more narrowly; and in sight of all that were present, the Spectacles skipped off from his Nose, and as if they had had wings, flew all alone about the room, than went through a window, and fell into a bed of flowers at the entrance of the Garden, where with the three leaves they were again found. What say you to that Master Incredulous? added Madam de Moulionne.  
I say, Madam, answered Montal, I shall believe it when I see it. But, replied she, it is a thing to be seen daily; for that Spirit plays continually new pranks to the honest man. And besides, that very Evening before we came from Paris, as he sat down to Table, after he had tried on a new Suit, whereof the Doublet was of plain Tabby; the same Spirit in open view pinked it for him, better than any Tailor could have done; what do you answer to that now? That it loved pinked Doublets better than plain, said Montal. You jest at it, replied she; but when we return to Paris, you may go see it yourself. I will not go see it, answered he, seeing I believe it not. I'll warrant you, said Mademoiselle Velzers, he will have a care not to go thither. Is it not usual with these Blades of great wit to be more timorous than others? It is not that I am afraid, answered he; but because if I went thither, it behoved me to believe that there were some possibility in the matter, and I believe no such thing. But, replied Madam the Moulionne, honest people are to be believed, when they say that they have seen a thing. Agreed, Madam, said he; but name me any such. Ah! said she, with all my heart, and I desire no other but the Abbot of Lauciat, to whom the late Monsieur Fouquet appeared in an Alley at Tours. I crave no other but my Lady Marchioness of Tessau, whose Curtains he drew as she lay in bed. These are persons of unquestionable credit, and would not for a world tell a lie. I make no doubt of that, replied Montal; but have you that information from the Abbot and Marchioness, or from another hand? I have it only, answered Madam the Moulionne, from one of their Friends; but he is a man as scrupulous as they that way, and would not tell a lie for all the world; and he that should say otherwise, would persuade me that Snow is black. Ah! as to that, Madam, replied the Chevalier laughing, that is the thing I least of all doubt of, and it is easy to be seen. For all that, added he, I maintain, that he who hath told that tale has been but in Jest, and that if the Abbot of Lauciat, and Madam de Tessau were asked, they would say that I had reason. But according to your talk, Chevalier, said the Marquis, interrupting him, you are a man than that will not believe what is said of some Families where such kind of Apparitions are common? You will not then believe what is reported of the House of Brandenburg; where, as often as any one of the Family is to die, there appears a Spirit in form of a great Statue of white Marble, representing a woman, and runs all over the rooms of the Prince's Palace? Neither will you believe that there are two illustrious Families in France, the one in Bretanie, and the other in Gascoigne, where some such thing happens? I believe it, answered Montal, if you will assure me that you yourself believe it. But tell me a little, are the Princes of Brandenburg as ancient as Lucian's Dialogues? I cannot tell, answered the Marquis; and it is not impossible; but why do you ask me that question? Because, I think, replied Montal, I have in Lucian read the History of their Family; if there were any such. Ah! said Mademoiselle Velzers, Jeer not, Chevalier; it is a thing I have heard my Father tell a hundred times; yea, and that a poor Page lost his life by his imprudence in attempting to hinder that Statue from coming up stairs. The young Lad had so great Love for his Master, that perceiving the Statue at the foot of the stairs, as he was going down with some others of the Prince's Servants, and fearing that it was come for the Prince himself; Ah! cried he, wicked Spirit, you come to foretell the death of my Master, and forthwith gave it a sound blow, which put the Spirit into so great a rage, that taking hold of him but with one hand, it dashed out his brains against the ground, before the rest had time to perceive its design. Well then! these are matters of fact, added the Marquis, and that thing could not happen without a great many witnesses. Nothing more true, replied Montal driely, Lucian hath likewise made mention of it under the name of a Servant of Eucrates, saving that in stead of a Page it was a Groom, and that the Statue of Eucrates did not kill him that disobliged it, but was satisfied only to drub him sound. Ladies, said the Marquis, there is nothing to be got by disputing with this incredulous man, we had better think of dining than of contesting any longer. Ye are all, every one of you, continued Montal, most ingenious persons in believing such idle fopperies? I would have you know, that no Spirits walk now adays, unless it be to make Husbands Cuckolds, or for some other such like Intrigue. After dinner I shall prove what I say by the History of one whom Mademoiselle de Barbisieux knows well; for the Gallant is one of her Relations. Let us dine then quickly, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, that I may hear this pretty story.  
I shall leave you to hear it by yourselves, replied the Marquis, whilst I ride to the house of Clelia's Aunt; for, added he, I ought at least, having in some manner taken upon me the care of her Niece, go comfort and offer her my services if she have occasion for them. An honest pretext, Monsieur the Marquis, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, and we shall willingly give liberty to your love for two or three hours. Ah! Madam, said he, the question is not now of Love; and if I thought not myself obliged in civility to do so; I would not for the space of one minute leave so amiable a Company as this. What you say, replied Madam the Moulionne, is the highest point of civility; but for all that, we believe you not; and it is very Just that you go see whither they have carried your heart. For my part, said Montal waggishly, were I in the Marquess' place, I would not run the risk of going amongst those where I might be suspected to be the ravisher; and I should be afraid to be arrested.  
They dined presently after, and for all their railleries the Marquis took Horse after Dinner, and went to the place he resolved. In the mean while Mademoiselle de Barbisieux challenged the Chevaliers Prowess; which he immediately performed, addressing his discourse to her in these terms.   

NOVEL XIV.  
THE HISTORY OF The Marquis of Commorgien.  
ABout the time that I came to Paris upon the account of my fanciful Locram-Lady which was in December last, your agreeable Cousin the Marquis of Commorgien came there also, and we both lodged together at the Hostel de Genlis in Dolphinstreet. We had good Company there, and amongst others two new-married Persons, which was a thing very suitable to your Cousin's humour: The husband was a little stricken in years, the wife young and fair; the one a Block head of an ordinary Family; the other witty, and of great quality, but small Fortune; and who had only married that man because he was rich.  
After five or six day's conversation Commorgien having made a sufficient Acquaintance with the Lady, he perceived her not fully satisfied with her Destiny. Her husband by reason of a little shortness of breath lay by himself, and allowed her but ten pieces a month for play; which was very troublesome for a great Player, such as she was; And to see herself tied to an old husband, who though he had not been afflicted with shortness of breath, yet was still old, gave her good cause to be no ways satisfied. Commorgien proved it to her also by a Sonnet which he composed the day following. I have forgot it, because it was very roguish; only I remember it was an ill-made piece, in imitation of Petrarch, and which ended with these Verses, speaking of handsome women.  
Nature has gi'n 'em store of Wit,  
Beauty and Graces joined to it,  
In fine, sh' has gi'n 'em all she can,  
But only hearts to love a weak old man.  
The Chevalier looks on me as he says that, said Madam de Moulionne, interrupting him, and these Verses are addressed to me; but fear not for all that to marry old men, said she to the Maids, if you find any for your turn; I assure you, I am well satisfied with mine. Patience Madam, answered he, I do not attack you; why do you defend yourself? So much the worse for you, added he; if you love an old man, you are the first that has done so.  
Commorgien then shown the Lady the Sonnet, continued he, and that Conclusion of it made her smile; so that being a man born with a kind of pity for all afflicted Ladies that are handsome, and being persuaded by that smile, that she might be inclined to receive consolation; he displayed all his Rhetoric to give her what comfort he could. He went shares with her at all kinds of game, and especially at Beast, whereat they played every Night in the Hostel de Genlis; and that was, said he, one of those rare fetches, wherein you know Mademoiselle, your Cousin excels, to induce her to play at another Game with him. In fine, there was such a certain Charm in the Money which for some days he laid down for her, that he made her laugh more than the Sonnet: Every time their Eyes met after that, wheresoever it was; the Lady smiling a little, looked down and turned about her head, as if she feared to be observed by Commorgien; and on the other hand Commorgien lost no time to give her dumb signs of his passion. But so soon as she found that he had guessed at her meaning; she kept at a little more distance, that she might make him set a value on that which she did not intent to refuse him.  
Observe a little, said Mademoiselle Velzers in her turn, how these Gentlemen interpret the actions of poor women; and if it concerns us not to take good heed how we converse with them.  
You shall see, replied he, that Commorgien was not mistaken. The Lady then, as if she had been vexed that he flattered himself in thinking that she loved him, looked no more upon him but with a severe Aspect. He was not at all surprised at the matter. Heaven has been so kind to him, as to make him very well acquainted with people's humours. He used no other Charm to bring her to herself again, but to seem as haughty as she. She was more troubled at that, than he had been at all her affected Cruelties, and the truth of this appeared three days after; for as he met her en passant; It is very base, said she to him, for one to entertain a grudge against their Friends, and not to tell them the reason of it. Commorgien would have answered; but the fair one seeing her Husband coming at a distance, gave him no time for it. Go, continued she, that way of carriage lessens much the esteem that I had of you, and I wish you concealed nothing in your thoughts that might displease me. Afterward she went into her Chamber, and Commorgien withdrew that I might write her a short Letter, which the same Evening as they were at Table he slipped into her Pocket. These were the words of it, for I have remembered them better than the Sonnet, because the Letter seemed to me to be of a better strain.  
For a witty Lady.  
SInce it is your pleasure, Madam, that one should keep nothing in his heart which may displease you, I make haste to tell you that I am passionately in love with you. This is the thing that I keep in my heart, which I think offends you most, and which may draw upon me your hatred, if it be longer concealed. I know not, Madam, how you will receive this Declaration; but you might have very well expected it the very first day I saw you. Affect not, I beseech you, a cruelty which makes us lose the most precious thing in the World, that is Time. The unlucky gaining of the Law suit which keeps you here, will be enough perhaps to separate us, and then our esteem for one another will be fruitless. To be short, Madam, I have but three or four good words to add. My Heart, my Life, my Money, my own and Friends credit, are at your Service; and besides that, I promise you an inviolable Fidelity.  
There is Just a Baron de Granmont, said Madam de Moulionne. Yes, answered the Chevalier; but he had not to do with a wife of an old Judge, I assure you.  
This Love-note, (continued he, speaking to all the company) was free enough, as ye see: However, it gave no distaste; and by that it appears, that whatever that fair Lady is pleased to say, the best way to speed is to set roundly to work. The Lady wrote another to Commorgien, wherein she indeed told him, that he was not discreet nor modest to write to her in such terms; but she afterward subjoined, that she pardoned his folly however, and that was enough. Afterwards they found the secret of pleasing one another for some days. Happy had he been, if the Lawsuit that is mentioned in the Note, had not obliged the Husband to follow the Court to St. Germains, and if she had not been forced to go thither with him. But there was a necessity for it, and to complete his grief, that old Impertinent lodged in a Citizen's house, where Commorgien could find no accommodation; and perhaps he did so purposely, because he began to be a little Jealous: It behoved them then to find out extraordinary Stratagems, to come together in private, which Love at length suggested. The Lady talked of a Spirit that had frighted her in a Dream, whether truly or no, I know not; yet I think it was but a fetch to give her Gallant a hint of what he was to do, because she could not speak to him but in company. She thought, she said, that the Spirit came sometimes to her bed, and pulled the  off of her; sometimes lay down by her; and to be short, did all that ye may honestly imagine, fair Ladies, a Spirit is able to do in imitation of a Body. One of her Lovers who was a gallant Abbot whom she met with frequently, composed some Stanza's on that occasion, which perhaps ye will be willing to hear read. I have a Copy of them in my Pocket, and I hope the digression will not be tedious. He pretended that that Spirit was the effect of a Charm which he made use of, that he might come himself and see her in bed, and the thought is not unpleasant.  
STANZA'S.  

Ah, Madam, must the wretched slaves you please  
To fetter, ever bathe in tears their smart?  
Is there no way to purchase any ease,  
But by recourse to Charms and Magic Art?   

While your best Lovers innocent remain,  
They find no Cure to their afflicted Mind:  
They must be wicked not to Love in vain;  
Or use the Devil, or you'll ne'er be kind.   

Well, since so desperate our Fortune is,  
I cannot one of all your Servants tell  
But so esteems your Love, to gain that Bliss  
He'd damn himself, by seeking aid from Hell.   

For Proof of this, know, Conjuration brought  
An Abbot's Ghost to your Dear bed last night:  
But, Madam, let not this disturb your thought,  
'Twas I myself that was the loving Spirit.   

In your soft arms all night I panting lay,  
Full of such Pleasures as can never tyre:  
Nor did I leave your bed till break of Day;  
And that was all the Spirit did require.   

The God of Love kept with me wheresoever  
I went, and through th' Adventure showed the way  
He brought me to your Bed, and 'twas he, there  
Pulled off the  as you in slumbers lay.   

Then whispering to your fancy in a Dream,  
Cruel, said he, for whom so many groan,  
Do you these Beauties of no use esteem  
But to kill Lovers, and destroy my Throne?   

This Shape, this Mien, these Eyes so lovely bright,  
This soft clear Skin, & this luxurious Breast,  
These Treasures are not yours in strictest Right,  
But that poor Lover's who esteems 'em best.   

And now what think you of the Apparition?  
You cannot doubt whether 'twas I or no:  
Nay, you are sure it was, without suspicion,  
You know my Spirit better far than so.   

Mean time, dear Madam, if you'd shun such frights  
You must be kind and to my passion civil:  
Or be assured you'll still be scared with Sprights;  
This God of Love's resolved to play the Devil.   
How do you call the Abbot that made these Verses? said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, is it not the Abbot of Ruper? The very same, answered Montal, and Commorgien would gladly have seen him hanged, every time that he went to the Lady's Lodgings, because no body but he hindered them from speaking together about their Affairs. And was the Abbot deeply in love with her, replied She? Yourself shall be judge, answered he, for he never budged from her; and he it was that occasioned all the disorder that befell Commorgien, which I shall tell you at the end of my Story. I am glad, replied Mademoiselle the Barbisieux, that I have learned that, and I shall sound rattle that Abbot for it when I see him: Consider a little Madam, said she to Madam de Moulionne, who can one trust to for the future, since the Abbot of Ruper is not ashamed to be in love?  
The Lady, continued Montal, talked then of that Spirit, adding that she thought it came in and went out at her Chamber window, which she would have been very glad the Marquis of Commorgien had endeavoured to do himself, as she since confessed; but there was no probability that he should expose himself to enter a Chamber by windows which looked all to the Street, the House was too near the Court, whither so many went and came in the night time. He observed, that under the hang there was a necessary Closet in the wall, he thought he might do his busivess far better, if he could hire the Chamber in the next House, to which the same Wall served, and make a hole on his side into that Closet; he managed the affair and it took effect; for by good luck his Landlord, besides his own Trade would also play the Mason: by means of a little piece of money, the Landlord not only gave consent, but helped Commorgien to pierce the Wall; and the hole being made he plastered over a piece of board of the bigness of the hole with which he neatly shut the passage. The Husband had a hundred times viewed all his Wife's Chamber, and believed that the new piece was the former plaster, because the Wall was new; and no body could ever have imagined that the hole which was shut so close, could open and shut when one had a mind. You laugh, fair Ladies, said he interrupting himself, and perhaps think that I forge a story? Go on, said they, if the thing be not true, it is at least well invented; and the new Wall and Landlord Mason come in very pat. They were two very necessary points to succeed in the design.  
It was by that means, continued he, that Commorgien renewed his Commerce; and to use greater circumspection he never passed through his hole but in the disguise of a spirit, wherein some days afterward he had a lucky hit. A little Lackey whilst his Mistress was undressing, stole inter her Chamber that he might catch a nap under a Table covered with a Turkey work Carpet; he awoke not time enough to withdraw with the rest, but awaking in the Night time, and lifting up the Carpet just as Commorgien was retiring, he saw him and was frighted; next day he told what he had seen, the Lady was obliged to second him, saying, that in reality when she saw that spirit in a dream, it appeared to her in the same shape that the little Lackey said. However she would not seem to believe that the little Rogue had seen it when he was awake; for fear she should be obliged to seem timorous, and so might be advised to lie somewhere else. Her Husband nevertheless ordered her Chambermaid to lay her Bed at the foot of her Mistress' Bed to keep her from fear. In the mean while he guarded himself by frequent Prayers, in case it was to him the Spirit had any thing to recommend. On the other hand the Chambermaid was extremely fearful of Spirits, and rather than incur the danger of seeing one, chose to lose her place and be gone; but her Mistress who loved her, undeceived her, and having had many experiences of the commodiousness of her humour, imparted to her the secret, and told her, that it was a real body and no spirit that haunted her Chamber. And in this manner was that first cross accident made good again; now ye shall hear of another.  
The Husband who as I told you lay by himself, was not too well accommodated with a Chamber; for seeing people are not lodged always as they could wish, in every place where the Court is kept, when it is out of Paris, and that he had besides chosen to lodge at the House of an ordinary Citizen; he was forced to stow himself into a little room at the end of a Gallery directly opposite to his Wife's Chamber. It reigned very hard during a whole Night, and that Chamber being none of the best, the rain came in to his very Bed. Just as he was about to call a Lackey, the Chambermaid came out of her Mistress' Chamber about a necessary concern, which gave him occasion to go lie with his Wife. He gently drew the Curtains, and perceiving she was asleep, slipped down by her side without awaking her. In the mean while Commorgien was got on the other side of the Lady, fast as well as she in an amorous sleep; never were any in greater danger of being surprised in so nice a juncture. However Fortune that watched for them, gave the old man so much discretion as not to suspect any hurt at that time; it made him so blind as not to perceive that Commorgien was in the Bed; though there was nothing more easy for one that had young Eyes, than to have seen him by a little glimmering Moonshine that entered by a small opening of the Curtains at the Beds feet; Fortune so ordered it also that the Chambermaid came back again without making the least noise, went to Bed and fell asleep without disturbing any that might ask who was there. Nature had likewise the goodness to cast the honest man quickly into a sleep, that when Commorgien awoke he might be put into less confusion, and more easily disengage himself, for had it been otherways he would have been put to a strange puzzle. Where am I now, said he to himself, so soon as he found what danger he was in; and by what Witchcraft is that Man come hither? I will not promise you, Ladies, that the Spirit at that time was in no fear, that it had met with another. He slunk out of Bed however as quickly and softly as he could, and upon all hazard, past thorugh his hole into his Landlord's House: and in that manner he fortunately escaped so dangerous an adventure.  
Ah! Monsieur the Chevalier, said Madam de Moulionne, interrupting him, your Marquis of Commorgien ought not to have come off on so easy terms; if you would have made the story more plausible and regular, the Husband should have discovered all, and the Gallant put to his trumps to come off as well as he could by acting the Spirit. I perceive then Madam, replied the Chevalier de Montal, that you are still in the mind I forge a tale, but whether you believe it or not, it is downright truth, and if I do not stick to rules excuse me: I am not obliged to say that things happened otherways than they did. You are in the right, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, make an end Monsieur the Chevalier. How did the Lady behave herself? The Lady, replied Montal, came not off so well. She made account to hug and caress your Cousin when she awoke, and in that mistake spoke and acted some little pranks and frolicks, that strangely surprised her Husband; the good man was not wont to find her in so gay an humour, and to be short, her luck was good, that the old man was pleased with these Gallantries, seeing in the merry humour she was in, she did not dream of being mistaken. But this was not all, the Chambermaid perceiving it was day, and that there was some body still in Bed with her Mistress, had like to have spoiled all; for thinking it was no other but your Cousin, she came running half asleep to the head of the Bed, and jogging the Husband very rudely, Alas! cried she, alas Sir, it is fair daylight. Well, what of all that? said the Husband. The Maid finding herself in a mistake when she heard his voice, looked about her without knowing where she was, and wondering how he could come in and she not know of it, she was in a strange maze to see Commorgien changed into her Master; having nevertheless her wits about her to make amends for her fault, notwithstanding the surprise; Do you not see, said she to the old man, that the Spirit still pursues me? The matter went no farther, and what she said was taken for good coin; insomuch that that adventure gave the Marquis courage to come off again another time when he was as deeply engaged. The occasion of that offered five or six days after, when the Husband was forced to leave his Wife alone at St. Germane, whilst a necessary affair recalled him to Paris: He intended to stay eight days there, but he tarried but three: Commorgien was punctual to her in his visits these three days, and by chance the Night that her Husband returned she had prayed him to forbear his visits: and that happened very luckily for her, because of the unexpected return of her Husband, who being come back late at Night, and having gone straight up to her Chamber, found her all alone; but brave Commorgiens' luck was not so good; for seeing he believed that his Cuckold was still at Paris, he thought he might without great danger break the promise that he had made to the Lady, not to visit her that Night, the fancy took him in the head to creep through his hole; and he did it just as the Husband upon another fancy lay down by his Wife; the Moon shone still, the Curtains were half open, and as the good man lay just so as he must needs look that way where the hole was; he was, poor old man, put into a terrible fright, when he saw your Cousin put his head through the opening of the Hang. Ah! Wife, cried he all shaking, (but as softly as he could lest the Spirit should hear him) the Spirit is coming to appear to me also. The Spirit! Sir? answered she, for the good Lady suspected it was her usual guest; ah! dear Husband added she, throwing the  over his head; pray to God, and hid yourself in the Bed; when ever it appears to my Maid I take no other course but that to cure her fears; it is a strange thing that it haunts every body, and yet I never see it: but continued she embracing and covering him with the ; have you well considered what you have seen? for to tell you truly, to this present I believed that (for all the noise I heard before my Maid came to lie in my Chamber) what hath happened of late was nothing but the effect of her timorous imagination. With that she jogged the Chambermaid's Bed with her foot, that she might wake her to give a sign to Commorgien to withdraw; but he was already in the Chamber; and as the poor Husband who was almost stifled between the sheets, put out his nose to take a little air, the Spirit opened the Curtains that he might go to Bed, thinking no body but the Lady to have been there; then cried out both Husband and Wife in consort, God have mercy upon me! but with this difference however, that the one begged it that he might be delivered from the Spirit, and the other in all probability that the matter might not be discovered. She was so much afraid of that, that being provoked because contrary to his promise Commorgien came to see her that Night, and making however as if she intended to conjure the Spirit, In the name of God, cried she, making signs still that might show she was in passion, and which her Husband who was close hid under the  could not observe; go spirit and if you come from God speak, if from the Devil leave us in peace. Your illustrious Cousin, Mademoiselle, thought it convenient at that time to be of the Devil's party, and to withdraw without speaking; whereat the poor old man was much troubled; for, said he to his Wife, alas! that Soul is damned, seeing it spoke not a word. I must however, added he, get some godly people to lie here, that they may demand the reason of its apparition; but you are very stout, said he again to his Wife, that you durst put your head above the  and offer to conjure it. If you had not been with me, answered she, I should not have done it, and it is your presence that gave me that courage: she did not tell a lie, and if he had understood her aright, he would have found it true.  
In the mean while Commorgien shut his hole, and next day there was nothing to be found but a solid piece of plaster, through which nothing but a Spirit could pass; which confirmed the Husband in the resolution of appointing some body to lie in the Chamber that might exorcise the Spirit with the usual formalities; for that end he made his Lady lie in another Chamber. Commorgien had notice given him, that he might avoid falling into the snare; but he was of a quite contrary opinion; and that if he appeared no more, it would be the way perhaps to spoil all, and therefore he resolved he would, for another most important reason. The poor young Lady was six or seven Months gone with Child. She could not draw in her Husband, what care so ever she took every time that a whimsy brought him to her Bed, to be at all concerned in the getting. Commorgien and she had been for a long time in great perplexity how to conceal the mischance; and were now much more puzzled how to bring it to an issue without the Husband's knowledge. Commorgien thought that the occasion offered fair to send the troublesome Husband in Pilgrimage. He dressed himself up that he might appear before those that were to conjure him, without being discovered; he thrust his head through the hole at the same hour that the Spirit was said to appear. He told them in the language of the other World, that is to say, speaking inwardly from the pit of his stomach, that he was the Husband's elder Brother; that in his life time he had vowed a Journey to Fourviers in the City of Lions; and that he ordered his Brother, seeing he was his Heir, to departed within three days at farthest, and fulfil the vow in his stead, which was punctually obeyed by the good Brother; and he left his Wife at St. Germane, to manage the Law Suit in his absence.  
Brave indeed! said Madam de Moulionne, our Lovers are like to have a fine time of it now. Not so fine as you think, replied Montal; for the Lady lodged no longer in that House. Her Husband begged of an old Marchioness to entertain her at her House until his return; a piece of circumspection that mightily disturbed the two Lovers, and it even made the Pilgrimage useless; for the young thing had as little liberty with that Lady as in her own Husband's House, nor indeed had she so much. However there is a remedy for every thing; and I'll tell you what course the Marquis of Commorgien took to avoid two accidents which were exceedingly to be feared; the one that the Husband might return before she was brought to Bed; the other was the extreme difficulty to get her out of the clutches of that Marchioness, that he might carry her to a place where she might be delivered. He had some good Friends at Lions, and especially a Gentleman the most subtle, and one of the most agreeable humour of all that Country. You know him also, said he to Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, it is the Count de la Belovere; this man at the entreaty of Commorgien, insinuated himself dextrously into the Husband's acquaintance, so soon as he had notice given him of his arrival. And that he might be obliged to tarry at Lions till his friend had time to do his business; he for his part also raised a Spirit to haunt the Pilgrim's Inn where the good man lodged. A Son of the Innkeeper bribed as well as his Father, and informed of the intrigue, appeared to the poor Husband; but in a different shape to that wherein Commorgien appeared at St. Germane; but the mind of the old man being prepossessed, supplied that defect, and made it seem to him one and the same apparition. Next Morning the poor man asked his Landlord if that part of the House where he had lodged him, was haunted. The Landlord who with good will seconded the Gentleman the friend of Commorgien; as well to deserve his money, as because it was his interest that the good man should continue long at Commons in his House; made him answer, that never any Spirit had walked in his House, and that without doubt it was to himself, that the Spirit intended to speak. Next day the Spirit appeared again a new, though he had persuaded the Host to lie by him in his Chamber; and the Landlord having had the boldness to ask it why it came to disturb them, it told them That it was still the Soul of the deceased Brother, who required Prayers and Mass to be said for it thirty six days together in the same place of Fourviers. This was faithfully promised, and the Spirit returned no more. Afterward the Gentleman according to Commorgiens' instructions, wrote a Letter in the name of a Physician, acquainting the young Lady that her Husband was dangerously sick, and that he desired to see her because the event of his sickness was uncertain. This Letter being delivered to the big bellied Lady, gave her a pretext to leave her watchful Dragon. She took on terribly at the news, and said she would be gone with all expedition, and immediately took leave of the old Marchioness; who told her that she had too just a reason of making haste to be dissuaded from it.  
And in reality it was time for her to be gone; for she was not ten Leagues from St. Germane when she felt the pains of labour, and was brought to Bed of a lovely little Commorgien; who was presently put out to Nurse in a Village near the place. And to colour the reason why the Lady stopped by the way, it was given out, that she was fallen sick of another Disease, which passed for good coin. She returned back afterwards to S. Germane to perfect her recovery. And under pretext that there was no convenience in the House of the Marchioness, for a sick person, in regard she lived in a place too much frequented; she hired again the haunted Chamber in the Citizen's House. In fine, the usual time of lying in being over, she was perfectly cured: and the Husband who had punctually obeyed all that his Brother's Ghost had ordered him, returned also. He testified great regret to his Lady, that coming to his assistance on a false report, she had thereby exposed herself to a dangerous sickness on the way.  
In the mean while the Spirit came no more through the hole, because the Lady prayed him not to expose her again to a thousand accidents that might happen thereupon; and Commorgien promised her to do what she pleased. But a Spirit, Ladies, that has a body and is beloved of a beautiful woman, is a strange thing. What Prayer soever may be made to it, it will still be walking. Commorgien came back three or four times through his hole; there had been something forgot in the Pilgrimage, and he had a design that the Husband should begin it of new, that he might again for a short time leave him the Coast clear. But the Husband began to wonder that the Spirit was so obstinate in persecuting him, and complained of it in all places: The Abbot who made the Stanza's being mad, that he could not discover an intrigue which he too truly suspected to be managed betwixt Commorgien and his fair one, came to understand what troubled the old man: and it being no Article of his Faith that Ghosts appeared often; he prayed the old Husband to show him the place through which the Soul of his Brother appeared. He made no doubt but that it was some trick on the part of Commorgien, who lodged on the other side of that wall, and the confidence that the Lady had to lie still in that Chamber, rendered his suspicions evident. The Husband shown him then one day the fatal place; and the Stanza maker perceiving the false Window, pushed the board with great force, which opened a little and discovered the half of the Artifice; Behold, Sir, said the Abbot then to the old man, there is the hole by which you are abused, and through which may come the Souls of some of the Children that Madam your Lady may bear to you, but your Brother's Ghost never came this way. At these words the poor confused Husband was in a great consternation, but however he slighted not that good hint, and resolved to be cleared in the matter to the full: To his Wife's great misfortune who was now come to the time of receiving some chastisement for the abuse she had put upon her Husband; for that happens soon or late, Ladies, and as a good Christian I give this admonition.  
How? said Madam de Moulionne, must we have the moral of it also? It is because he has a mind to marry, added Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, that he gins to concern himself in the common interest. I believe it, for my part, said Mademoiselle Velzers laughing; but his resolution must needs be very sudden; for it is not three days ago since he was of another mind, and was himself a man that would have given those that would have harkened to him, very contrary counsel, Never mind that, answered he, for though I love these Gallantries, yet I think they deserve to be punished. It is not an hour ago since I told you, that I would not so much as keep such women's secrets. So, very well: said Madam de Moulionne. I am glad I know your humour, at least I shall not run the risk of doing you a kindness; However make an end of your tale. Ah! My Soul, Madam, replied he, it is a true History.  
After the Abbot then had put that jealousy into the Husband's head; the Ladies ill luck would so have it, that he found at his feet a Note written to her by Commorgien in these terms.  
For you.  
YOU have absolute power over Spirits Madam, and the Ghost of the deceased Monsieur de Survacques, shall walk no more, seeing you have conjured it. Nevertheless, I assure you, that it took great pleasure in your Husband's devotion, which did it much good, You are in the wrong to desire it should be put to an end. Farewell.  
That was the last Note that he wrote to her, on occasion that she had prayed him, by her Chambermaid, not to venture any more to come through the hole; and which had been carelessly pulled out as she was ordering somewhat in her Trunk. But Sir, said Madam de Moulionne, again interrupting him, you have a great sympathy with the friends of Romances, in that you know so well (like them) all the Letters that your Hero wrote. Madam, answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, you should not be surprised at that; Monsieur the Chevalier was so obliging as to compose them for my Cousin, for that is not Commorgiens' stile. I confess it, replied Montal, he prayed me to do him that favour, and I did it. In the mean time the reading of that Note did not a little contribute to the increasing of the poor Husbands puzzle, who perceived the ornament of his head insensibly appear in public. But in a word, whatever came of it, he resolved to revenge himself if he could. He made no doubt but that the Spirit would impudently return to affront those that intended to conjure it, if he made some godly people once more lie in the Chamber. Besides them he resolved to hid there two sturdy Rogues to apprehend the Gallant when he appeared. And your Cousin's luck was at that time good, Mademoiselle, that one of these Rogues was a Coachman who had been heretofore a Soldier in his Regiment. Had it not been for that, he had met with severe deal. But the Coachman knowing him, cried out, that he was a person of Quality, opposed himself to the fury of the Husband, who came with a Pistol in his hand to kill him; made way for the Spirit with thumping blows through a crowd of people that came running to the noise, and gave Commorgien time to secure himself in a Lodging: he slipped into the next House, from whence he immediately acquainted his friends with his disaster. And what did the Lady do? said Madam de Moulionne. She expected nothing but death, answered the Chevalier; and all her hopes were in those that were present at the show, who might hinder her Husband from using the utmost extremities against her. He dragged her into the Chamber where the adventure had happened; and having demanded the Key of her Trunk before all the Company, he took an Inventory of all her Letters and Notes which he read aloud; And this amongst the rest, which was but the slubbered draught of a Letter that she had written to Commorgien. If my memory fail me not, it was conceived in these very terms; for the Husband gave it me to read.  
For my Gallant.  
YOU never pleased me more than last night; for you are a real Goblin: though you had intended that I should have taken you for a man, yet you could not have prevailed; for men of this World cannot love so much. But seeing as you writ to me, you must return to Paris for two or three days: I am much afraid you may play the Spirit with some other to my prejudice. Farewell, remember as you go thither, that it is the property of Spirits to return.  
Afterward he read one of Commorgiens' Letters, which he, or (if ye had rather) I had composed in Verse. And this is it.  

I'm forced to leave you, Madam, for some days,  
Alas, I mean some years;  
For when I'm gone, my passion says,  
A year, each day appears.  
But on my Conscience never Lover went  
From her who had his heart,  
With greater fears, and less content  
Than I at present part.  
For since so many sly heart-Robbers be,  
I fear some Amorous Thief  
Should steal your Love from absent me:  
And that's my greatest grief.  
I leave your charms and graces all entire,  
Pray see they so remain:  
For I'll a strict account require,  
When I am come again.  
First for your heart; which I beseech you guard  
With more than common care;  
With that my Love you did reward,  
O, let no thief come there.  
Next for your mouth, your care should be as much,  
None there the wanton plays,  
For ravished with the pleasing touch,  
He'll charm you with its praise.  
He'll say the Luster of the Ruby's dull  
To those dear Lips, and swear  
They seem more Crimson, plump, and full,  
Than ripest Cherries are.  
That, if the pearl to match those teeth presumes,  
'Twould but a trifle prove:  
That your breath 's such, the scent perfumes  
Ones very heart with Love.  
And forty other such fine things as these  
Fantastic Lovers feign,  
With which they easy women please,  
And secret favours gain.  
But think not, you, by such Harangues as this  
Can stand obliged to be  
So kind to give one single kiss,  
Unless they're made by me.  
Next, of your beauteous eyes I seem secure▪  
For they are pitiless;  
And will both wound and kill, I'm sure,  
Whoever dares address.  
And for your nose, which merits so much praise,  
I know you have more wit,  
What ere of that a Lover says,  
Than to be led by it.  
Your hair I fear not, since yo'ave oft refused,  
The Combing to poor me,  
Another sure shall not be used  
More kind than I could be.  
But this will most afflict my absent mind,  
And never let me rest,  
Lest he who writ the Stauza's find  
A passage to your breast.  
That breast where Snow warm yet unthawed does stand;  
O, have a special care,  
That he by change of Lip and hand,  
Does make no Stanza 's there.  
And should your kill charms make any say,  
I'll die at those dear feet,  
Let those dear feet kick him away,  
And no such Death admit.  
Well, as you're left, I hope you'll so be found  
When I return to you;  
If not, I shall, or hang, or drowned,  
And so, dear Miss adieu.   
But, Sir, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, were you no more concerned in the intrigue, but only to write Letters for my Cousin? No upon my Faith! replied Montal. The good Man read also this note.  
On my life, Madam, you had reason to be much surprised last night, when in stead of me you found that you were caressing your blockish Husband. I pitied you: but however I took comfort because you had the dexterity to make him believe all that was necessary for our common safety. Farewell, Madam, I acknowledge the favours which you shown to that poor Cuck .... as if they had been done to myself.  
Sweet and short, you see Ladies. He read this likewise.  
My dear Girl, I hearty regret that you are in the place where you are. You have less liberty there than you had with your Husband; but take comfort. I have had Letters from Lions which inform me that the Ghost of his deceased Brother has appeared to him again, by the care that a Gentleman one of my friends hath taken about that matter; and that apparition will retard his return more than three weeks. So that with the assistance of some other stratagem to get you civilly out of the clutches of your Dragon; you may go and bring into the world a little Commorgien in any place you please. In the mean while I am preparing all things for your departure, and I shall stay for you privately two Leagues from hence, that I may carry you to the place that we shall choose. Farewell. Seem much afflicted to morrow when you receive the Letter you know.  
There was less Gallantry in this than in any other of the Letters; but it was this note that best declared the poor Husband's destiny. Ah! impudent Slut, cried he, casting all the Papers he had in his hands at his Wife's face; I shall be revenged for the affront you have done me. He went immediately out of doors, and left her in the greatest confusion imaginable; and for four or five hours no body could tell what was become of him. In the mean while she resolved not to stay till his return, but consulted how to put herself in security, well foreseeing, that his rage would not stop there. She prayed me to wait upon her to a Nunnery, where she stayed some days before her Husband was yet come home. He was gone to Paris: and afterwards I took my Journey for Holland, and I know not as yet how he hath revenged himself.  
Is that all? said Madam de Moulionne. Yes, Madam, answered he, and I think it is enough to prove, as I promised, that no Spirits appear now adays, unless it be to make Husbands Cuckolds. Hark ye, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux to the Company, I will not pretend to be an undaunted Wit like the Chevalier; but it is true, that the Spirits of this World play pleasant pranks, if nothing can awaken those of the other. For since the trick that hath been put upon the Precedent D'ardivilliers, by some who intended to possess his House without paying rend; it is not to be doubted but that there is a great cheat in all the Apparitions which are many times told us for true. Courage! Monsieur the Chevalier, replied Madam the Moulionne, you are now seconded by Mademoiselle de Barbisieux. She is just about to tell us another tale for the justification of yours. Ah! Madam, answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, take not this, if you please, for an invented tale. Monsieur the Precedent D'ardivilliers is still alive; and seeing your Husband and he meet often together, you may get your Husband to ask him if what I say be not true. But however that you may learn the circumstances of the story, I'll tell you what I know of it.   

NOVEL XV.  
THE HISTORY OF THE Spirit of Ardivilliers.  
ARdivilliers is a very pleasant seat in Picardy, in the Neighbourhood of Bretewil. It was haunted by a spirit, and that Master Goblin made a fearful noise there. All the night long the House appeared to be in a flame; and hideous howl were heard from thence; which happened only at certain times of the year, about All hallow tide. No body durst live there but the Farmer who had got acquaintance of the Spirit. If any one in passing came to lie there, he was fondly drubbed, and bore the marks on his skin at least six months after. If it chanced to be a buxom woman, the Spirit was satisfied to do no more but draw the Curtains, and lay its spiritual hands on what part it pleased.  
By my truth that is good, said the Chevalier; that was a witty Spirit indeed.  
Next day, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, the fair one would say, that she had felt something could steal down by her side; and she had account given her what it was. And so much for the House. The Country people about saw a great many things more; for now and then some body saw at a distance a dozen of other Spirits in the Air hover over the House. They were all of fire, ye must know, and danced a Country dance. Another saw in a Meadow I know not how many Precedents and Counsellors in red Gowns; but without doubt all likewise of fire. In such a place they sat and condemned to Death a Gentleman of that Country who had his head struck off at least a hundred years ago. Another met in the night a Gentleman the Precedents Kinsman. He was walking with the Wife of another Gentleman that lived hard by. They told the Lady's name: and observe, if you please, that the Kinsman and Lady are both still alive. They added, that she suffered him to court her, and that afterward both she and her Gallant disappeared. So that a great many others saw or at least heard of the wonders of the House of Ardivilliers. This Farce lasted above five or six years, and did the Precedent much prejudice, who was forced to let his land to the tenant at a very low rate. But at length he resolved to put a stop to these Apparitions being persuaded by many circumstances, that some body had a cunning hand in all that. About All-hallow-tide he went to his Estate, lay in the House, and made two Gentlemen of his friends stay by him in the Chamber, who were fully resolved at the first noise or Apparition, to fire their Pistols at the Spirits. The Spirits who knew all things, in all appearance knew of these preparations: and none of them appeared. They stood in awe of the Precedents Spirit which they knew was more subtle and stronger than themselves. They contented themselves only to trail Chains in a Chamber over the Precedents head, at which noise the Wife and Children of the Farmer came running to their Master's assistance. They cast themselves at his knees that they might hinder him from going up into that Chamber. Oh! my Lord, cried they, expose not yourself to the danger. What is the strength of man, against the Spirits of the other World? Monsieur de Fecaucour attempted the same thing before you, and returned with a disjointed arm. Monsieur de Vursailles also resolved to play the Bravo: and was almost smothered under bundles of Hay, and fell next day dangerously sick upon it. In fine, they alleged so many such like instances to the Precedent, that his friends would not suffer him to expose himself to what the Spirit might do in its own defence; they took the Commission upon themselves alone: and so both went up to that great and vast Chamber where the noise was made, with a Pistol in one hand, and a Candle in the other. At first they saw nothing but a thick smoke which was redoubled by some flames that by intervals ascended. They stayed a little till the smoke cleared up, and in the mean time had a confused sight of the Spirit in the middle of it. It seemed to be a great Monster making Gambols, but was presently again by another mixture of flame and smoke eclipsed from their sight; it had Horns and a long tail; and was in a word a hideous and terrible object. At that sight one of the two Gentlemen felt his courage shrink a little. There is something supernatural in this, said he to the other, come let us withdraw; but the other that was bolder stood his ground. No, no; answered he, that smoke stinks of Gunpowder, and it is nothing extraordinary. Yea the Spirit itself is but half Master of its Trade, seeing it hath not as yet blown out our Candles. With that he advanced, pursued the Ghost; chose a convenient place where to shoot, fired his Pistol and hit his mark; but was all amazed when the Spirit instead of falling, turned again and stood firm before him. Then he began himself to be a little afraid. However he took heart again, being persuaded that it could not be a Spirit. And perceiving that the Goblin durst not stay for him, and shunned to let him lay his hands upon it; he resolved to each it to see if it might be felt, or if it would melt away and vanish in his hands. The Spirit finding himself too much pressed upon, leaves the Chamber and went down a little pair of stairs in a Corner. The Gentleman follows it down, loses no sight of it, crosses over Courts and Gardens, and fetched as many compasses as the Ghost did; until that at length it came to a Barn which it found open, skipped in, and finding itself shut in, chose rather to disappear than to be taken. And so sunk down against a wall where the Gentleman thought to have stopped it; which left him in a strange confusion.  
I believed it, said Madam de Moulionne, and he had reason to be so. And is it by this you have told us, that you pretend to prove that there is cunning and cheating in apparitions? Yes, Madam, answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, and that Spirit was no other than the Precedents own tenant. I was going to say so, added Montal, and from the beginning of your story I suspected it. And for my part, replied Madam de Moulionne, I had no such thought, nor do I believe it yet. You have told us nothing which a man can do, at least if he were not a Magician. No, Madam, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, he was no Magician, and yet did all that I have told you. But, Mademoiselle, answered Madam the Moulionne, you jest; for besides that he disappeared all of a sudden, how can you persuade me that it is in the power of a man to make a House seem all on fire, if he were not a Sorcerer? He made trains of powder on the roof of the House, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, and at the times appointed for the mummery, put fire to them, which appeared at a great distance in the night time. He had also one of those Clubs which the Zany use on the stage; with that he rattled upon the tiles, which made such a clattering, as one would have said that all the roof was tumbling down in pieces. Good reasons indeed, said Madam the Moulionne! How comes it then that he also made dozen of Spirits appear in the air over the House? It was not he, Madam, answered the Chevalier, that made those appear, nor yet the Judges in red Gowns, and the Precedents Kinsman; it was the roguery of some Peasants, who took pleasure to raise that report. Is it not usual that men never speak of such like things, without adding immediately a thousand tales enough to make one sleep standing. If I may lawfully tell my thoughts on the Apparition of the Kinsman; because both he and the Lady are still alive; it might have been true that he was really seen with her, and the Spirit needed not to have borrowed their shapes. It is no impossible thing for a man of Paris who is handsome and witty, to make a fool of a Country Gentleman of Picardy. But they vanished, replied she. Well, well! continued Montal, that is because they lay down upon the grass, and so the men lost sight of them. Have I not illustrated the case very well? said he to Mademoiselle de Barbisieux. I can say nothing as to that, answered she; but it is certain, that that same knavish Farmer was the only cause of all the disorder; and to answer the great objection which Madam the Moulionne has made to me upon the Spirits sinking down against the wall when the Precedents friend thought to have catcht him; I need do no more but make an end of my story.  
The Gentleman having seen him sink down in that manner, called in some people: caused an instrument to be brought whereby he might sound into the place where the Ghost seemed to vanish; and found there was a trap door there, which shut with a bolt when one was in. He went down, and found the Goblin provided with good mattresses, whereon he fell so soft, that if he had thrown himself down headlong it would not have hurt him. He made him come forth, and there found that the charm which made the Spirit Pistol-proof; was a skin of buff fitted to all the parts of his body. The Gallant confessed all his tricks, and was quitted for paying to his Master the Arrears of five years, after the rate that the Land was let at before the Apparitions. A more vindicative and less virtuous man than the Precedent would have caused him to have been hanged. This, Madam, I assure you is true, and without doubt we should not believe all that is said of Spirits and Apparitions after such a cheat as this.  
I believe whatever you please, said Madam de Moulionne; but for all that, I shall ever be strangely afraid of them, and the very thought hath brought tears already into my eyes. I very well believe you, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, for that never fails to happen to myself who am none of the most timorous, when they speak to me of Spirits. I take myself to be a little stouter than you, Madam, said Montal, and yet I cannot resist (no more than any other) the first impressions that such idle notions give us; and it is not to be thought strange. Man has not command enough over himself to change easily a habit that he hath had from a Child, of quaking at the naming of Ghosts, and in spite of reason, the sole imagination of a terrible object is able to make the most resolute shake. Yet for all that, I should not forbear to keep my way in any darksome place whatsoever, if my business called me that way; neither should I forbear to follow any thing that might appear to me, though it were with trembling, that so I might be satisfied in the reality of what it appears. I doubt much of that last point, said Mademoiselle Velzers. And so do I, added Madam de Moulionne. This Discourse was interrupted by the coming of a Lackey, who brought a Letter to Mademoiselle de Barbisieux.  
That is a pleasant Letter, said Madam the Moulionne to her; your eyes were very merry as you read it. I confess it is, answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux; and yet it ought to grieve me; for the subject of it is neither more nor less than the death of one who is nearly related to a person whom I esteem. Ah! Mademoiselle, cried the Chevalier, I guess what the matter is: and if you will confess the truth, you wish already the party were dead. Why so? answered she very carelessly, I wish no bodies death. The manner of your answer, said Madam de Moulionne, makes me also begin to guests at some thing. If that person should die, would not you be revenged of that Bigot of whom you promised us the History? I know not, Madam, answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, if you know what Bigot I intended to speak of: however you may not be much mistaken. In fine then, said the Chevalier, the good man the Marquis of Isoura will be quickly dead! praised be God, added he, that makes way for the conclusion of our Romance; one of our Heroines will be suddenly married. He made Made-moiselle de Barbisieux blush, when he named that good old Marquis. In truth you are not so wise as you think, said she to him: you think that you are well acquainted with my affairs, and in the mean time are wholly ignorant of them. With all my ignorance, Mademoiselle, answered he, I wish the good man were in his Grave; and we had heard the History of the Bigot; for now is the time to tell it, and that Letter is come too opportunely to put you upon that discourse, for us now to lose the occasion of hearing the relation of your Adventures. I refuse not to perform what I promised, replied she: but he that brought me the Letter stays for an answer, and I beg the Companies leave to go write it. With these words she withdrew into a private Chamber, whither she carried the Lackey; and the other Ladies went down with Montal into the Garden to fetch a walk, whilst she wrote her Letter.  
When they were at the end of the Grassplot, they perceived without in an Alley, Company that were come also to walk there. Amongst others Mademoiselle Velzers knew the Marquis of Mirestain, with little Lusigny. There is a man, said she immediately to Madam de Moulionne, showing her the Marquis of Mirestain; of whom one might tell a pretty romanting story. What story? answered Montal. Let us not go their way, replied she, lest he come and hinder me from speaking of it; for it is a secret that he hath imparted to me, and prayed me not to divulge. They turned aside as she desired, to hear it, and thus she began.   

NOVEL XVI.  
THE HISTORY OF The Marquis of Mirestain, and a fair Princess.  
THat Gentleman who was somewhat of Kin to a young Sovereign Lady in our Neighbourhood, passed one day through her Territories. You see that he is handsome and well made. He made Courtship to the Princess, and was not disliked by her. The esteem she had for him became so great, that to prevent falling into some error, she was constrained to send him back into his own Country. Any other but I might have a fair occasion here to speak of the tears she shed before she could bring herself to that resolution, and of the conflict that passed between her Virtue and Love; but that I leave to some Mademoiselle de Scudery, or to the Marquis of Mirestain himself; for my part, I understand nothing of that. He returned then into France, at least as much afflicted to be separated from the Princess, as she was to part from him. They wrote to one another: fell both sick, and too much Virtue made them languish and pine away with Love. In this interval the Sovereign Prince died; and the Marquis believed his fortune might be bettered by that. The Lady imagined also that she should not any longer endure such hard sufferings, and that she might at least pursue her desires without a crime. But a Monster more terrible than Virtue came to meddle in her affairs.  
Consider a little, said Madam the Moulionne, how that Lady tells her story, and speaks of virtue in a jocose way! it seems that she really scorns it. And so she has reason to do, said the Chevalier, it is the simplest thing in the World; especially for a Maid, added he looking on her. At least replied she laughing, you never let slip an occasion to put me out of conceit with it, and I know not what I ought to think of it. Whatever you please, answered he between his teeth, and with a kind of foolish transport: I wi●h indeed for my own repose that you had less of it.  
A Monster then, more cruel than virtue, continued the fair Hollander, came to tyrannize over the Princess. Instead of consenting that the Marquis of Mirestain, should return into the Low-countrieses, she discharged him absolutely ever to think of it. She was afraid to do somewhat unbeseeming her quality, if she should take a conceit to marry him. She permitted him not so much as to write to her. The poor man languished in sorrow, but at length love inspired into him a design worthy of one of its Hero's. He understood Painting a little, and from his infancy his inclination led him to learn as much of the art as was suitable to a Gentleman of his quality. He disguised himself, provided himself with the Pictures of most of the great Lords of the Court of France; forgot not his own; went with his Commodities, to the Princess' Town; set up Shop over against her Palace, and there exposed to view all his Pictures except his own, for some reasons that he had. He was willing that the Princess should find it there by surprise, that so he might judge of her sentiments if by chance she should have the curiosity to come see his Pictures. He made a present of a piece to one of the Maids of honour belonging to the Princess, and obtained a promise from her that she would persuade her Lady to take that curiosity. The Princess came one day to his House, and desiring to see the Pictures of some of the Nobility of the French Court, he made his own appear as if it had been by chance and undesigned, whilst he was looking for others. The Princess at that surprising sight, changed colour, blushed, looked pale, and in fine fainted away; a Princess of Pharamont or Cirus could not have done more; her Attendants sought some pretext for her fainting, and brought her back to her Palace. She never opened her eyes but to weep, nor her mouth but to fetch grievous sighs. Alas! cried she, dear cause of all my grief, by what ill luck are you come to give me that pitiless idea which is the ground of all the evils I suffer; adding to that many more such like lamentations.  
If the Marquis of Mirestain heard in what strain she tells his story, said Madam the Moulionne, he would wish her dead. O! have a special care, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, not to speak a word of it to him. I tell it in his own words; and only endeavour to imitate him. That would be maliciously done, said Montal; but he will meet us, when we come to the end of this Alley, and I shall give him notice of it. Ha! replied the Hollander, you will then make him my Enemy, and I should be vexed if he came to understand that I laugh at the relation which he made to me of his adventures. Well, the Princess than never opened her lips but to lament; and shortly after sent for the Painter; for she had a mind to buy the fatal Picture. But what became of her at the sight of the Painter himself, when he had put off his disguise and fell down at her knees? This might afford matter for a great tome, yet I will not speak a word of it. The presence of the Lover at length stifled all considerations of honour and virtue; she abandoned herself wholly to her dear Marquis; with only this Proviso, to grant him nothing but what was lawful. A Conscientious Marriage did the business.  
Good God said Madam the Moulionne, interrupting her; what are these conscientious Marriages then? He! replied the Chevalier, that is a civil piece of Gallantry: But is that Good? replied she. Why, Madam, answered Montal, do you doubt of it? nothing relishes better; it is a mixture of modesty and looseness, which is altogether delicate. You jest, said she, and one cannot tell what to make of that you say; but answer me seriously. Think you that the conscientious Marriage of Madam the Countess of Vilagrand, with the Gentleman of her Horse; That of Madam the Princess of Norias, with her Neighbour; that of the Duchess of ..... I have forgot her name, with her Steward, and of a great many others: do you indeed believe them to be pleasing to God? Yes, Madam, replied he, and they would not be permitted if the matter were otherways. You name the Princess of Norias, said Mademoiselle Velzers, interrupting them; but she is not married, that is but a calumny. Mademoiselle, answered Montal, you come too late to dispute the truth of it, there is nothing more certain, nor more universally talked of. Let it be so, Sir, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, it is but a tale then universally talked of. The Princess of Norias is not married, and perhaps before it be long, you will see her falsify all these reports, by marrying a greater Prince than her former Husband; for the Stars appoint her for that. But from whence proceeds then the concern that her neighbour takes in all her affairs? said Madam de Moulionne. Have you never had any that concerned himself in yours, Madam? replied the Hollander. But besides, that one may have a concern for her by reason of her merit and wit; for she has a great deal, and can please whom she will; there is a particular reason that engages her neighbour to it. He was the friend of the late Prince; and that good old man upon his Deathbed recommended to him the interests of his Widow, and made him swear never to forsake them: this may be easily believed, if one consider on the one hand the solid support of such a man as he, and on the other hand, the affairs that the Lady might meet with. She had no Children, and several Heirs believed her the occasion of some injustice that was done them. It is a thought, said Madam the Moulionne, not easily to be put out of their heads. And nevertheless, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, there was never any more unjust; for one might rather say, that the Prince's Family would have been utterly undone, had it not been for the advantage the Princess brought to it. You are one of her friends said the Chevalier to Mademoiselle Velzers: and it may be easily perceived that you are much obliged to her. How I? answered she, not in the least; it is not for any obligation that I have to her; nor can I so much as imagine she knows all the good I speak of her; but I love to give testimony to the truth. We have made a pretty long digression, said Madam de Moulionne; and it hath hindered you to make an end of your story. What, did it not end by the marriage? replied Montal, that would be against the rules of a Romance. Not so, said the fair Hollander, a Marriage of Conscience cannot serve for a good conclusion.  
They were married then, continued she, so as I have said; and had two Children. After that, the Lady had a mind to come see her Husband's Father under the pretext of some other business that she had to do in France. When she arrived at his House, the good Man asked his Son, where they might most honourably lay the Princess. The Son answered, that she should lie with him. The Father who knew nothing of the Marriage was offended at the reply which he thought was too free; and gave the Marquis a Box on the Ear: (all these circumstances belong to the story.) The Princess to hinder him from giving him a second, told him, that his Son might lie with her, and the reason why; which filled him with a joy proportionable to the honour he received. Three or four years after the Princess died; and the Marquis of Mirestain was by her Heirs, sent back to France. His two Children were poisoned: and that is the conclusion of his adventures; let us now go meet him when you please; he has perhaps some other later story to tell us.  
Presently after they came to the end of the Alley, and entered into another, where the Marquis of Mirestain was walking with Lusigny, they joined all together and continued their walk. Gentlemen, said Mademoiselle Velzers, by what happy adventure is it that we meet you here to day? A Fool has brought us hither, answered the Marquis of Mirestain; and we accompanied him to see a Spirit, which, as he says, walks in these Alleys. Ho, ho! Gentlemen, replied she, is the rumour of that Apparition then come to your Ears? is he then to whom that Spirit hath appeared, a Courtier? Without doubt, replied he; for it is the Marquis of Kimperbel. How? is it he, said she, and was he so near us the other day? At this present, replied he, he is a little below, and very desirous that the Spirit might appear to him once more: we left him there all alone. How? said Madam de Moulionne, would he see the Spirit again? I was told that when he saw it before, he fainted away for fear. It was not for fear, Madam, answered little Lusigny, it was for joy and love; for you may please to know, the Spirit was the Ghost of his deceased Mistress. But really, Madam, said Mademoiselle Velzers, at these words; Vaux is a rare place for adventures, and I fancy that the soil of its Park has some secret virtue to produce them. They continued for some time in this discourse, and then fell to speak of other matters; and seeing Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, who had written her Letter coming at a distance, they went all to meet her; except Mademoiselle Velzers, whom Mademoiselle de Kermas, persuaded to draw aside to the place where the Marquis of Kimperbel was left, to the end, said she, that we may surprise him and put him in a fright. How? answered the Holland-Lady, can you then resolve at length to show some trick, you who can hear whole stories and never speak a word? And what would you have me say, replied the lovely Breton? is it not enough that I hear you all? and that I am pleased with your stories? With that she pressed her again to go to the place where the Marquis was; the reason is because I know him as well as you do, added she, and we shall be pleased, if we can engage him to tell the story of his deceased Mistress, who hath appeared to him. With all my heart, said Mademoiselle Velzers, but what if it come whilst we are with him? what a Fool are you! replied Kermas; are you so weak as to believe such fopperies? How! cried Mademoiselle Velzers, you are one of our undaunted wits then? Ah! really, continued she, I wonder at it no more that your grave and severe women are said to be the more dangerous, that they pretend to so little. You must needs be a good soul, since you are not afraid of Spirits. They advanced still towards the Marquis of Kimperbel. The fair Breton had on a mask, and that she might not at all be discovered, she prayed her friend not to name her, and more particularly not to engage her to speak. Her reason was, that they would obtain more satisfaction from the Marquis, if he should not know who she was. There must be some great mystery in that, replied Velzers; but it's all one, let's go on. Afterward they joined the poor Lover, whom their presence put out of a great fit of musing.  
He was sitting on a little bench by the side of the Pales, still expecting the return of the dear Ghost of a person whom he adored whilst she lived. We come to disturb your solitude, cried Maidemoiselle Velzers to him at a pretty distance. We interrupt the sweet entertainment that perhaps you enjoy here with your own thoughts; but you must pardon that indiscretion, and impute it only to the curiosity that we have to see rarities. A Lover who loves a woman even after she is dead, seems in our opinion so extraordinary a thing, that we could not forbear to come and admire you. He rose and saluted Mademoiselle Velzers, taking no more notice of the other than he thought she desired, because she had not pulled off her mask; and answering the lovely Hollander with a forced smile: I well deserve to be jeered by the fair ones for my extravagance, said he, but Madam, that fancy must have its time. Never was man or woman who at lest once in their lives have not been in love. To think we jeer you, because you are a civil Gentleman, replied Mademoiselle Velzers, is to interpret ill the reason of our coming. However, continued she, is it not to put us in fear that you have spread the report of that Apparition knowing that we were here? for to be short, we believe it not to be true. Ah! said he, Mademoiselle, I am ready to take any oath imaginable, that there can be nothing truer. I was in this same place on Thursday last, staying for my Valet de chambre, whom I had sent to a place a quarter of a League off, to learn if a friend of mine was there, before I went thither myself. And as I cast my eyes without minding any thing, into that little Arbour which you see there below; I saw the Ghost come out of the ground, stand up on its legs, and then vanish. The sight so discomposed me, that my Valet de chambre, at his return, found me almost without life or sense. He was forced to run into the House and call for help.  
We have a Gentleman with us, said Mademoiselle Velzers, not unknown to you, it is the Chevalier de Montal; I wish he heard you aver what you saw to be true; for it cannot be beat into his brains, that any such thing is possible: withal, added she, we come to take you out of this place which is too Melancholic for you. Besides I am a little too fearful to abide here any longer. You must go to another place, and must tell us the History of these fair amours which death itself cannot cool. Ah! Mademoiselle, cried he smiling as he had done before; do not engage me to that. We will never leave you till you do it, replied she, and it is but lost labour to refuse. That is a trick continued he, put upon me by Mirestain and Lusigny; they have sent you hither to jeer me at this rate. Why to jeer you? answered she. It is not jeering to pray people to tell their stories. At these words they withdrew from the Arbour, and as they walked, he said to Mademoiselle Velzers.   

NOVEL XVII.  
THE HISTORY OF THE Marquis of Kimperbel.  
THough you be of the number of my friends, you are nevertheless as severe to me as others, and to tell an indifferent person, such as you are, that one has been deeply in love, is to give a fair occasion of diversion. It's no matter, added he, it was my luck to have been so before I married Madam de Kimperbel; and though I be married, and have all the esteem and complacency for my Wife she can desire; yet still I love her memory whom I adored before I became her Husband; my heart feels still a perpetual regret for her death; and my passion is so great, that I had rather see often the Ghost that you have been told appeared to me, than the most delightful objects in the world. With these words tears came in his eyes, which in spite of the endeavours he used to repress them, were perceived by the Lady; who told him laughing, I take no notice, Sir, weep boldly. Ah! jeering Lady, answered he, you have already your hearts desire, and nothing is now wanting to your mirth, and so went on. That poor Maid was called, Mademoiselle de Kermas, of one of the most illustrious Families in Brettanie; but ruined by time and fortune. I grew acquainted with her by means of her Brothers, with whom I had contracted some kind of friendship in an Academy, where we learned our exercises. I fell all of a sudden, almost as passionately in love with her, as I continued to be for the future. And it was no wonder, for she was indeed very lovely; a brown Complexion, of a most exquisite shape: her eyes filled with a languishing sweetness beyond compare; her features delicate, her neck divine; and as witty as ever was Lady; but a little more inclining to seriousness than mirth.  
When he had so said, Mademoiselle Velzers turned to the lovely Breton, whom she had several times already joged with her elbow, as Monsieur de Kimperbel spoke. What strange adventure is this then? said she whispering her in the ear. I hear both your name and description, and it seems he designs you by his discourse; but you are still alive. Kermas made her no answer, but by jogging her likewise, that she might give her a sign not to interrupt the Marquis. These little gestures, Ladies, said he, make me suspect that ye have a design in making me relate my story; perhaps I know that masked Lady; but however I am resolved to divert you.  
I fell then extremely in love at first sight, and used all imaginable ways to make her sensible of it. I was even so happy as to persuade her not to hate me, and after a month's conflict to bring her to consent to marry me privately. Having taken our measures, we were married in presence of her two Brothers, and three or four other Considents. We lived together three months after, with all imaginable tranquillity and content; without the least cross or suspicion. I conveyed myself secretly out of doors every night by a back Gate of the Garden where the Brothers of Mademoiselle de Kermas stayed for me, guarded me to their Sister's Lodgings, and brought me back again before day; these were amiable difficulties which did no injury to our love. But our secret was at length discovered; for my Father being Governor of the Town, and it being very difficult to abscond ourselves in a place where every body knew us, and we not every body; notwithstanding all my circumspection, without doubt some body observed my night walks. It began to be whispered about that I was in love; and that I went every night to try my fortune. The rumour of this came to my Father's Ears, and he set a watch over me; yet in the beginning, more out of curiosity to learn who was his Son's Mistress, than for any other reason; he was not so nice as some Fathers are; and would have willingly allowed me a little Gallantry. However, I ordered my affairs so well, that I disappointed all his Spies. He discovered nothing by my intrigue, but that I was fit to be married since I had a Mistress; and upon that account he plied me some days after. He designed me from my Childhood for Madam de Kimperbel, and I had long expected that storm. But could not see it so ready to break out without terrible apprehensions. I trembled at the proposition my Father made to me of marrying Madam the Kimperbel. Sir, answered I, what would you have me do with a Child? she that you would give me for a Wife is but ten years of age, and I myself but fifteen or sixteen; are we at that age capable of love? You are fit to love, replied he, since you are able to reason so well about it, and besides the little de Kimarez, whom I design for you, is not only the richest match in the Country, but within a year or two will be also one of the greatest beauties in France. All that is true, Sir, answered I, but notwithstanding thereof, I know not if I can love her so much as you would. And why not? replied he; ye have been bred together from the Cradle, and have loved one another well enough hitherto. Yes, said I immediately; but the love that I had for her is changed into a fraternal kindness. In such a case conjugal love is looked upon as a kind of incest; and to change from the one to the other, though it be lawful and consonant to order, yet is almost impossible to nature.  
You laugh, said he, interrupting himself, because I tell you all, even the discourses that I had with my Father. On the contrary, said she, it is because I love to hear them; and the truth is, for a stripling of fifteen, you were very knowing. I run out insensibly, said he, and enlarge in a relation that I would willingly make short, but I cannot help it, what is passed is always present to me, and pleases me still. But however, think it was I then, or I now, that was so knowing, it is all one for the story, and indifferent to me. My Father, who, from one of my age at least, expected not to hear what I said to him, perceived very well that I had some secret counsel, and feared that my hidden loves might prove dangerous. He resolved to watch me more than ever. He pretended that he would not force me to marry my Wife; that so removeing from me all occasion of mistrust, I might be the sooner catched in what he imagined touched me closest. But he would have lost his labour, had not I some days after fallen into a violent Fever. I had overheated myself at hunting, and fell lightheaded in that Fever. In the height of my fits I called often on my dear Kermas; and that was enough to discover all to my Father. Seeing he was an ambitious man and had no Sons but myself; he was mad, and out of all patience when he came to know of my marriage: and his rage produced the most cruel effects that can be imagined; which I wave, because the story would thereby prove too long. O! Sir, that's no matter, said Mademoiselle Velzers, tell us all the circumstances, I pray you; for I assure you, I am so much concerned at what you say, that it makes me melt; and produces perhaps in the heart of the masked Lady here better sentiments for you. Whilst she was speaking so to the Marquis of Kimperbel, Kermas tugged with all her force her Companion by the Gown, for fear she might discover her; I am much obliged to her, answered he, whosoever she be; but I shall not have time enough to do what you desire; and besides the reflection on that subject would too sensibly affect me. It is enough that I tell you, that after my Father's patience had been tired out by the resistance of that poor woman, whom he urged to consent to the dissolution of her marriage, he caused her to be secretly carried away, and shut her up in a Castle surrounded by the Sea, whereof one of his friends was Governor. He had almost undone the two Gentlemen her Brothers also; and that misfortune had very near cost me my life. It behoved me though to dissemble the excess of my discontent, for fear that if my Father had lost all hopes of seeing me forget Mademoiselle de Kermas, he might have taken some course to have had her dispatched; for there was no man more violent, and he had so great authority in the Country, as might make him undertake any thing without scruple. In fine, what shall I say? I persuaded him that he had done me no great diskindness in disentangling me from her. To complete my cure, he sent me to travel a little; but I came secretly back into the Country when I was believed to be at a great distance; and found an invention to see my dear Kermas, notwithstanding my Father's Cruelty, and the vigilance of the Governor of the Castle. I got into the Castle in disguise; and had been too happy in the enjoyment of her again whom I loved, although she was a Prisoner, if it could have lasted; but the misfortune that persecuted me, at the same time inspired revenge into the Brothers of Kermas, they laid an ambush for my Father when he was at Hunting; but proving too weak, both died miserably. One of them being searched after he was dead; there was found about him a piece of a Letter written with his Sister's hand; containing these words; I have written to you several times, Brother, prevent the Father of Monsieur de Kimperbel, or we shall be infallibly undone: it was the piece of a Letter wherein she advised her Brothers to acquaint my Father themselves with our marriage before that he came to discover it by other means. She hoped that in consideration of the ancient House of Kermas, and of the solicitation of some powerful friends, that might interpose for an accommodation, he might have been brought to consent to an alliance with them. But the Letter received not that interpretation. My Father thought rather that she had incited her Brothers to kill him; and the action that they had undertaken gave no ground of thinking otherways. He came all in rage to his friend's Castle; with a resolution (seeing it was not yet known that he had caused her to be carried away) to make her a Companion to her two Brothers. The poor Prisoner had notice of it before his coming: for ill intelligence outflies the Post, and the news of her Brothers and her own misfortune came to her Ears before the Messenger arrived, whom he sent express to the Castle, to hinder her from knowing any thing that had passed, until he himself was come. Being strucken as with a clap of thunder at the news of her two Brothers death, she fell dead on the ground; and being near her time of delivery, the fall made her bring forth a Child whereof she died at the instant, without rising again. Since that time, I have run up and down, traveled and done all that I could to avoid the sight of my Father, who was the cause of all the evils I suffered. But at length, time, some points of honour, the importunity of friends, and the desires of a great Prince, made me resolve to marry Madam de Kimperbel. Time, honour, importunity, and the Prince, added he sighing; have not been able however to blot the unfortunate Kermas out of my remembrance. I have never truly enjoyed myself since; and I believe (though I should pass for ridiculous, and a fanciful Fool) that she appeared to me here two days ago, for no other end, but to acquaint me that she still loves me in the other world.  
Madam de Moulionne, and Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, who entertained themselves in another place with the Chevalier de Montal, the Marquis of Mirestain, and little Lusigny, appeared at the end of the walk just as the Marquis of Kimperbel made an end of his story: And that he might not be exposed to all the drollings of so brisk a Company, he took leave of the Hollander and Breton; and notwithstanding the endeavours of the former to detain him, and the great regret of the latter, he slipped out of the Garden, and returned all alone to Fontainbleau. Very pretty indeed! cried Montal, at a distance to the two Ladies, ye deserve to be praised, Ladies, for having ventured without us upon a man who is haunted even by the beauties of the other world. The Hollander would have been glad not to have been obliged to answer him, because impatient to question Kermas about the matters she had been hearing; but it behoved her to defer her curiosity until night, when the lovely Breton and she might according to their custom be in Bed together. She made answer then to the Chevalier: It is true, Sir, and our discourse has been only of love; but you see what a cruel part he acts, and how briskly he forsakes the people of this world. I guess at the reason of it, said little Lusigny, it is because he might not be put to answer those who are not willing to believe that Spirits walk; but Ladies, hath he told you the story of that Lady whose Ghost hath appeared to him? upon my word there is not a better intrigue than that to be found in any Romance. Yes, answered Mademoiselle Velzers, we know the whole matter; and God willing we shall know more by and by. She concluded not all she intended to say, because Mademoiselle de Kermas made signs to her to speak no more of it. But Montal who was curious, What can you know more, said he to her, since you know the whole story already? We shall know perhaps some other, answered she, of Monsieur Lusigny, or of the Marquis of Mirestain, for it cannot be but that they have met with some adventures. That was not the thing you intended to say, replied the Chevalier; but he was interrupted by Mademoiselle Barbisieux, who asked, who is the Gentleman here you call Monsieur Lusigny? That little man there, answered the Marquis of Mirestain, pointing to him. I beg your pardon, Sir, said she to him, that I have not paid you my civilities, for I had not the honour to know you but by fame. How? Ladies, know ye not that that is the only Gentleman in France who can best tell you the story of my bigot Lady? for she has been in love with him. Lusigny was strangely surprised to hear her speak of him in such terms. It will be a hard matter for you not to satisfy the curiosity of these Ladies, said the Chevalier de Montal to him, no man enjoys the honour of their conversation, but that it costs him a story, and I have told mine. But, Ladies, answered Lusigny drolling, I am not yet weary of pretending to the favours of fair Ladies, and if I revealed their secrets, I must needs renounce that. If you will not tell us the story we desire of you, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, I'll tell it myself. I know all the particulars of your affairs; and give you warning besides, that if I set to it I shall flatter no body; but even give every one their true name. I' faith, Mademoiselle, replied Lusigny, you may do what you please; but I shall never publish the favours that have been showed me. Good, good! said Madam de Moulionne, here is a new way of indiscretion and babbling; he will by no means tell his own affairs; but he will suffer others with delight to tell them, and if need be will set his hand to all that one pleases to say. If I thought, answered he, that she could speak of a real intrigue, probably I should be very earnest with that fair Lady to spare the persons concerned. But it is such news to me to hear that one hath been in love with me, that I desire quickly to be informed of the name and surname of her who hath had so much charity, and of all the circumstances of so good a fortune. The excuse is not bad, said Madam de Moulionne; but Mademoiselle de Barbisieux is not about to forbear speaking for all that. No, without doubt, said she: and this is the thing I know.   

NOVEL XVIII.  
THE HISTORY OF Monsieur de Lusigny, and Maidemoiselle de Ravennois.  
THat honest Gentleman, for all he is so little, when he was in Gascoigne, made a lusty strapping Lass fall deeply in love with him. And that I may tell my story according to the rules a la mode, I will begin with the Character of the fair one. She was red haired and deaf. This unlucky description made Lusigny blush. You do me, said he, much honour, in bestowing upon me so lovely a Mistress. Have a little patience, replied she, I shall tell her perfections by and by; but must be a faithful Historian. She was then, as I have said, red haired and deaf: nay, I might say also that she was almost dumb; for she stuttered so that she needed an hour to bring out a word. But to make amends for all, she had the finest skin in the world, and was so fair that she dazzled the eyes of beholders. She was so complete a beauty, that her eyes, nose, mouth, stature; the upper and lower part of her face, her neck and breasts, might have got her good store of money, if she would have suffered Painters to take a Copy of them. There is enough at least to comfort me, replied he laughing, and her beauties are in greater number than her deformities. She was witty besides, continued Mademoiselle de Barbisieux; her pen made a sufficient reparation for the defect of her tongue. She turned things delicately, easily, waggishly, and in a word, into what sense she pleased according as occasion served. Neither was she to be matched for copiousness of invention: to write ten love Letters to her dear Lusigny in one day; was but a play to her. Ah! goodness, said Madam the Moulionne, interrupting her, shall we not see one of them? No, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, all are burnt. That Lover there has been so good as to make a Sacrifice of them, and it may be he does not repent it. But, Mademoiselle, said Lusigny, one would think, to hear you speak at that rate, that all you say were true: how come you then to have learned so much? The Marchioness of Vierson, answered she, gave me the relation: will that satisfy you? Ah! Mademoiselle, replied he, if it be so, I yield; but the Marchioness of Vierson is unfaithful, in having published things of that nature. But you are more, said Madam de Moulionne to him, for entrusting that Marchioness with the secret. Not so, Madam, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, for she was witness to their rapture: that is then the Character of the fair Lady de Ravenois, added she; for I must not forget to name her. They made their first acquaintance at the waters of Bourbon, and continued it since at Bourdeaux, where they have seen one another. Monsieur de Lusigny hath given it out that he had much ado to persuade the Lady to love him; but that is a tale, for she declared herself first. He talked to her of Maids that had the weakness to suffer men to come in their presence again, after that they had been unfaithful to them. And when he thought himself very far from being beloved, and if I mistake not farther from being in love: Fo-fo- for my part, said she stuttering, n-n- none o-o- of these m-m-maids, and fo-fo- for instance, if-if-if you had bb- been once un-un-faithful to me, you should ne-never re-regain mmy esteem. O how malicious you are, Mademoiselle! said Lusigny at these words; and how do you pinch that poor Maid? she stuttered not half so bad. That's no matter replied she, it is true still that she told you that. Afterward love increased daily; and I shall not spend time to tell you all that passed betwixt them, before they fell to it in earnest; it is drawing late, and I can tell you somewhat that is better. Ye must only know, that as love increased, that fair one felt in her heart a violent desire to learn to make Verses. This Gentleman who has a gallant knack that way, took thereupon pretext to see her often at her House: and this commerce lasted until that her Mother began to find fault with it. You are godly and devote, Daughter, said she to her; you are an enemy to love; and would have people to think so; reconcile in the mean time, that, I pray, with the rest, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux; and in a word, continued the good Mother, you would have none of your Companions so much as look upon a man, and yet you suffer one to be alone with you in your Chamber? that's not well. And to this remonstrance the Mother having added a prohibition; she was constrained to keep her assignations elsewhere. A Seamster, the pattern of devotion to all the Neighbourhood, and who was wont to make Handkerchiefs for Mademoiselle de Ravenois, gave her the use of her House, that she might take her Lessons of Poetry there. There were two Keys made for one Chamber, and the party that came first went in and stayed for the other. I dare not tell you the policy that the fair one made use of to order matters so commodiously as to observe her times of Rendezvous without being perceived by her Servants. It is enough to tell you that her Coach stayed for her at the Gate of a Monastery, and that when she came from another place, it seemed that she always came thence from her devotion. That virtuous exercise lasted above two years; during which it is said she might have brought to light some sine pieces of her one production, if she had pleased. She hatched a very natural and gallant work; but some considerations made her look upon the piece as a thing mis-becoming a Maid, who made it a point of honour to hate all kind of gallantry. She stifled the work, and the desire she might have had to publish it, at one and the same time.  
Upon my faith, Mademoiselle, said the Hero of the story, again interrupting her, you are a very dangerous enemy, and it is not good to displease you. What do you mean by that? replied she: is it to be the enemy of any person, to relate their laudable actions? I assure you there are a great many Authors who have not so great command over themselves as to suppress their works, as she did, though they know that they are not like to bring them much reputation; but let me come to a conclusion.  
They were very punctual then during the space of two years, in keeping their assignations at the Seamsters House. Monsieur de Lusigny was satisfied with her; and no body else who might have had a mind to teach the fair one, would have been made welcome. All that she wrote now was only directed to him; but afterwards she had an itching desire to try the art of some others. A man of great quality passing that way to go to his Government; seemed to her by his looks to be a good Poet. She imagined that his quality must needs suggest to him more lofty thoughts than those of Monsieur de Lusigny, and yet I think she might have been mistaken. But to be short, she did all she could to draw in that man of quality. Love Letters flew ding dung; and though he slighted her, yet he failed not to send her an answer. It became one of those Love intrigues, which if they seize not the heart, serve at least for matter of pleasant discourse to a man when he is with his friends. Monsieur de Lusigny, who immediately smelled out the matter, became terribly jealous; for it was said, that he loved his Scholar with all his little heart. He discoursed her about the thing, made heavy complaints to her, and in progress of time fell even into a little more fury than is allowed a gallant man to use against a woman: he treated her as one of our Dukes the other day treated the fair Countess of Monsalva, I mean that they made love at fifty-cuffs. Do you say, Mademoiselle, replied Montal; that the Countess of Monsalva hath been boxed? good now! what Country have I lived in then, that I have known nothing of it? but by your favour, added he, I beg Monsieur de Lusigny's pardon, if I interrupt you; tell me that story before you conclude his. Hereupon Mademoiselle de Barbisieux made the following relation.  
My Lord Duke of ...... it is needless to name him; is the good friend of the Countess of Monsaiva, and a man of parts. She is likewise witty, and that is, as she says, the only cause of their friendship. In the mean time another Duke being pleased with the Lady's conversation, and having rendered her frequent visits; the good friend became jealous of him. He prayed her not to receive that other Duke any more. She told him, that it was difficult, yea and ill manners to cause herself be denied to a person of that quality Madam, said the first Duke, that is difficult indeed for one that loves him; but so much the worse for you if you be gulled by him; it is a Sacrifice which you must make to me. How! do you say I must? replied she; that's well indeed; you talk to me as if you were my Master. I am your Ladyship's Servant, answered he; but, Madam, if you will suffer me to tell you plainly, it is sufficient that you have permitted me to be so; to stop any other from pretending to it. At that the Lady grew hot; and treated her Gallant with highest contempt. He answered her also with slights. And she being somewhat more nettled at them than he, gave him a Box on the Ear: he returned her the like; and so both fell fairly to Cuffs.  
There is a Lesson for you, Ladies, said Madam de Moulionne, that you should never allow men any advantage over you. But it is rather one for you, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, for it was not a Maid that was so cuffed.  
The Rival, continued she, arrived during the scuffle. The first Duke being informed that he was already coming up stairs, and that the Lady, though in that condition, allowed him access; busled out like a mad man, his Hat pulled down over his brows, and swearing to do worse still than what he had done. The other Duke perceiving the Lady all in tears, and that she had thrown herself upon the Bed; Madam, said he, what do you all, and what has put you into that condition? A Colic, Sir, answered she; but it has just now left me. He guessed indeed that she was troubled with choler, for he had espied the Colic marching out by a back door. Would to God Madam, replied he smiling, my Sword might do you some service in revengeing you of that Colic, I should offer it you with all my heart. By that answer the Countess was a little vexed, to sinned that he was not fully persuaded she was sick. I pretend not here to relate to you the whole Conversation. But the second Duke whom she would not sacrifice to the first, sacrificed her to the public. He discovered the whole adventure, whereat she was not a little ashamed. And this is the story of the Countess of Monsalva.  
Will you suffer me to add somewhat to it? said Mademoiselle Velzers. What you please, answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux. I'll only tell you then, replied the Hollander, that that same second Duke is a very naughty man for having published that adventure which never happened but in his own imagination. And because he was jealous of the former, and mad to find him always with the Countess, who was too virtuous for him; he revenged himself on her by that calumny. It is true, said the Marquis of Mirestain, if one would believe all the fopperies that are said of women, there would be very few of them honest; for the most virtuous do not go free. However there is much more Gallantry than real naughtiness in France; and a Lady from whom some man brags that he hath received all kind of favours, hath never perhaps been seen by him, or at least he durst never have the confidence to look her in the face. Really, Monsieur the Marquis, replied Madam the Moulionne, we are much obliged to you for taking our part; and indeed you have reason; for I freely confess, though I be a woman, that we are a little too fond of Courtship. We love that men should render us services, languish, lament, and in a word, that they should use all the arts and ways that are necessary to obtain their ends on us; we ourselves suffer sometimes, we languish, and sigh; but all is Vanity, and I may say on my Conscience there is no reality in the thing. That is well indeed for Wives, said Montal; but as to the Maids? I say nothing as to that, added Madam the Moulionne, let them answer for themselves. We shall easily answer, said the Maids all at a time; but it is not of them that people talk most. Ah! what is that you say, cried the Chevalier? There is not one of them without an intrigue, if we may believe the scandalous Chronicle. One leaps over the Cloister Walls where she is kept at Pension, that she may go spend the night with her Gallant. He stays for her every night at a certain hour, mounted on a great Horse. He stands upon the Saddle that he may take her down from the Wall, and sets her up again before day.  
Two others beg leave of the Lady Abbess to go solicit a suit at Law. She sends along with them an old won to bear them Company. They ask the old Maid if she know the Precedents Son, thinking that she knows him not; they make her believe that he is to entertain them at a Merchant's House; that he may give them account of their business. Dinner is made ready. In comes the Precedents Son. Good morrow, say they, Marquis of Chanleux; but by ill luck it is the Marquis of Luzan, whom they adopted for the Precedents Son, and the old Nun knew him better than they.  
A great Prince entertains another, who had likewise escaped out of Convent, with a Supper and Ball. She allows him no more time but till ten of the Clock, because she expects a friend; but the Prince transgresses his hour. That friend frets and dies for cold in the Court of a Nunnery, waiting till the Prince be gone. The Maid not knowing how to be rid of him, and fearing that the other might find difficulty to get into the House if the hour was past, and that after the departure of the Prince from the Ball, a certain door might be looked; sends him the Princes own blue Coat which he had laid aside whilst he was dancing. The Coat stealing away in this manner, interrupted the dance a little; for it was very rich. The fair one takes occasion to break up the Ball, and the Prince departs, after whom the door that I have told you of was shut. The other came half a quarter of an hour after with the Coat which served him for a Pass port. He is taken for the Prince, who had forgotten to say somewhat to the young Lady; she was already in Bed, and he must needs speak with her there; but the Landladies Chamber Maid unseasonably opened the Curtains at the Beds feet.  
I have, to be short, a list, continued the Chevalier, of a thousand pretty pranks that have been played by Maids, and the coyest have their times; after all this do you think they give no occasion of talk? Men talk of them without doubt, said Lusigny, but they will give you the same answer as the Wives do, that there is no reality in their intrigues. There is a great difference between the two, replied Montal, and Wives have far less reason than they to take care. He is about to tell us fooleries again, said Mademoiselle do Barbisieux, interrupting him, if we leave not this subject. I faith, Mademoiselle, replied he, I tell not so many as you do, and considering how you took me up the other day, I thought you had been a great deal more scrupulous than you are; but thanks be to Heaven and the stories that you have told, and especially to that of Monsieur de Lusigny; I perceive at length, that the brisk and merry way of discourse does not displease you. O! that's true; said Madam the Moulionne, shall we not have an end then of that story of Monsieur de Lusigny? Pardon me, ye shall; answered Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, and I shall presently conclude it.  
Monsieur de Lusigny and she cuffed together then. The Maid so abused, out of mere spite found the Rival handsomer than him; yet they were made friends again; However from that time she made use of a great many Lessons of subtlety which she learned of her Lover, besides Poetry, to cheat himself as well as others. When the little man came to discover it, his fury grew much greater than before. He stood no more upon Ceremonies; but told all people what he knew of her, and even began with his Rival, to whom he shown her Letters: he affronted the fair one by reproaching her with the commerce that they had held together, before a Company that took her for a Saint. He dared Heaven and Earth, obliged his Rival to fight him; and in a word played the little Devil. Ah! Mademoiselle, said Monsieur Lusigny, interrupting her; what horrible impressions do you here give of me? Without doubt, Sir, said Madam de Moulionne, you are a dangerous Gallant, if you can so cruelly revenge yourself on a Maid whom you formerly loved. No, no, Madam, replied he, I must repair my honour by ending the story myself. I am not so rash-tongued as that Lady would persuade you. I concealed almost three years the innocent commerce that I entertained with Mademoselle de Ravenois, and it is not my fault but her own, if any thing of it be come to light.  
When I discovered all her infidelities, and that she abused me, anger and jealousy did indeed seize my heart. I thought that I had just right to entreat her to admit my Rival no more. I accompanied my entreaty with a little sharpness. She answered me, that she would not admit either of us any more, but was not so faithful to her promise, for she kept her new Lover daily Company, and it was I alone whom she would see no more. That way of carriage put me into a rage; and a friend of mine who pitied my condition undertook to deliver her a Letter in my name. She refused it scoffingly, as if it had been a great novelty that I should offer to write to her; which made me stark staring mad. I endeavoured however to imagine that my Messenger, to whom she was not willing to own our Commerce, was rather the cause of her refusal, than that she wholly slighted me. But my Rival came to see me after dinner, and told me, that he knew somewhat of the matter: he had probably a mind to divert himself with my disorder, that he might have occasion afterwards to laugh and make sport at it with her. That gave me ground to conclude there was an intimacy betwixt them; and was such a proof of my misfortune as quite deprived me of all reason. Next day I met him again as he was fetching a walk. He made it his business to speak to me again of that refused Letter. What in God's name, said he to me, hath put it into your head to fall in love with Mademoiselle de Ravenois, and to send her love Letters? you know that she is the most indifferent and jeering Maid in the World; and by so saying he himself put a little dry jest upon me. But for all that, answered I, what do you think if she should not always refuse them, if I did but send them by the hands of one whom she likes. And whom would you employ? replied he. Yourself, said I, if you will take the pains. How me! cried he, by no means. I should be too much afraid that seeing jealous Lovers are hasty, you might insert in it some high words, which might make me be thrown out at the Window; at least I would desire to know beforehand the contents of the Letter. O! with all my heart, said I. And with that I plucked it out of my pocket, and gave him the reading of it. At every word my Blade changed colour; and that seemed to me a small beginning of revenge. It would seem by that note, said he, that she had observed a very free and intimate way of conversation with you? What do you mean? answered I. A Lover knows not what he writes, and if he be jealous, he may fancy things that never were true. Shortly after we took our leaves; and he making no pretence but that he would go meet my unfaithful Mistress in Red hat street, where she was to spend the whole Afternoon with two of her Cousins; I followed him at some distance, and went into the House after him. There was a brisk Company met there. Good Friends follow one another, said one of them who partly knew our affairs; how is it that they come both together? He answered, that we did not come together; and that he might begin to entertain the Ladies with some thing, he pretended that he had had some small adventures in his walk. And to make him mad, I pretended something also. I am more fortunate than that Gentleman, said I, to the Company, for I found under my feet a note worth ten of the Gentleman's adventures. It is certainly the Letter of a jealous Lover, added I, and it is to my liking so pleasantly conceived, that it will not displease you to hear it read. At these words I had the satisfaction to see my Rival more and more perplexed, and at a distance to revenge myself of my unconstant Lady, in forcing her by that stratagem to learn what was in the note. She had not strength enough however to hear it out. A real or counterfeit indisposition, gave her a pretext to go out of the room before it was ended. This is all I did, Ladies; but this is not to publish a commerce that one hath had with a Mistress; for except my Rival whom I was willing to inform of all, none of the Company could ever have conjectured that it was addressed to her, if matters had gone no farther. Pardon me! said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux; you shown the Letters that you had received from her to my Lady Marchioness of Vierson. It is true, answered he; but if what I did at that time, be not the part of a Gentleman, there is none living; any other besides myself would have done as much. I understood that instead of endeavouring to use me civilly, she jested and flouted at my love. I paid a visit to that Marchioness; she laughed at my jealousy; the  Mistress had made her believe that she was so far from having any esteem for me, that she knew me not. I myself heard her say. Alas! Poor little man; what, is Monsieur de Lusigny in love with me? how vexed am I that I did not know it sooner! I heard worse than this, and yet I have two hundred Letters by me, which are not only very tender, but full of transports and amorous conceits. Good Heavens! what kind of Lover must I have been, if to make appear that I deserved no such slights, I had not showed these Letters? But I shown them not as in triumph; but was only willing that the Marchioness might not think me a Fool, without some reason of being so. I went home, I took all these irrefragable testimonies of the imprudence of my cruel Mistress, brought them to that Lady; here, said I, giving her them to read; consider, if I be well used, and if a faithless Lady treat those so well for whom she has no esteem; think then how she behaves herself towards those she loves?  
Lusigny grew hot in reflecting on his amours, so that it seemed he was still engaged in the dispute. Ah! good little Sir, said Mademoiselle de Barbisieux; you are not as yet completely cured, and even at this present, you are angry with your detestable Mistress. No, answered he, I assure you she is now very indifferent to me; or at least if at any time I think of her, it is only hearty to hate her. I make no doubt of that, replied Mademoiselle de Barbisieux laughing; there are a great many such. They had rather continually think on their unfaithful Mistresses, to hate them, than not to have the pleasure of thinking on them at all. To tell you the truth, replied he, it is no easy matter to shake off a violent passion, and I would not swear that I could see that Lady again, without some sensible agitation of mind; she has been two Months at Paris; and as I was speaking the other day to a Precedent of Parliament in his Robes, who did me the honour to hear me attentively; she passed by in the Gallery of the Palace where we were. So soon as I saw her, my words stuck in my throat, when I intended to have spoken to the best purpose. The Precedent perceiving me change colour, asked me where was my heart; and to save my reputation I was obliged to confess frankly that it was gone after that fair one to a Merchant's Shop. But, said Madam de Moulionne, interrupting him, is it possible that one can be so much in love with a deaf, stuttering, and red-haired Mistress? Madam, answered he, you must not rely on the Character that Mademoiselle de Barbisieux hath given you of her; since I have the honour to know her; with her leave I may tell you, that she has ground to be much displeased with poor Mademoiselle de Ravenois; for that same deaf, stuttering, red-haired Girl, was like to have deprived her of an Adorer. Ho! ho! said the Company to Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, you have not told us a word of that? Pardon me, answered she; did I not tell you, that a Bigot endeavoured to play me a thousand pranks; but the Lady de Ravenois might very well have made use of my Adorer, and not deprived me of him; and I excuse Monsieur de Lusigny who is still in love; that he hath compared me to her. Ah! replied he, if that offend you, I designed no comparison. Continue your story, replied she, and afterward you shall know by mine, that the grounds which I have to complain of your fair one, are not such as you imagine.  
The Marchioness of Vierson, continued he, read all the Letters with great amazement, and cried, that Mademoiselle de Ravenois was much in the wrong to have so provoked my patience, knowing that I had so strong Weapons against her. O, how deceitful are Maids now adays! added she: who is to be trusted, if such a one as she can do what I see? But seeing she was one of her friends, she prayed me however not to divulge these Letters. You must, said she, have some respect for her relations if you have none for herself; and consider, that she is a Maid of quality to whom you may do an irreparable prejudice if the matter come to be known. Madam, answered I, to make appear to that ungrateful Lady that I never deserved the usage that I have received from her; I pray you deliver her back all these Letters, the first time you see her; and I ask no other recompense, but that she would let me rest in peace, and not force me to undo her by undoing myself, if she have not a care not to reduce me to despair. The Marchioness delivered back into her hands that packet of Letters; and omitted not to tell her every thing that was useful for her reputation; but my perfidious Mistress, instead of having, as she ought to have had, some regret for treating so ill a man, who, as I think, had behaved himself very generously towards her; broke out against me without any reserve when she found me disarmed of the Letters whereby I might do her prejudice. From despising my love she came to undervalue my person. She instigated my Rival to revenge her on me for the greatest proofs that I ever gave her of my love, to wit my modest complaints. Upon refusal of that Marquis; (for notwithstanding of that disorder, he hath always honoured me with some esteem) she employed Champions of inferior quality; so that I was set upon one Evening and parted. They traitorously came back upon me; but I luckily turned, and revenged myself on one of my Enemies, whom I wounded. At the same time I left Bourdeaux, and came to Paris to fall in love with a pair of big eyes with whom I lodged. That second passion banished the first; but still I met with as little tranquillity there. The place was already taken, and I served only to render it suspected. Besides, that my nymph was somewhat more discreet and circumspect than I desired, and circumspection kills me. I had almost poisoned myself and fought once more for this Mistress; nor could I find any other secret to make me forget her, but by embracing a third Amour, who though she be a little more gentle, will nevertheless prove more troublesome than the others. Lord have mercy upon me, Ladies, for I have told you all the faults of my life.  
When he had made an end, Madam de Moulionne told him: You are not much to be blamed, Sir, if matters be so; and the Lady de Ravenois very well deserved her disgrace. Who ever heard of imprudence like to hers; to know that a man had so many instruments of revenge, and not to carry fairer with him? Though a Maid have no commerce with a man, yet should she never openly slight him, and if she do, it will certainly turn to her shame. At least, said the Marquis of Mirestain laughing, little men are never to be slighted; for they overflow with courage. I wish I had been in the place of Monsieur de Lusigny, cried Mademoiselle de Barbisieux; I should have revenged myself on the Bigot in another manner than he hath done! But, Ladies, answered Lusigny, I do not think that I have said any thing that may accuse me of revenge; on the contrary, I think I have had patience enough, yea and much more than Mademoiselle de Barbisieux, though she has met with far less abuse from her than I have done. You know not the tricks she has played me, replied that Lady. Is that so great a wrong, said the Chevalier to her drily, to borrow from you a Lover? she restored him again, and we ought not to complain, when what we have lent is restored. You are about to judge presently, if the hatred that I have to her be just or no, and with that she was going to begin another story; but she was informed that the Marquis of Riberville was returned, and the curiosity that she and the rest had, to go learn what news he had got of Clelia, made her defer it till another time.  
The Marquis was at the House of fair Clelia's Aunt, where he met with no body but the Son of the old Lady very melancholic for the loss of his Cousin. He found him a little indisposed and in Bed, and all that he could draw from him, was, that they suspected who were the Authors of that rape, and that the Lady his Mother was still at Fontainbleau, to learn better information of it. But upon his return to Vaux, he discovered much more of the matter. He saw the unfortunate Clelia in the same Coach, wherein in all probability she had been carried away. He saw the fair haired Gentleman that he had been told of, who incessantly kissed her hand whether she would or not; the fair one sat in the hinder part of the Coach, and the Gentleman in the boot. Two Ladies whom he knew not or could not know, sat in the forepart of that Coach which was open on all sides. He endeavoured to cross a little River that was between him and the Coach, that he might come up with it more speedily; but it was impossible for him to do it. It behoved him to fetch a great compass to find the Ford: in the mean time the Coach was gone a great way off; for it drove very swiftly. All that the Marquis could do was to keep in sight of it, and spur on after. And yet all his diligence was to no purpose; for when he thought that he had just overtaken it, he found it in the middle of the Sein, in a Ferry-Boat that carried it over to the other side of the River. The Ferryman would not come back to ferry over the Marquis also, so that he had that cruel displeasure of losing so fair an occasion of rendering a considerable piece of service to the poor indisposed Lady. He related this unfortunate adventure to the Company who came to meet him as far as the middle of the great Gras-plot; which occasioned long reasonings on the novelty of those accidents, that were judged every way suitable to a person who imagined herself Clelia. In the mean while the Marquis wrote to the fair Lady's Kinsman, and ordered his Servant to carry the Letter in haste, that her Aunt might be acquainted with the news, and that she might question the Ferryman whom he suspected to have been gained by the Ravisher. Night came on all of a sudden, presently after: and the Marquis of Mirestain and Lusigny, were invited to Supper and to stay there that night, that they might partake of the diversions that the Company should follow next day. The Marquis of Mirestain had business to do at Court, and was obliged to return to Fountainbleau; but promised to come back the day following, and left them little Lusigny as a pledge of his promise. Afterward they fetched a little walk, and went to Supper. They drank to the health of Clelia, and gave the Marquis of Riberville no leisure to lament the absence of that fair one. After Supper they began their conversation, insisting most on some calumnies and detractions that were commonly vented, and then all went to Bed to the great contentment of the fair Hollander, who was impatient to be alone with her friend Kermas.   
The end of the fifth Book.   

MOCK- CLELIA, OR, MADAM QVIXOTE.  
The Sixth BOOK.  
WHen the Hollander and fair Breton were in Bed; Well! said the former to her Bedfellow, will you not resolve to clear me as to that which the Marquis of Kimperbel related to us? We are by ourselves, and you may confidently discover to me that great mystery. Was it of you that he spoke? or is it of a Sister of yours, or of some other person of your name? It is of myself, answered Mademoi'selle de Kermas, it is above four years ago since he hath believed me in my Grave. But, replied Velzers, he said that you died in Childbirth: have you born a Child then? Why not? answered the Breton, you need not be surprised at that, since you have heard that I was married. Other adventures are called Romantic stories, replied the Hollander, but if ever there was any, this is one. Have you been married, with Child, dead and buried, and do you pass still for a jolly Virgin? Maids who have had mischances, should not despair, since there is so little to be seen in you. Make haste and tell me by what miracle all that hath happened, added she. At these words Mademoiselle de Kermas began in this manner to satisfy her friend's curiosity.  

NOVEL XIX.  
A CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF Maidemoiselle de Kermas, and the Marquis of Kimperbel.  
MOnsieur de Kimperbel hath related to us his story in so few words, and hath skipped so many pretty circumstances, that to give you the pleasure of hearing it entirely, I had best begin it again of new. The Gallantries that he used to please me before our marriage: the arts he contrived to get into the Castle where I was Prisoner, after his Father caused me to be carried away: his disguises and many other stratagems that he put in practice to deceive the Sentinels, and to make himself known to me when I came to my Prison Window: All these I say, my dear Velzers, might be truly called Romantic adventures, if to my sorrow they were not too true. The ambition of my Brothers was the cause that I consented to the private marriage you have heard of. I made long resistance against it, though I was passionately in love with the Marquis of Kimperbel; and it seemed that my heart foretold the troublesome consequents thereof. I likewise wrote that fatal Letter whereof the sad piece which was found about one of my Brothers, was so ill interpreted and produced so terrible effects. In a word, I omitted nothing that might divert the cruel storm that I saw ready to break upon us. But my destiny was too hard for my small prudence; our Enemies discovered to Monsieur de Kimperbel the marriage of his Son, before those who might have been able to mitigate matters, could do it. You know the rest. When I was thinking to go seek a Sanctuary at Rennes, and there to find my Brothers to whom I had already sent a deputation to defend the validity of my marriage; I was carried away, and shut up in a Castle; and to Cloak my absence, it was given out that I had retired into a Monastery: that I forsook my defence: that I consented to be unmarried, that I might become a Nun; and I was forced having a Dagger held to my breast, even to write so to my two Brothers: to send them that consent signed with my hand: to entreat them not to inquire into the place of my retirement; and in a word, to do every thing that was necessary to give my Husband's Father the Victory. My poor unfortunate Brothers were themselves like to have been utterly ruined; for the cruel man finding them obstinate to maintain my marriage whether I would or not, revived the business of an old Duel that they had been concerned in above fifteen years before: and if they had not fled for it, they had been made a public example; for the authority of their enemy prevailed to make them be sentenced to lose their heads. As to the poor Marquis of Kimperbel, God knows what grief he felt; for he tenderly loved me. However he dissembled, as he told you, his discontent. He consented to travel for some time, and returned secretly into the Country, having left several Letters with one of his friends, who sent them to his Father, being all dated from towns through which he should have passed. Fearing to be known again, he disguised himself; and not knowing how to see or speak to me; he could find no better expedient than to hire himself to a Fisherman of Morlaix, who went usually a fishing about my Prison. Can there be greater love than that? I was lodged in a tower where there was a kind of Balcony that jutted out a little into the Sea, and I had no other diversion but to walk there sometimes with a young Country Girl that was cunning and handsome, and who was given me rather for a spy than servant. The Marquis of Kimperbel well observed that place; and it was that which put him in the mind of hiring himself to the Fisherman; he hoped that I might cast mine eyes upon him and know him amongst the rest when I came to see the fishing, which was, as I have told you, my sole recreation. However he came there several times before I appeared on that Balcony; I was overwhelmed with melancholy, and being no more sensible of pleasure; for several days I had neglected to go thither for my usual divertisement, it behoved him to draw me out by some art, and this he made use of for that purpose. During our prosperity which lasted but too short a time, he was wont to sing some Verses because I was much taken with the Air; it was one of the Airs of the great ballet of Hercules in Love; you who delight in music, must certainly remember it, and it was that wherein these Verses are to be found.  

Infernal powers, to whose dark Realms below,  
Souls of departed Lovers go,  
Behold the Tears your Tyranny does move,  
No further joys are left above,  
Since you have her I love.   

Ah, severe Art! so cruelly to part  
Those two that lived with but one heart.  
For pity once dispense with fates decree,  
Take me to her, or grant that she  
May back return to me.   
He fell a singing the same Air in his Bark, yet not with the same sweetness of voice as he was accustomed to do; on the contrary, he made it as clownish and Country like as possibly he could, to avoid suspicion. But yet it was no small novelty in that Country, to hear a Fisherman sing Court Songs; and it made the Maid that waited on me very curious to go to the Balcony. That Girl took as much pleasure to see him at to hear him sing; for you may believe that notwithstanding his disguise there must needs remain something that was still agreeable in the person of such a man as he; to be short, she became so charmed that she could take no rest till she persuaded me to go out into the Balcony to hear that lovely Fisherman. At first I minded not what was in my view; but when I saw him salute us, and that through all his disguise, love told me that he must be one who ought to be dear unto me; when likewise I had called to mind the Air and words of the Song; I felt myself in so great disorder that I was like to have lost the use of all my senses. I considered that unfortunate person more narrowly; I perceived he was my Marquis, and his despicable equipage moved my heart with a more tender passion than all the pomp whereby he formerly strove to please me. He likewise perceived very well that I knew him; and we would willingly have spoken together; but he durst not. The Watch perhaps would not have suffered it, though they were accustomed to see these Fishermen who came there only by permission of the Governor of the Castle; and for my part I was not willing to trust the Maid that served me. However being persuaded that the Marquis had not in that manner disguised himself without some great design, I used my endeavours to gain the Maid and to engage her in my concerns; and I found her favourably inclined to the matter. My Amorous Fisherman had made it his business whilst he was at his work, to talk merrily with her, to make it believed that his design was only on her, who as I have said was pretty handsome, and she was smitten with him. I advised her to order her affairs so as that she might obtain him for her Husband. I promised her a Diamond which I wore on my Finger, worth three or four hundred Crowns, if that might do the business and make her happy. The Maid communicated the matter to the Lieutenant of the Castle who was her Gallant; not a Romantic Gallant; for in my very sight they had such familiarities one with another, as made me suspect they were not ceremonious when they were at greater distance from me. This Lieutenant who feared that she might shortly stand in need of a Husband to serve him for an excuse, thought the occasion fair and laid hold on it. He made the Fisherman bring fish often into the Castle, and sent him with them to my Chamber, that he might thereby have the opportunity to see the Maid at nearer distance. The Marquis of Kimperbel played his part so well, and I mine, that we found time to speak together; and he acquainted me with the design he had to make my escape. It would be to no purpose to tell you the measures that he took, for as you know they took no effect. In sine, he came daily to the Castle and it was about the time when my Brothers endeavoured that unhappy exploit; that Monsieur de Kimperbel coming to cause me to be put to death, as well as them: I fell in a swoon at the news, was delivered of a Child, and believed to be dead.  
I was in discourse with my poor Marquis in private, upon pretext of speaking to him for the Country Girl, when the Lieutenant of the Castle came to tell me of the death of my Brothers, and that the report was that I was accessary to their attempt. And as if I had been strucken with a thunderbolt, I fell immediately into the Arms of the Fisherman, who being no less afflicted than I at the sad news, wanted strength to hold me up, and let me fall rudely on the floor. I was believed to be dead with the fall, and being near my time, I brought forth a Child that lived not a minute after it was born. I leave you to guests what condition the Marquis of Kimperbel was in at the sight of so sad an accident. They say the poor man was in despair, and quickly discovered who he was, to the great wonder of those who had been the witnesses of his actions. There was no separating of him from my body which he embraced most dolefully, and made such lamentations over it as might have softened and affected the most barbarous and hard heart. How often did he detest and abominate his Father's cruelty, and only shunned his presence for fear of being tempted to revenge himself upon him for my death: to be short, he gave, as I have been told, so extraordinary proofs of love in that sad conjuncture, that it seems not at all strange to me that his passion still endures. His Father who upon his arrival was informed of the disguise and arts that he had practised to come to sight of me, felt such an excess of rage, as could only be moderated by the news of my death. He desired to see my body that he might not be imposed upon; and that accident seemed to him the more incredible the less he expected it, and that it saved him from committing a great crime. Afterwards he ordered my body to be speedily interred, without having any respect to the reason of a Physician who desired that I should be kept at least forty hours, because it is very usual with women in Childbed to fall into a kind of Lethargy, which hath all the signs of death, and yet not die. My Child and I were buried in one Coffin, and laid in a Vault of the Chapel of the Castle where some of the Governors had been interred.  
In truth, said the Hollander interrupting her, you tell me very strange things; but how comes it that the Coffin and Vault did not really kill you? You shall know that, answered Kermas.  
After my interment, Monsieur de Kimperbel the Father returned home and commanded that his Son should instantly be brought to him; but his grief had already made him departed in pursuance of the travels which he told you he made: the cruel Father could never mitigate the discontent which he had occasioned to him. He was two years before he saw him, and the poor Marquis of Kimperbel returned and married his Lady only for the reasons which you know already. For my part I lay buried until Midnight, at which time the Country Maid that served me, and the Chaplain of the Castle took a conceit, to come and lift the stone of the Vault to see if the Physician had spoken truth. They hoped for better fortune, if they could save and restore me to a man whom they had seen so fond of me. About midnight therefore they came secretly to lift that stone; and finding my Coffin placed upon the uppermost steps of the Entry of the Vault; they assisted me so seasonably that they began to find signs of life in me. I was taken out from thence, separated from my Child which was really dead, and was carried to the Chaplains House; where I had not been half an hour before I opened my eyes, and gave hopes of cure. Next day that good Priest found a way to have me carried out of the Castle unseen, and to convey me to the Cottages of some Fishers that stood upon the Sea shore. There he and that poor Country Maid took so much care of me, that at the end of six weeks I was well and up again. Both of them lent me a little money, that I might take Shipping at Breast to go to Rochel, where I was told the Marquis of Kimperbel was. The Maid would needs go along with me, and with slattering hopes we went both to Sea; but our Ship was overtaken by a violent storm which lasted two days and two nights, and we were forced upon an unknown shore. I will not trouble you with the particular relation of that adventure which you will hardly believe. In short, our Vessel split against the rock of an Island, and some others besides us being by extraordinary good fortune cast upon the sand were saved. Our fortune was still better in that we found there some Hollanders who assisted us until that providence was pleased to send thither another Vessel to carry us back into France; for the Inhabitants of that Island had none, and had been by Shipwreck thrown upon that place as well as we. You may judge of my grief when I understood that for thirty years before no Vessel had arrived there but ours, though that was for our ruin; and when I had all reason to believe that I must spend the rest of my life with these wretches. However I stayed but three years there, after which I found an occasion to come off and to return into Brettanie. But upon my return I was informed that the Marquis of Kimperbel was married to another, and that afflicted me more than all my other crosses. I fell sick upon it almost six months in the heart of the Town of Rennes itself, where no body imagined that I could be still living. From thence having made myself known to my Lady Duchess of Alimberg; I came to Paris, and she, you know, is the Author of our friendship and intimacy. It was my design to betake myself to a Nunnery for the rest of my life time, without discovering myself or adventures; and I should have prosecuted my intention at our return to Paris; but meeting this Evening with him whose presence I avoided in Brettany, I am so disordered, that I cannot tell if it had not been better for me if they had let me rest in my Grave.  
With these words she ended her relation, and Maidemoiselle Velzers perceived that she wept. Let us sleep, said she to her, and not afflict ourselves, and to morrow I'll advise you what you shall do. Alas! said Mademoiselle de Kermas, I have nothing that I can pretend to do but to throw myself into a Nunnery. Shortly after their discourse ended, or at least for reasons that I know, I must make them conclude here. If any be impatient to learn what became of Clelia; they may know that the Company were no sooner up next day, but that they understood that her ravisher was her dear Aronce, the young Marquis of ..... He was come from England to make some Compliments of condoling; Clelia's Governess was acquainted by a Footboy of her Aunts who was privy to all, that he was at Fountainbleau; he took notice of her, followed her, and was pat at the canal to rescue her out of the water. They ferried over all together, that they might go to the Countess of Pardelles; but without acquainting the young Lady's Cousin, for some certain reasons which I shall declare if I be hard put to it for another tome. Since that time Cleliae hath met with many other adventures; for besides, that the water which she drank in the Tiber, had a little cooled the choler which fed her melancholy; the Joy that she felt in finding her dear Aronce again, completed her cure, and they were married. The Ladies de Kermas, Barbisieux and Velzers, in time had their contentment also; and the Gentlemen themselves came to see a pleasant period put to their adventures.   
FINIS.