A COLLECTION Of Pleasant Modern NOVELS. Vol. II. VIZ. 

Heroine Musqueteer: Or Female Warrior, in ofur Parts.  
Incognito: Or Love and Duty Reconciled. By Mr. Congrave,  
The Pilgrim, in two Parts.    
LONDON, Printed for Jacob Tonson, at Grays-Inn-Gate, and Richard Wellington, at the Dolphin and Crown at the West-end of St. Paul's Churchyard: E. Rumbole, at the Posthouse, Covent-Garden, and J. Wild, at the Elephant, at Charing-Cross. MDCC.   

THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE Female Warrior. A TRUE HISTORY. Very delightful, and full of Pleasant Adventures in the Compaignes of 1676, and 1677.  
Translated out of French.  
LONDON, Printed by James Orme, for Richard Wellington, at the Dalphin and Crown, at the West-end of St. Paul's Churchyard. MDCC.   

THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE Female Warrior.  
BEARN, though one of the least Provinces subject to the Crown of France, may be accounted among the most considerable, for the great number of Soldiers it sends into the Armies. It hath the honour of giving Birth to the Renowned Prince, Henry the Great, and the Privileges he granted it are sufficient proof of the esteem he had for the Inhabitants. And those who now serve the King in his Wars, have made it appear they have not degenerated from the virtues of their Ancestors. Besides, as if it were not enough for this Province to produce Heroes in an Age, when all parts of France furnish such plenty of them, it hath signalised itself in giving Birth to a Heroine, who seems to have forgot the infirmities of her Sex, to assume the vigour and generosity of the Masculine, without losing the beauty and sweetness of her own, and to compose of both, the most perfect Person in the Universe.  
Her Name is Christina, Daughter to the Baron of Meyrac, one of the most eminent of the Province, though less known at Court than in his Country, where he spent all his days. He had an only Son brought up at the College of Pau, whom he designed to send timely to Paris to learn his exercises, the better to fit him for the King's service, in the Armies where he intended to provide him employment. Christina was bred at home with her Parents as their darling: she naturally had that strong inclination for Arms, she knew sooner how to discharge a Gun, than to handle a Distaff; and at nine years old could handle and use all sorts of Fire-arms with incredible dexterity. She was extremely averse from Learning to read, and to persuade her now and then to look on a Book, they were obliged to permit her to go a-hunting twice a week; but to purchase a pound of Powder she would do any thing, how difficult soever. This for a time was a divertisement to her Parents; till Christina having one day shot at Pigeons in a Barn full of Corn, it unfortunately took fire, which consumed a great part of it, though a great many hands were presently at work to quench it. At this the Baron was so offended with his Daughter, that he would not see her for many days, nor pardon her, but upon condition she would never handle a Gun. Poor Christina was very glad to be readmitted upon any terms into the favour of a Father, so severe as she knew hers to be: but that way of living being quite against her temper, a week was scarce passed, but there appeared a visible alteration in her looks. This alarmed her Mother, who tenderly loved her, and having often, but in vain, endeavoured to prevail with her Husband in favour of his Daughter, to remit a little of the rigour of his orders; she ordered a Gun to be carried to a Neighbour's, where Christina, by agreement with her Mother, sometimes resorted: And not daring to go a-Hunting, lest the Father should know it, she shot at a mark for her exercise. This restrant but heightened her passion for Hunting and Shooting, as she made sufficiently appear by the advantages she took of her Father's absence, in a Journey about that time.  
The Baron in the Vacations sent for his Son home; and Hunting being the principal Recreation of Country-Gentlemen, scarce a day past, but his Son made a match with his Friends for that sport: He never went forth, but Christina was cruelly vexed, she could not make one of the Game; and when he returned, she was not less troubled for the pleasure she fancied he had enjoyed, and she was unjustly debarred from, and seeing her Brother come every day home laden with Game that he had taken, she could not forbear tormenting herself for fear he would leave none for her.  
One day, as the Baron and his Son were a-Hunting, a Farmer came to the Castle to make his complaint of the great spoil done in his Corn by a wild Boar, and to beg assistance for killing him. The Baroness being assured the Boar never failed coming to the Corn in the Twilight, promised to take order in it, and dismissed the Countryman. Christina having overheard the discourse, said not a word to her Mother, lest she might endeavour to divert her from her design; but charged her Gun with two bullets, and as it began to be dark, went away to the place the Countryman had spoken of; and to make the surer work, got up into a Tree a little distant from the Corn, with a resolution to wait there the coming of the Boar. The same Countryman having met the Baron's Son as he returned from Hunting, told him the story, who loath to lose so fair an occasion, instantly turned back into the Field, and fearing he was come too late, stole gently  the Corn, and attended the Boar's coming near half an hour: But growing impatient of longer stay, he resolved to retire. His Sister in the Tree, not well able to discern what she imagined she saw, the Corn being high and night come on, made no doubt but it was the boar stirring up and down; and to lose no time discharged her Gun, and killed her Brother. As he fell he cried out for help, which so troubled the unfortunate Christina, that she presently fell down from the top of the Tree. The Countryman running in at the noise of the Gun, immediately met Christina tearing herself like a Woman distracted, and thought the Boar had wounded her: He asked her several questions, which she answered not, but he took her up, and helped her to walk a few steps. When she found herself in a condition to go alone, she ordered him to make all the haste in his power to let the Baron know his Son lay dying, having been dangerously wounded by the Boar; with that she made away as fast as she could possibly, not knowing whither to betake herself. Having travelled above an hour she found herself near a Castle belonging to the Abbot Dizeste, who was extremely surprised to see her so bloated with crying, and at that time of the night. But Christina, having given him as good an account of her misfortune as she could in the case she was in, the Abbot who was her fathers very near Kinsman, instantly got on Horseback, and arrived at the Castle, the very moment they brought in the Body of the poor Gentleman, who having lost much blood for want of help, died in the Arms of the Chirurgeon who first dressed him. All things in the Castle were in such a confusion, the Abbot could not learn the truth of the accident. The people would needs believe the Boar had killed the Gentleman, though they found two bullets in his body: But the Baron and his Lady, not finding Christina, made no doubt but it was her act; and though they believed she had done't by misfortune, the Baron was so transported with passion, for the loss of his Son, that he made search for his Daughter all over the Town, with his Pistol in his hand, to sacrifice her to his Wrath. The Abbot being told of it, ran after him, and having said to him all that might be expected on such an occasion, he brought him back to the Castle, where he made use of many tedious discourses to comfort him, but all to no purpose. Two Capuchins came in at the noise of the disaster; and the Abbot having left them the care of comforting of the Baron, returned home to bring Christina the news of her Brother's Death, and the danger she was in, if her Father should discover where she was; yet he assured her of his protection, and that he would never forsake her.  
Returning two days after to Meyrac, he was not a little surprised to find the Capuchins exhortations had not abated in the least the grief of the Baron, nor diminished his anger, but that he persisted in his resolution to be the death of his Daughter, and would not admit of his Wife into his presence, because she had been prevailed upon to speak to him a word or two, in favour of the unfortunate Christina. This obliged the Abbot to hold a conference with two or three Kinsmen more of the Barons, and to debate the business with them, and find out some means to save her from her Father's resentment. After long discourse, it was agreed she should be sent into Spain; and Arragon being not above nine or ten Leagues from Bearn, and the Abbot having a Brother settled at Saragosa many years, he was entreated to bear her company thither, and recommend her to his Brother, which he readly promised. Christina, troubled as she was, received with joy the result of this conference, and put herself in a posture to be gone on the morrow, according to order: but the Abbot having reflected in the night on the consequences of the intended Journey, found in it so many difficulties, that he had almost altered his resolution by morning. He foresaw the beauty of Christina would make a great noise in a strange Country, being at twelve years old far taller and handsomer than Maids of that Age ordinarily are, and especially in Spain, were the Women are generally very low: besides, he apprehended the frank humour of his Kinswoman, and the inclinations she had so different from the rest of her Sex, would hardly ever agree with the Genius of a Nation, where Women are obliged to live with a great deal of circumspection, and that it might prove very troublesome to his Brother. But the business was urgent, and he must resolve: Christina perceiving him waver, asked him the reason; he acquainted her with the difficulties he apprehended, and added, It was not decent or fit a young Maid should run rambling into a strange Country. Christina longing to get out of her Father's reach, whom she feared, and having a passionate desire to see Spain, proposed to the Abbot, that if he would give her leave, she would put on Boy's : And that she might have a plausible pretence for staying in Spain, he need no more but tell his Brother he brought him a young Kinsman to learn Spanish, and study some Months in the University of Saragosa. The Abbot at first boggled at the proposal as ridiculous and childish. But finding her persist in it, and promising she would so disguise herself they should never discover her Sex, he was persuaded by her. And having caused her to be privately put into a habit suitable to her inclinations, he thought she became it so well, that he made no more scruples, but parted the next day with her for Saragosa. Being arrived there, they were received by his Brother with incredible joy and abundance of thanks, that he would trust him with the Education of a Kinsman of so promising a mien. The Abbot returned, and Don Lorenzo his Brother, took pleasure in making provision of necessaries for his young Kinsman. Scholars in Spain wear long, lose, black Vests like the Jesuits; a Habit that served very well to make Christina look taller and handsomer, and her Hair being of a delicate-brown, and cut after the Spanish-mode, had an admirable effect upon the beholders. She no sooner appeared in the University, but she drew after her the Eyes and the Hearts of the Students. It is incredible what an advantage this was to the French Nation; for Spain being a Country inconvenient for Travellers, few Persons of Quality go thither. And they seldom have amongst them any French, unless it be some poor Labourers of the Mountains of Auvergne, Limosin, and Bigorre, who for very small wagers do all manner of Drudgery. And the Spaniards, who are naturally lazy, are willing to employ Frenchmen who serve them for money. This is the reason the People of those Countries, who seldom travel abroad, slight the French, as they do, judging of the whole Nation by those they see amongst them. This general prejudice heightened their astonishment, who admired the beauty of Christina, and called her The Handsome Frenchman. Everyone one strove to be acquainted with the Stranger; and her Reputation was in a short time so well settled at Saragosa, that those of the best Quality there ordered their Children, to get acquaintance with the young Frenchman, and to make him their Friend.  
The Marquis d'Osseyra then a Student there, went every morning to take him with him in his Coach to the University, and Don Philip de Palafox, Son to the Marquis d' Arizza, brought him back for the most part in his. He visited these two young Lords oftener than any other, especially the Marquis d' Osseyra, who took pleasure to teach him Spanish, and tell him when he spoke amiss. This Gentleman had a Sister married to the Marquis d' Aytona; who having heard an excellent Report of the handsome Frenchman, desired her Brother to bring him with him to her House, proposing to herself the pleasure to be expected from the Conversation of two young Lads of their Age. But she found it more charming, and was so satisfied with the first Visit, that she prayed her Brother to bring him often to her; being extremely delighted to see him and hear him speak. To engage him to come again, she presented him with a Sword, and her Brother with another; which they carried commonly under their Gowns, as the Scholars in Spain usually do. This Present was fatal to them both: For as they were going homewards one Evening very late, they met other Scholars who knew the Handsome Frenchman, and could not forbear (out of a Natural antipathy against the French) to give him ill-language and call him French-bougre. The Marquis d'Osseyra, thinking himself concerned in their ill-usage and incivility, and not daunted with the number of his Enemies, charged them vigorously with his Sword in his hand. The Handsome-Frenchman seconded him so well, that they two beat back five Men above thirty paces: till putting on two far, they were at last forced to give Ground, oppressed with numbers of fresh assailants. The Marquis had a slight wound on the Face; and the Handsome-Frenchman received a cut upon the Belly. Some Tradesmen getting out of their Shops, the Marquis discovered himself, and the Scholars took their a heels to avoid the punishment their insolence deserved. The wounded Persons were carried home to the Marchioness d'Osseyra's, who was so troubled at the news of her Sons being wounded, that she swooned away twice: but the Chirurgeon having convinced her it was only a Scratch, she turned all her care towards the Pretty Frenchman, who would not be searched though they preceiv'd him lose much blood: but he was obstinate, and all they could say could not prevail with him to let the Chirurgeon see his wound. The part he was wounded in troubled him more than the wound, as foreseeing it impossible to keep the secret of his Sex undiscovered among such a Crowd as waited there to see the first dressing. Being pressed, and seeing them ready to force him to give way for the Chirurgeon to search the wound, he desired to speak a word with the Marchioness in private; and told her, that for very substantial reasons she should one day be acquainted with, she had been obliged to disguise her Sex; and begged of her by all that's Good, not to discover her, and to charge the Chirurgeon not to do it. The Marchioness surprised at the news, promised what she desired: and having commanded all the rest to quit the Room but the Chirurgeon, she remained alone with him and Christina, whose wound appeared not dangerous: and the Chirurgeon undertook it should be cured in five or six days. The Marquis not able to comprehend why his Friend was so scrupulous, earnestly begged his Mother to tell him what he had said to her in private, and why she made all the Company quit the Room: She gave him an answer that satisfied him.  
In the mean time, Don Lorenzo coming in hastily, upon the news of his Kinsman being wounded, would have carried him home; but the Marchioness refusing her consent, told him, His Kinsman had been wounded in the defence of her Son, and should not go out of her House uncured. On the morrow Don Lorenzo renewed his Request to have his Kinsman home, whom he loved as tenderly as if he were his Son. The Marchioness stuck to her first Resolution; and the Chirurgeon who had the Frenchman in cure coming in, Don Lorenzo would have the satisfaction to see the condition of the Wound: but the Marchioness obstinately refusing him a sight of it, without giving him any tolerable reason, Don Lorenzo fansyed his Kinsman mortally wounded, and that to be the cause of her obstinate refusals. This made him send for two very able Surgeons, in whom he thought he might place an entire confidence. And when they were come he prayed them to see the Wound, and give him their Judgement of it. Christina more troubled with the unseasonable kindness of her Kinsman than the pains of her Wounds, was forced to impart the secret to him, as well as to the Marchioness, that she might be at ease from his importunate Care of her. Don Lorenzo could hardly believe her, and thought they but jested with him, till the Marchioness seriously affirmed it. Christina was perfectly cured in a short time, and sooner perhaps than she could have wished, imagining a Secret known to so many, could not long be kept private. She was loath to expose herself to the discretion of so many; and having retired to Don Lorenzo's, notwithstanding the resistance made by the Marchioness, she was dressed in Maid's Apparel, and so continued thenceforwards; being so ashamed of what had happened to her, that she would not stir out of her Chamber.  
The Young Marquis d'Osseyra hearing the news went to Don Lorenzo's to see his old Comrade, more out of curiosity than on any other account. The Marchioness d'Aytona longed extremely to see Christina, and take her home to her: But Christina obstinately refused to receive any Visit. And to be rid of their importunity, prayed her Kinsman to put her into a Nunnery for some time, and to give it out she was returned into France Don Lorenzo approved the design, and made a Visit to the Lady Abbess of the Ursulines, to entreat her to receive a Kinswoman of his into the number of her Pensioners. All things beieg agreed on, Christinae was privately put into the Convent of Ursulines, where she was kindly entertained, her beauty gaining her the affection of all that saw her. And when she had been there long enough to give them a taste of her Wit and good Humour, the good Nuns were singularly well-pleased with her Company; and she gained so great a Reputation among the Pensioners, that they did nothing without her advice. She spent about six Months in this Place of Refuge and Security, from the great power of Fortune; who vexed to see her so much at ease, cut her out more work, and raised her new troubles, which forced her out of her port to be tossed with fresh turmoils.  
The Prelates of Spain are very exact in visiting Religious-Houses, as well for encouragement of the Nuns who have great veneration for them, as to discharge the duty of their Pastoral-Office. The Archbishop of Saragosa going to visit the Convent of Ursulines, the Nuns having received his Benediction, treated him with a pretty merry Comedy, wherein Christina acted the part of Don Sancho Abarca King of Arragon, and did it admirably well. The Archbishop who had several times seen Christina a Student, looking on her in Man's Habit on this occasion, presently knew her; and the more easily, for that Christina being extremely handsome and of more than ordinary stature, there was scarce such another to be seen in Spain. The Comedy being ended, the good Nuns who expected great applause for performing so well, were astonished to see the Prelate's Face glow with indignation and anger: He called the Superior aside with two of the gravest Nuns; and told them, he was very much scandalised to see that in contempt of the Rules of their Order, and to the great scandal of so many Devout Souls in the Convent, they had the boldness to introduce into it a Young Man to act his part in the Comedy. The Nuns looked on one another without saying a word: The Superior more surprised than the rest, spoke for herself, and assured the Archbishop there was not a Man among the afters; and that every part of the Comedy was acted by such only as she very well knew, and had long been of the House. The Archbishop thinking himself as fully assured of the contrary, asked her who acted Don Sancho, and how song that Person had been of the House: The Superior answered, it was a French Maid, a Kinswoman of Don Lorenzo's, who recommended her very earnestly to them, and one who behaved herself very well. How credulous are you, poor Innocents', says the Archbishop, you have taken in a Wolf, and locked him up among the Sheep. The good Souls were presently nonplussed; and without farther inquiry, prayed the Prelate the Criminal might be instantly arrested, and brought to Exemplary Punishment. The Archbishop being a Person of more than ordinary discretion, was not of their mind, but represented to them the inconveniences might attend the publishing this business, which would be matter of laughter and sport to the World, and a dishonour to the Convent; adding, that without doubt the Young Man had been blindly led away with a violent Passion he had for some one of the Pensioners; that they should watch and endeavour to surprise them, and then have them Married. The Nuns received with a great deal of respect the Archbishops Counsel; and having given him thanks, promised to follow his Advice. He was no sooner gone, but the Superior called for the Sister who had the Government of the Pensioners, and having made particular and exact inquiry into Christina's Life, and which of the Pensioners she was most intimate with, she found she lived in very strict Correspondence and Amity with Zeraphine Cortes, one of the handsomest Sisters in the Convent, and a considerable Fortune: That same, without doubt, is the Wretch hath yielded up her Honour, and profaned our Convent, says the Superior; and forgetting the secrecy the Archbishop had recommended to her, immediatley she called a Convocation, and with tears in her Eyes declared to the Sisters the misfortune befallen their Convent, and desired their advice in that important Affair. Many, especially the Elder Nuns, insensible of the pleasures of Youth, were for delivering the Criminals into the hands of the Secular Justice. But it was carried by Majority of Voices, and resolved that Christina and her supposed Mistress should be locked up a part in several Cells, and fed only with Bread and Water, till the Archbishop should prevail with Don Francisco Cortes for his Pardon, and consent for Marriage. The Criminals were accordingly called to the Bar, where they received as severe Reprimands as anger could suggest. Christina who at first thought all done in Raillery, could not forbear laughing; but finding them in good earnest she stood upon her Justification, but to no purpose; for without giving her leave to speak they shut her up, and executed the Order of the Convocation with that rigour, they gave only pitiful old Pallets to lie on. Christina sent the Superior word by her Keeper, that to know her mistake, she need only have her searched; and that she would most willingly undergo any punishment if she were not as other Women. This was reported to the Superior; but the Nuns were all so prepossessed, that there was not one in the Convent would undertake searching her, for fear of meeting some Bug-bears the Nuns are terribly afraid of. Don Francisco Cortes being privately told of the business, was for having them punished as Vitiated Vestals, and buried alive. The Archbishop who was for moderate courses, sent for Don Lorenzo; and having aggravated the Enormity of the Crime he had committed in introducing his Kinsman among the Nuns in women's Apparel, without giving him time to answer, he asked him of what Quality and Fortune that Wretch was. Don Lorenzo astonished at this long Discourse, gave him an account of Christina's Adventures, and made him clearly sensible of the Error he had committed in the Judgement he made of those two Young Persons; and added, the Marchioness d'Osseyra would confirm all he told him. The Archbishop was satisfied, and went directly to the Convent to disabuse the poor Nuns, by acquainting them with all that had happened to Christina ever since she came into Spain. The Prisoners were set at Liberty, and having thanked the Archbishop, were the first that laughed and diverted themselves with their disaster. The Marchioness d'Osseyra understanding Christina was in the Convent, and not gone into France, as had been reported, went to see her, with the Marchioness D' Aytona her Daughter, who was ravished with her company. The young Marquis who was in the Country, having heard the News by Letter from his Sister, came away Post to see Christina, who appeared so Charming in her Natural Habit, that from that very moment the Friendship he had for her improved itself into Admiration and Love: Christina perceiving it by his discourse, and the disorder he appeared in, would have withdrawn, telling him, unless he would alter his Language, he should never see her more. The Marquis to keep her a little longer with him, promised all she desired, and prayed her to admit him to visit her at least thrice a week, but she gave him leave to see her only once a fortnight.  
The Nuns, the mean while, strove who should first make her Peace with Christina and her Comrade, telling them how sorry they were for their ill usage; and upon this occasion every one would needs persuade them she had voted in their favour, or at least had still a good opinion of them. But all agreed, that the Sister who was over the Choir had been the most bitter against them; and when she saw she could not prevail to have them made away, she insisted strongly, they should be made a public example. Christina had particular confidence in that Nun, and took her for her best Friend; for that the Choir and the Vestry being under her Charge, she often prayed Christina (who was very handy) to help her to wind up Ribbon, and other little offices, which she did for her with singular dexterity and neatness. This Nun was prodigiously covetous, and not liking the Wax-lights a Chandler provided for the Convent, she would needs try the making some with the help of another Nun of her humour; but her Housewifery proved so bad, and the Candles burned so dim, they could scarce see by that light in the Choir, which was excellent sport for the other Nuns, especially the Pensioners, who hated her mortally: they resolved to play her a Trick; Christina having got some Powder, with the help of her dear Friend Zeraphine Cortes, sowed two Cords together, and having rolled them up hollow, she covered them with Wax, and filled them with Powder so neatly, that no body would have thought but they were Wax-Candles: they had the dexterity to put to them little Matches, which should burn about half a quarter of an hour before the fire came at the Powder. At night when prayer time in the Choir was come, they took away the Lights that were in the Candlesticks, and put in theirs in their stead: as soon as they were lighted, they presently observed they burned dimmer than ordinary; but this was no news: yet the good Sister (who thought they were her handiwork) impatient to see them cast so dull a light, would needs mend one of them, and take off a little Wax that was melted about it. By this time the Powder took fire and went off like a Gun: the poor Nun fell flat on her back, and the rest were so amazed, they were ready to run away. One of the boldest of them running in to help the distressed Surintendant of the Choir, the other Candle fired with more noise than the former: this put the poor Nuns into a perfect Confusion; the fearful runaway, the rest stayed to help their Companions, only Christina and her Friend were pleased with the disorder, and laughed as if they would burst. The Morrow they held many Arguments about the accident; most were of opinion the Devil had a hand in it, and that the Lights were bewitched: The Nun, Surintendant of the Choir, would no longer meddle with them, and the Superior was forced to make use of her old Chandler again.  
The Marchioness d' Aytona being alone, by reason of her Husband's absence at Madrid, to attend his employments there, had long (but in vain) wished to have Christina at her House; and being obliged on the Morrow for the Country, she begged her company so earnestly, it was not in her power to refuse her. The Spanish Ladies have commonly as little divertisement in the Country as in Town, being generally shut up in their Chambers, and receive no Visits but from their near Kindred. The Marquis d' Osseyra made so good use of his privilege of Brother, that he went every day to see his Sister, though not so much to compliment her, as to have a sight of Christina, with whom he was Charmed. In one of his Visits he had the opportunity to declare his passion for her, and let her know the violence of it in the tenderest expressions, assuring her it should last while he lived. Christina interrupting him, entreated him to quit his Passion, and think no more of Love; since in the condition she was in, there was reason to believe he intended to make her his Mistress, and could not have any thoughts of Marrying a Stranger, being utterly unaquainted with her Quality and Fortune. But the Amorous Marquis having sworn several times he would Marry her when she pleased, though Christina was of all persons the least inclined to Love, to satisfy him, she told him, if he would continue in the same mind two years, that she might be convinced he had no ill design, she would allow him the liberty to hope: that in the mean time she expected it as an Evidence of his Love, to say no more of it, but rest satisfied with her Promise. The Marquis had that respect for her, that he forthwith retired for fear of displeasing her, and resolved to keep silent the Passion he had for her two years, in hopes by so signal obedience to win upon, and master the insensibility of his Mistress. The Marchioness had sent for a Fowler who had the Reputation of the best Marksman in Spain. One day in complaisance to Christina, she went out in her Coach to see the skill of the Fowler, who made five shots at Partridges flying, and killed but two: however he was admired, so few there are in Spain that shoot flying. Christina slighting the pretended skill of the Fowler, lighted out of the Coach, and taking the Marquis d'Osseyra's Gun, made ready to shoot the first Partridge that sprung: By good fortune they put up a Covey, Christina shot and killed three of them; and unconcerned at the Applause of the Spectators, new-charged her Gun, and having observed the Partridges light in two several places, she ordered two should be sprung (one from either place) and killed both with two several shots. The Marchioness and her Brother, could scarce believe what they saw: however they made her get into the Coach again, fearing so violent an Exercise might incommode her, and brought her back, in a manner, against her will.  
About this time Christina received Letters from Bearn, which brought her News of the Death of her Father, and the great desire her Mother had to see her. This obliged her to pray the Marchioness to bring her back to Saragosa to speak with her Kinsman about the present condition of her Affairs. At her return she was visited by most that knew her: Amongst the rest, her Ancient Comrades in the University pretended a right to make Love to her. Don Philip de Palefox, formerly mentioned, was one of those who appeared most concerned, to let her know they had more than ordinary kindness for her. Amidst all these pretenders, she preserved her usual indifferency. Don Philip not discouraged by the small Progress of his Amours, fancied he might better please her with a Serenade which he gave her. Christina who was not of the humour of the Spanish Ladies, who all love this kind of Entertainment, was so angry at the noise it made in the Street, where two or three Persons were abused on this occasion, that she would not see Don Philip any more, nor appear to any person, no not to the Marquis who loved her with the greatest respect. Being thus deprived of the sight of her, and not able to bear so killing a loss, he enquired and learned the cause of her anger, and resolved to demand satisfaction from Don Philip, and did it with a great deal of courage, but so little success, that he received two dangerous Wounds, and lay at the Mercy of his Rival, who taking his advantage, required him to quit all pretence to Christina, The Marquis choosing rather to lose his life than his Mistress, Don Philip disarmed, and left him. The Marchioness d' Osseyra seeing her Son in that condition, knowing Christina was the cause of the Quarrel, was extremely offended with her. The Marchioness d' Aytona, came to her, endeavouring to comfort and divert her from the violent resolutions she would have taken against Christina; but could not prevail with her to forbear sending Don Lorenzo word, that if Christina stayed longer in Spain, she would set fire on his House. Christina who was preparing for her return, hastened her Journey for Bearn; and coming home, was received by her Mother with a great deal of joy, as far as the different Passions of Joy for sight of her beloved Daughter, and sorrow for her Son, would allow her.  
All the Persons of Quality in that Country complemented her at her return, and several thought her so Amiable, that in less than a Month she had many very advantageous Proposals of Marriage: Her Mother had partly made a Promise of her to a Gentleman, one of the most considerable in those parts. But Christina who loved her liberty, whether she had a secret inclination for the Marquis, or a natural aversion from Marriage, declared she would not put herself under a Master; and since she was now in a Country where those of her Sex are no Slaves, she would enjoy her privilege. The most concerned, thought to overcome her with diligence of attendance, and would not be discouraged, till they found she was indifferent for all, and made no account of their services. In the mean time, the Marquis d'Osseyra being cured of his Wounds, and hearing his Mistress was gone, was very much afflicted with the News, and would have followed her into France, but for fear of displeasing her. He ordered one of his Family to pass the Pyrenees, and carry a Letter (he gave him) to Christina, which probably was full of tender and passionate Expressions: (I wish it in my power to have pleasured you with the Copy.) But the Marchioness, his Mother, having discovered the Intrigue, caused her Sons Confident to be stayed by the way, and the Letter to be burnt; and obliged him with fearful threats to tell her Son, his Mistress was Married, and had sacrificed his Letter to her Husband, who having read it, threw it in the fire. The passionate Marquis was so vexed at the News, it almost cost him his life: At last, at the persuasion of his Friends, he went to Madrid, where Ambition quickly justled out Love, as usually happens to the misfortune of Ladies. Don Philip was better served, for having sent a trusty Messenger to Bearn, to know whether the News he had heard of the Marriage were true, he was informed she was not Married; and that she went very often a-Hunting, as the greatest pleasure she took. This made him think of stealing her; and the rather, because he was of Opinion there was no winning of her by fair means: A Man of that Country, whom he gained by his Liberality, offered to be his Guide, and represented the matter so easy, that Don Philip resolved to put his design in Execution. Accompanied with this Man, and two others well mounted, he passed the Mountains, and the third day in the Evening came to a Village near Mayence; and that less notice might be taken of his Arrival, he sent the two Persons who bore him company to lodge in another Inn: the Morrow betimes his Guide was in the Field, and brought him news that Christina would not stir abroad that day; and that the next day she was to visit a Kinsman, within a League of her House. Don Philip having informed himself of the way she was to take, and knowing pretty near what time she would set out, gave his Men order to advance softly, and keep the Road: a moment after he followed with his Guide, having taken his Measures so right, that he arrived precisely as Christina was passing by, attended only with a Footboy. As soon as Don Philip saw her, he was so troubled and assaulted at once with Passions of so different Natures, that he was upon the point of altering his Resolution, and begging her pardon for the rashness of his Attempt. The suddenness of the accident had a suitable effect on Christina, who presently suspected his design; and he as quickly put her out of doubt, when he told her as she was returning back, upon pretence to receive him at her House, that he was come to take her back into Spain, where he could not live without her; assuring her, he would Marry her as soon as they got thither. Christina by a readiness of Wit, natural to many of her Sex, concealing her surprise, looked smiling upon him, and told him she was very sensible of the greatness of his Passion for her, and was ready to go back with him to Spain, to receive the Honour (he was pleased to promise) of being Married to him; only she prayed him to allow her so much time as was requisite for executing a Design of that Nature with decency. Don Philip credulous as true Lovers are, was Charmed at the good Fortune, to see himself not obliged to use force, but hoped he might enjoy her without offering any violence: He flattered himself she loved him; and quitting a design Despair had engaged him in, he willingly embraced all Expedients she proposed. They went to Meyrac, where Christina ravished with joy for having escaped so great danger, made as if she were extremely concerned to have him well entertained; and under that pretence, dispatched two or three of her Servants, to pray three or four Neighbours to come in all haste to Meyrac. They all came in the Evening, and were much surprised at the strangeness of the Adventure; and animated by an indiscreet Zeal, and the anger of the Mother, agreed upon resolutions very violent, and contrary to the Laws of Hospitality. But Christina being of the humour of most Women, who seldom hate those that love them, though they love not again, and weary already with the noise she had made in the world, could not be induced to consent to a cruel Revenge of a design undertaken for love of her, but was content to go into Don Philip's Chamber, attended with some Gentlemen of the Neighbourhood, and tell him she had no small respect for his Person, but could not yet resolve to Marry. With that she retired, to avoid hearing the reproaches of a Lover, who after she was gone, could not forbear complaining of her; and those who accompanied her thither, told him harshly enough he must be gone. He returned in a desperate mood into the Inn where he had left his People, made them get hastily on Horseback, and road all Night, detesting his Passion no less than his Credulity. Not long after he addressed himself, to the Duke de S. , Viceroy of Catal●nia, for employment, perhaps to have the better opportunity to take revenge on the French for the ill usage he conceived he had received from Christina, who had her share of the trouble occasioned by this Adventure by the fright the Spaniard put her in, and the importunity of Suitors, whose Passion was awakened by the accident, and put them upon new and pressing Addresses to her. Her Mother and Relations made use of it, to persuade her to Marry Marmon, a Gentleman of great Merit, who had long endeavoured to gain her, and had his Estate conveniently seated near hers. This business was believed of so much advantage to both, and the Relations on either side desired it so earnestly, that Articles of Marriage were drawn upon the assurance the Barroness gave to prevail with her Daughter to consent: But Marmon being informed how much they pressed her, went to see her, and having complained of her indifference, assured her, he was ready to set her at liberty from any Engagement she might be conceived under to him, and would endeavour to merit her by such services as he thought most acceptable to her. Christina who had not before vouchsafed him an answer, observing his sentiments so full of respect, declared to him she had no aversion against his Person, though a strong one against Marriage, and was resolved to prefer her liberty before all other advantages; but if it should be her fortune one day to lose it, she should be glad to sacrifice it to a person who appeared so reasonable. He was satisfied with her answer, and prayed his Relations to speak no more of the business, but give him time to win her by his services. He waited on her thenceforward with a great deal of diligence, but with so much discretion (not speaking a word of Love) that she received all his Visits with much satisfaction, and had a real Esteem (though no Love) for him.  
One Afternoon she had been abroad with Marmon a-shooting Quails with a Cross-bow without a Gun; a great Mastiff set upon her Setting-Dog: she presently ran in to force the Mastiff to let go his hold, which he too quickly did upon the first blow she gave him, and flying at her, bitten her in the right Arm. Marmon, who was hard by, pursued the Mastiff; and having overtaken him, presently dispatched him, though not without being bitten by him. He had scarce laid him dead, but he spied two or three Countrymen coming with Guns in pursuit of the Mastiff, who told him it was a Mad Dog, and had already bit three or four. Christina was so frighted at the News, she was ready to sink; and getting hastily home, sent for an able Physician of the Neighbourhood, who according to the Custom of those of the Profession, made slight of the matter, and undertook to cure her in few days, and ordered her several Remedies for the purpose. Marmon was so transported, they doubted he would run Mad; for a long time he obstinately refused to take any thing, imagining if he could 〈◊〉 ●●●self from Love, he had no reason to fear Madness, being resolved to follow the Fate of his Mistress. Christina being told of it, conjured him to use the same Remedies that she did; assuring him she was much concerned for his health.  
Some days after their hurts, there was a report, that a Woman bit by the same Dog was run Mad, and that they were forced to smother her. They would have concealed this News from them; but Christina's Mother having heard it, was so alarmed that in spite of the Physicians and their Medicines, she resolved to take her Daughter to Bayonne, to dip her in the Sea, as a Sovereign Remedy in the case. Marmon would make one of the Company, more for the pleasure of attending his Mistress, than for the Cure. The morrow after their arrival the Ladies were visited by most of the Persons of Quality in the Town. The Viscount Ronceval, then at Bayonne, was one of the first to pay them his Civilities: He was of a good Family, of a haughty humour, and Mein, and had a considerable Estate in the Country of Besque: But he had the intoletable vanity to think he did a Lady Honour, if he took the pains to come near her. The first time he saw Christina, thought her so Amiable, he resolved to see her often; the second Visit amused him, and filled him full of Amorous Inclinations: and having been a whole Week without seeing her, being in a Course of Physic, his Fancy had the opportunity to represent her to his thoughts to the utmost advantage. The third Visit he made her, he went with a resolution to declare his Love, but did not, having not been able to find her alone; but he returned home up to the Ears in Love, which may be reckoned among the Triumphs of Cupid. The morrow he desired to speak with her before eight in the Morning, but was put off till the Afternoon. The Ladies had scarce dined but he came in, and happily finding Christina in her Chamber alone, he began with telling her he had brought her the best News she ever heard. This Lady, who took singular delight to hear News, and was passionately concerned for the Progress of the Victorious Arms of France, fancied she should hear from him of some Victory in the Field, or the taking of Cambray, or Valenciennes, and was upon that account very earnest to know the News. The Viscount having a more than ordinary Confidence, and a Stranger to the fears incident to most Lovers when they are to declare their Passion to their Mistresses, never stuck to tell her, that a Person of great Merit and Birth, and as great a Fortune, admired her and was resolved to marry her. Christina who little expected such a Compliment, answered, that how little soever he was concerned for that Person, he would do well to advise him to think no more of that business, it being more than probable that for all his great Quality and Fortune, he should but lose his time in Courting her. The Viscount was not discouraged at this Answer, but thinking she had not well understood him, told her, she would not be so indifferent, did she but know the Gentleman's Name. It madded him the while to see her so incurious, and not inquisitive who it was, and himself deprived of the occasion he expected to have from her question, to answer, it was he: Were it you replies Christina coldly, I had no more to say to you than what you have heard: 'Tis not Possible, says the Viscount, you should be so much your own Enemy, to refuse such a settlement as I propose to you: I have that excess of kindness for you, I will give you time to think on't, and doubt not but you will alter your mind when you have considered the advantages of the offer I make you. At this another coming in, he withdrew, and came two days after to know if she had tho' of the proposal he had made her: 'Twas to no purpose to think of it, answered she, having nothing to add to what I said to you at first. She spoke these words so unconcerned, and with so much scorn, that the presumptuous Viscount, not able to endure it, took his leave, and went away, telling her, since she made so ill use of his kindness, he could alter his humour. Christina to be rid of his extravagant importunities, gave order they should answer him at the door if he came again, that she was not well, and in few days returned with her Mother to Bearn. Every body at Bayonne admired her, and spoke well of her when gone; only the Viscount Ronceval haughtily published, she was in Love with him, and added many ridiculous Circumstances to make the story more probable. Christina heard of it, and was touched to the quick, though 'twas told her for her comfort, the Viscount usually took that liberty, and that his Acquaintance made very little account of it: But this would not satisfy her; she was ready to take Horse for Bayonne to punish his insolence, wanting neither courage nor dexterity to have satisfaction from him; nothing but the fear of giving occasion for new discourse held her back. Marmon having had some confused account of it, resented it with all the indignation of a passionate Lover: To be clearer informed, he goes to his Mistress, and finding her much out of humour, asked her the reason. You are the only Man in the Province (says she very seriously) that is ignorant of it. 'Tis somewhat extraordinary, a man who hath declared a Passion for me, should be the last that knows I have been abused Marmon who wanted not the most delicate sentiments of a man of Honour, made her a profound Reverence, and retired: Two hours after he got on Horseback, and took the Road for Bayonne, where he was told at his arrival, the Viscount was gone to one of his Seats in the Country a-Hunting. He resolved to follow him, and found him just as he was going from home to a Gentleman his Neighbour to dine with him. The first Compliments past, he let the Viscount know he had business of consequence to communicate to him, and that it would be convenient they might be private. Ronceval ordered his Servants to go before, and ●ell his Friends, that he brought with him a Gentleman of Bearn who would be glad of being known to him. Ronceval and Marmon road gently after, discoursing together. When the Servants were got out out of sight, Marmon told him he was come to demand satisfaction of him for what he had said to the disadvantage of the most Charming Person on Earth. This surprised the Viscount, who would have turned all ●nto Raillery; but being pressed to take his Pistol in hand, he answered briskly, and fought with courage enough: But whether Marmon were really the braver man, or that Love made him the more dextrous, he shot him dead upon the place, and made away to a Friend's House upon the Mountains, where he hide himself many days to save himself from the pursuit of those who would have ruined him, by making this pass for a Duel. Christina expressed herself sorry for the News, but could hardly be troubled at heart, which was so bitterly enraged against Ronceval: the only means to appease it, was to make him a Victim. The heat of the first pursuits being over, Marmon longing impatiently to see his Mistress, stole away privately to Meyrac, where he was received with all the marks of esteem and acknowledgement he could expect from Christina; who seeing him in trouble for a Pardon from the King, told him, it became not a man of Honour to desire it, without having deserved it: And since his Majesty commanded the Armies in Person, it would be an easy matter for him to make himself known to that great Prince by some signal service, which might assure him of pardon for a reward, and was the only way to gain her Heart. He was ravished to find her sentiments so different from the weakness of her Sex, and taking his leave, promised never to return till he had made it appear, he was not altogether unworthy the concern she expressed for his reputation. He ordered his affairs at home with all possible expedition, and came to Paris a little before the opening of the Compagne for the French County. Two or three of his Friends, who were Musqueteers, spoke so well of that service, and the frequent advantages they had to signalise themselves, that he resolved to list himself in the second Company, where Mounsieur Jauvelt very gladly received him, and Marmon as worthily served him with a great deal of reputation and courage. At their return from the last conquest of that County, he gave Christina a particular account of what had past; and am●ng the rest, the Death of Captain Floris her Kinsman. He enlarged his Letter with Eulogies of the valour and conduct of the indefatigable Lewis the great, whose heroic actions excel and deface what History hath left upon Record of Caesar's and Alexander's, and what Fabulous Writers have invented of imaginary Heroes; extolling in the conclusion their happiness and satisfaction who serve so brave and virtuous a Monarch. Christina ambitious of Glory was so transported with this faithful relation, she forgot her Sex; and taking a resolution beyond herself, or at least such as she only was capable of, espoused a design to dispute with the bravest of Men, the honour of well-serving so worthy a Master; yet found upon second thoughts so many obstacles in her way, that would have discouraged any other from executing so generous a resolution. She made the Abbot of Dizette her intimate Friend acquainted with her intentions, who having endeavoured (but in vain) to divert her from pursuing them, promised to serve her to his power; the Death of her Mother happening about that time facilitated her design, though it retarded the execution some Months. Every day some new difficulty arose, and seeing it impossible to settle all her Affairs, she gave the Abbot a general proxy, and under pretence of following a considerable Suit at Law depending at Grenoble, she went thither, and having dextrously rid herself of her Country Folks who came with her, she put herself in Man's Habit, and without having any Mercy on her delicate Hair cut it short, and with a Footboy newly taken, went for Paris under the Name of St. Aubin. The second days journey she overtook a Gentleman of Provence going to Court, who was very glad of her Company; this Gentleman was Brother to the illustrious Chevalier Fourbin, and was so pleased with the conversation of St. Aubin, and took that esteem for his person, that he freely offered him his interest and his Friends to help him to an employ proportionable to his merit. St. Aubin telling him he had never been in the service, but was desirous to list himself a Musqueteer, he presented him to his Brother, who commands the first Company, and recommended him as affectionately as if he had been his Son.  
The morrow after he was lifted, the King was present at a general muster of his Guards; and the new Musqueteer appearing in the ranks was admired by all that observed him. And as if France could not have produced so good a Face, his Comrades said he was an English man, and Nephew to my Lord Douglas; though this was but surmise, yet none were inquisitive as to trouble themselves about the truth of it, and most believed him a stranger: One more curious than the rest, being in the same rank with Marmon, told him of it, and prayed him to go see him when the first Company filled off. Marmon was so astonished to see how like his Mistress the pretended Englishman was, he could not forbear telling his Friend, this Musqueteer had the Mien and Air of a Gentlewoman of his Country: And as soon as he returned to Paris, he writ a Letter to Christina, (whom he thought still in Bearn) wherein he acquainted her how much his fancy was possessed with her, and every moment represented her Charms to his thoughts; and that Fortune in favour of his Love had vouchsafed him another piece of happiness by placing among Musqueteers an English youth, who was the very Picture of her, and dissipated by his presence the trouble her absence would have given him this Campaign. St. Aubin having resolved not to discover himself to Marmon before the opening the Campaign, and observing he took particular Notice of him, and that it would be impossible to avoid Discovery long, went one day to his Quarters: and finding him alone, told him he desired to be acquainted with him, and could do no less to requite the desire he had expressed on two or three occasions to contract a Friendship with him. Marmon was strangely surprised at the Voice, his Heart telling him presently 'twas Christina, spoke to him, though his reason could hardly give him leave to believe it. St. Aubin smiled, which put Marmon out of doubt. May I credit my Eyes, says he, or is it an illusion? St. Aubin interrupting him, declared the motives for the resolution he had taken, charging him at his peril not to discover him, and promising to be very sensible of the discretion he should show on this occasion, and after they should have both gained credit in the service they would retire together and enjoy one another the rest of their Days: Marmon, who knew her humour, thought it to no purpose to endeavour making her alter her resolution, told her, It was a resolution worthy a noble Soul. He added a thousand obliging expressions and so very kind, St. Aubin told him he must alter his Language, and call him Cousin; which he promised to do, and observed it so carefully that their Correspondency was never perceived.  
The Musqueteers within few Days followed the King to Flanders; the Campaign (being that of the taking of Limburg) was so lamentably wet it would have discouraged any but St. Aubin from being a Soldier. Marmon, who came often to see him as his Cousin, having entered his Tent, found him so weary, he could not forbear telling him how troubled he was to see him drudge in that hard service, the fatigues whereof the ablest Men were scarce able to endure. His discourse on this Subject was so tender and passionate, that a Soldier who overheard them through the Tent-Cloths, came briskly in, and gave them cause, by his expressions to believe he suspected the words he had heard Marmon speak, could not be addressed but to a Maid. St. Aubin perceiving it, answered, his foolish Cousin there, was so deeply in Love he could not abstain from discoursing of it, and repeating to him what he had said to his Mistress; and with that, turning to Marmon, I would advise you, Cousin, to write to her, saith St. Aubin: Marmon answered, Matters were not yet ripe for writing and he durst not do it; the Soldier believed all this true, and presently went out. St. Aubin took that occasion to represent to Marmon the Inconveniences might happen if he used discourse of that Nature, and charged him not to speak a word to him during the Campaign, but as to his Cousin.  
The News about this time was, that the Enemies fearing the approach of the K marched further off, and retired into their Countries, giving out (to amuse the People) they would go besiege Maestricht. This obliged his Majesty to send thither a detachment of his Musqueteers under the command of Monsieur Jauvelle; those Gallants being all willing to go upon that service, in hopes to see the Enemy quickly. To prevent discontent, the King was obliged to take the fourth Man of every rank till they made up the number desired. It was St. Aubin's Fortune to be detached, among the rest, and Marmon's to be left behind; he ran to the first Company to inquire how his Cousin sped, and to his utter vexation heard he was of the number of the detached. Marmon, unwilling to part with him, prayed several of his Comrades to give him their place, pretending he had business of Consequence with a Captain of the Garrison Maestricht: But he was so unfortunate, or those Companies were composed of young Gentlemen so passionately ambitious of Honour, he could not find one willing to lose so promising an occasion to signalise himself. Part they must, and Marmon remained under such a consternation, nothing for a long time could comfort him. The mean time the detachment arrived at Maestricht, where the Marshal d' Estrade joyfully received them; tho' till then, no Soldiers had been quartered with the principal Burghers, on this occasion no Man was exempted.  
An Officer of the Town who gave out the billets, to take away all cause of complaint, said, he would quarter a Musqueteer at his House: And having spied St. Aubin slipped into his hand a billet for his House, fancying a young Man so handsome could not but be of a very quiet temper, and complying humour. This Burgher was very rich, and had to Wife one of the handsomest Women of the Town; and a Sister, whose Beauty and Fortune had made a great number of Officers her Servants. These Women having heard those of their acquaintance tell of the disorders Soldiers usually commit in their quarters, trembled at the thoughts of having one in their House. But they must have one quartered with them, and they had taken their Fortune for the Man, and resolved to use him the best they could. St. Aubin coming to their House with a Billet in his Hand, they came down to receive him, and were so pleasingly surprised with the sight of him, (capable to move the most indifferent to have kindness for him) that they could not forbear viewing him with astonishment, and applauding in their Hearts their very good Fortune: His obliging way of Discourse, and the excuses he made that he was forced to trouble them, absolutely gained him their Hearts. And to let him presently see the esteem they had for him, they gave him the best Chamber in the House, tho' designed for another. It was very richly furnished, and St. Aubin after long excuses the contrary, was forced to lie there. The Master of the House having made provision of some Bottles of Rhenish Wine to Welcome his new Guest, was angry to find him as sober at Table, as modest every where else. St. Aubin had not been two days there, but his Hostess was desperately in Love with him: Her Sister Rachel had very kind thoughts for him, and having twice or thrice in his Company resolved to make Conquest of him; her Suitors had so often told her she was amiable, and her Glass confirmed it so well, that she doubted not of success when she should apply herself to gain Love. These two fair Ones had no other discourse but of the new Beauties they discovered every moment in the face and wit of their new Guest, and he very glad of so pretty an amusement, spent whole days at home, to divert himself with them at some little witty Games he taught them, with a penalty imposed on those who did not well. They took occasion to commend his Complaisance before the Master of the House, who was ravished to find his Guest so well disposed, as to apply himself for their divertisement. And when his Wife was out at play, he never failed, for her penalty, to require her to kiss the Musqueteer; which she was so pleased with, she never minded her Game, that she might by her faults have the occasion to kiss him the oftener; and the Husband in good humour, would sometimes say he would excuse his Wife, should she be unfaithful to him, to pleasure a person of so good a Mien. Rachel, who applied herself particularly to please him, was distracted to see Saint Aubin pleased with those small Penances undergone with her Sister, without expressing any preference for her, and became so jealous of him she resolved to make him jealous too. To effect this, she sent for a Gentleman of the Garrison, who had long been in love with her. St. Aubin being excellent Company, was very glad to see him, and grew so intimate with him, that in a short time the Gentleman still made one amongst them in all their divertisements. It madded Rachel to see St. Aubin, not only unconcerned, as formerly, but very earnest to have the Gentleman sent for, when he stayed away long; so that she resolved to quarrel with him, that she might no more be troubled with him. The Musqueteer very glad of an Assistant to bear the Women Company, and desirous to have him continued, when he found the difference between Rachel and the Gentleman, interposed to reconcile them. The Amorous Rachel, not able to deny him any thing, granted his request. The Gentleman, who, notwithstanding the Civilities of his Friend, suspected he might be his Rival, was so sensible of the obligation, that he acquainted him with his Passion for Rachel. St. Aubin, in requital of the confidence, promised him all the service in his power. The Sisters, the mean time, observing they were both in Love with their Guest, watched one another narrowly, and if he chanced to let fall a kind expression for the one, he was presently called to account for it by the other: And if he stirred a quarter of an hour out of doors, he was to expect a strict examination at his return, what he had been a doing. Thus far they held a fair Correspondence, and concealed nothing from each other. The Married Sister being bolder than Rachel, to prevent and engage her in her interests, or at least discourage her from daring to declare her love for St. Aubin, acquainted her with the kindness she had for him, desiring her Assistance to make him sensible of it, when she found a favourable opportunity to do it handsomely. Rachel very dextrously hiding her jealousy, and glad of the discovery her Sister had made her, promised her secrecy and assistance. Her Sister to make advantage of the good temper she appeared in, desired her to do it that very day; and told her, that to the end she might hear their discourse without blushing, and be a Witness of the service she would do her, she would stand behind the Hanging, and take notice of all. This put Rachel in some disorder, but she must dissemble and hid it the best she can. Her Sister had St. Aubin called up, and had posted herself behind the Hanging; and as loath as Rachel was to speak for any but herself, it must be done. The Musqueteer being entered the Room, after half a quarter of an hours discourse, she extolled his Merit and good Mien, and told him, that having so many good qualities, he must not be suprized to hear a handsome Woman, and one he saw every day had ki●d inclinations for him. St. Aubin musing at this, Rachel told him, he need only take good notice of her Sister, and he might read in her looks the truth of what she said. St. Aubin tired with their forwardness which he had hitherto wittily diverted, answered her in general, that from the day he first came to their House, he found himself extremely obliged to both the Sisters, and wished himself in a better condition to express his acknowledgements. Rachel would have broken off there, but remembering her Sister was near, she pressed further, to draw him to a more positive answer; and to bring him to it, magnified the Charms of her Sister: You are pleased to be merry, says St. Aubin; but since we are fallen on this subject, you will give me leave to inform you of a Passion as real, as that you tell me of is imaginary. Rachel making no doubt but he spoke of himself, was mortally afraid her Rival should hear the Declaration she thought he would make: And to save her the trouble of it, would have presently withdrawn, but for▪ fear of discouraging him, she altered her mind. Her Brother coming luckily in, helped her out of the perplexity she was in, but not out of the impatience she was under, to hear the Declaration expected. Not long after she found him alone, and insensibly fell into the discourse he begun when the Brother interrupted them. St. Aubin very glad to serve his Friend, spoke so much to the Gentleman's advantage, and described to the life the Passion he had for her, that Rachel could not forbear sighing out, Cruel Man that you are, how is it possible you that have so little sense of Love, should so powerfully persuade others to it? She was so ashamed, having let fall these words, that she retired, without giving him time to answer; and grieved at heart for his insensibility, she gave free passage to her tears, the usual comfort of those of her Sex. Her Sister, who studied every moment how to conquer his obstinate indifference, thought to do it by her liberality. St. Aubin not so well able to disguise as his Sex, or not so careful to do it, had often said he admire d the rare Workmanship of some Table Linen she had shown him: She presented him with it; and though he made very shy of accepting it, she prayed him so earnestly, on pretence he might have need of it in the Army, that she forced him to take it. After this she would have made another present of a Locket of Diamonds, which she could not persuade him to receive, but he could not refuse a very curious Toilette Rachel bestowed on him. There was news about that time, that the Commander of the Musqueteers had Order from the King to lead his Detachment to Paris. This put Rachel and her Sister in a fearful Consternation: The latter was pretty well satisfied, because her Rival being the handsomer and younger, had met with no better Fortune than she: But Rachel was so troubled at it, the very thoughts of St. Aubin's absence almost distracted her; and judging no misfortune equal to that of lossing him, she cast about how to keep him near her. The Orders for their marching suddenly away, afflicted her extremely; for believing she had fortune large enough to make her a Musqueteers Wife, she made no doubt out St. Aubin would gladly marry her, could she but have time to get her Friend's consent, who were already under some Engagement of marrying her to a young Man of Amsterdam, and very considerable. But not daring to expose her Love to the uncertain success of a hasty Negotiation, she took a resolution, the most hardy and bold a person of her Sex could be capable of, and prayed her Brother to go along with her to her Uncle, who was her Guardian. Being alone with them two, who were her nearest Relations, and entrusted to dispose of her, she fell down at their feet; and having endeavoured to sweeten them by a Preamble not much to the purpose, she declared to them she had been so unfortunate, as to yield to St. Aubin, upon his Promise to Marry her, but was afraid he would leave her without making her his Wife: that she had rather die than live dishonoured, and begged their pardon, and that at the same time they would dispatch her out of the World, or afford her their necessary assistances to make him repair her Honour.  
The Brother having a real esteem for St. Aubin, could have been very well content to have him for his Brother in-law, and excused his Sister so well, that the Uncle, who had threatened to forsake her, joined with them to agree upon the means to settle the Affair. Rachel blind with Passion, told them the only way to do it, was to surprise them a-bed together, and persuade or force him presently to marry her. This appeared so easy they promised to do it; and having agreed of the time to put it in execution, Rachel at the hour went into St. Aubin's Chamber, and having found him a-bed (as she had forecast) she threw off her Nightgown and laid her by him, telling him, if he thought her too forward in doing thus, he must thank himself, who had put her in a condition to consider neither what was decent nor reasonable. St. Aubin would have got out of Bed, and would not have been stayed there, but for the noise the Uncle and Brother made as they entered the Chamber with Pistols in their Hands: they came to the Bedside, and having drawn the Curtain, found, to their astonishment, the Bedfellows were both of a Sex; and Rachel perceiving her mistake in having loved a Woman, under the disguise of a Musqueteer, was amazed to that extremity, she could hardly be brought to herself: But convinced by Experience, she confessed to her Relations, that the fear she had to lose that lovely Maid, whom she thought a Man, had seized her with that violence, that to assure herself of him, she forced herself to declare he had robbed her of her Honour. St. Aubin confounded at the Adventure, instantly begged them to keep it secret, telling them how much he was concerned it should not be discovered; and adding, he would be revenged of them if they divulged it. They were obliged to silence by common Interest, and the Musqueteers marching away the next day, St. Aubin saw himself at liberty, and well-rid of the Raileries and Reproaches of his Hostesses.  
At his return to Paris, he saw Marmon, who longed for his coming; and to please him, St. Aubin made him a faithful Relation of what he had seen since parting, not forgetting the least Circumstance of what happened at Mastricht. Marmon took occasion to renew his request, that she would save herself those toilsome Fatigues, and appear in a habit suitable to her Sex, if she could not resume the inclinations proper to it. St. Aubin to oblige him, promised after one Campaign more to retire, being unwilling to quit the service without engaging an Enemy, for which this Campaign had not afforded opportunity.  
St. Aubin being quartered at the Hostel de Nostre Dame, the Baron of Quincy, who lodged there, surprised at the good account St. Aubin gave of the Campaign, desired to be acquainted with him; and having made some Overtures for the purpose, found the Musqueteer so glad of it, that they became very good Friends. The Baron, little acquainted with the Women of Paris, went to a Flemish ladies house▪ who attended a suit of Law there, and presenting St. Aubin to her, as a Person of Merit, spoke much to his advantage. This Lady being the Marchioness de Belabre, judging all other things suitable to St. Aubin's good Mien, received him very kindly, and gave the Baron thanks for bringing him to her.  
The Lady was so pleased with this first Visit, that St. Aubin returned frequently thither, sometimes with the Baron, and often without him, much delighted with the Ingenious Conversation of the Marchioness. These Visits gave him opportunity of being acquainted with two or three Gentlemen of the best Quality; it was the time of the Carnaval, and one night they desired the Marchioness to go to a Ball: She refused it at first as a thing improper for one Lady to go along with three Men. One presently told her she need only dress St. Aubin in Maid's Habit, which could not choose but become him well enough, being so pretty a Youth. This was so generally approved, that the Marchioness presently took St. Aubin by the hand, led him into her Wardrobe, where she gave him a Maid's Habit very fit for him, and went out to give St. Aubin time to dress himself, and returned by and by to put him on a Tour. This Dress appeared so natural and agreeable to his Countenance and Stature, that the Marchioness and Gentlemen admired it. They went to several Balls, and were very well received. They were told there was one at Monsieur Strasbourg's, where was very good Company: thither they went, and found so great a number of Persons of Quality, they could scarce get entrance. Monsieur Strasbourg, Who had heard talk of the Marchioness of Belabre, and was told it was she, received her with a great deal of Civility; and seeing her Companion very handsome, he spoke to one of the Company to take her forth to Dance, which she did so well, that the Marchioness and her Company were mightily surprised. Every one took her for a Flemin, and made no further inquiry. The Baron of Angosse being at this Ball, remembered he had seen her at Bayonne, and having taken a strict view of her, knew her to be Madamoiselle d' Meyrac: He came to her, and Complemented, telling her how glad he was to see her at Paris. As ready as her Wit was, she could not forbear blushing a little; yet she answered confidently enough, she understood not his meaning, and that he was certainly mistaken. D'Angosse begged her pardon, and retired. The Marchioness, and the Gentleman who Ushered her, laughed at the Adventure, and were extremely well pleased at the good success of St. Aubin's disguise. D' Angosse perceiving they laughed at his mistake, and concerned to find the truth, went down to inquire for the Marchionesses Servants, and having found one of them, prayed him to let him know the Gentlewoman's Name who was with his Lady. The Fleming for answer laughed in his Face, and so hearty, 'twas long  he could speak: At length he told him 'twas a Boy in Maids Habit. D' Angosse returned to the Dancing-room, and making up close to that handsome Person, told him he had now learned what he was; but that all who saw him in that Habit, and knew the Gentlewoman he had spoken to him of, would have certainly mistaken him for her; and that if he were minded to divert himself, he might meet with many pleasant adventures, if he would go in that Habit to some Ladies of Bearn, where he offered to conduct him. St. Aubin thanked him, and said very coldly, he was not of an humour to deceive any Body. Presently after the Ball ended, and all returned. The Marchioness was so pleased with this Night's Adventures, she prayed the Gentlemen, especially St. Aubin, to come again, and go on the like Frolic. But Marmon having heard by one of his Countrymen, that there was seen at a Ball a young Fleming, the very Picture of Christina, and that ever since, two Gentlemen of Be rn, run with d' Angosse all over the Town, from one Ball to another, to meet him, he went to his Cousin St. Aubin's to carry him the news. St. Aubin to disabuse him, acquainted him with all that passed at Monsieur Strasbourgs; and that he might handsomely disengage himself from visiting the Marchioness, he feigned himself sick. By this time Lent was come, and preparation must be made for the Campaign. The King notwithstanding the rigour of the season, set out the fifth of April to Besiege Conde, and the Morrow after he arrived in the Camp, the Trenches were opened. Three days after the Musqueteers were commanded to take a halfmoon, and behaved themselves so bravely, that having beat off the Enemy, they entered the Town, which was taken by Assault, and not by Composition, as many believ d His Majesty's Clemency (who was content to make the Troops he found in Garrison Prisoners of War, without taking the advantages of Victory against those unfortunate Persons who did their duty very well) raised that report. St. Aubin and Marmon signalised themselves in this service; the former received a slight wound in the Arm, and Marmon had the good fortune to take Prisoner an Italian Captain, whom he seized by his hair: And having been shot in the Arm, he held him fast with the other, and brought him to the King, who was at the Head of the Trenches. His Majesty having commended the Action, promised to have a particular care of his Fortune, and ordered they should be very careful of his Cure.  
The morrow all the wounded men were carried to Fournay, and Marmon much more troubled for his Cousins Wound than his own, had the satisfaction to see it was not dangerous; and St. Aubin told him he would not have gone to Fournay but to take care of him, expressing extreme satisfaction to have been an Eye-witness of his Valour in this action. Marmon taking advantage of so favourable an occasion▪ minded St. Aubin of his promise to recompense his perseverance if supported by some glorious action. St. Aubin without giving him leave to finish, prayed him only to have a care of being cured as soon as possible, assuring him he was very sensible of his misfortune, and had a very great esteem for him, adding (for his comfort) other very obliging discourse. Marmon was so well pleased with it, those that saw him said he was visibly much better: However it was his fate to die two days after, as most of those did who had been hurt at the Siege, tho' their Wounds appeared not dangerous. St. Aubin who was almost well of his Wound was so troubled for Marmon's Death, that he resolved to continue in the service to avoid the reproaches of Marmon's Friends who knew St. Aubin had engaged him to list himself a Soldier, and would certainly lay the loss of him to his charge. The grief this put him to, occasioned by some inclination and a great deal of esteem and acknowledgement he had for Marmon, retardded his cure and kept him long at Fournay.  
The Baron of Quincy having Commission to raise a Regiment of Horse at Fournay, met St. Aubin at the Governors; where he shown him a great deal of civility, and finding him somewhat unwilling to go again among the Musqueteers because of his Cousin's Death, offered him a Company in his Regiment. St. Aubin accepted it, and assisted the Colonel in making the Levies, the Regiment was not long in raising; the Baron who for good Reasons had lately quitted the service of Spain, having given notice to the Officers of his Regiment in Garrison at Mons, that he was raising a new one for the service of France, and those under his command when he served Spain, were so satisfied with his person and conduct, that most of the Troops and several of the Officers deserted the Spaniard to meet their Colonel at Fournay. This Regiment being composed of men of that Country, who were better acquainted than strangers with the Roads, was frequently employed upon Parties: they acquitted themselves so well, that they never failed of certain News of the Enemy upon occasion. St. Aubin always ambitious of Glory, having had good success in two or three Parties, never failed to make one among them though he were not commanded. The Spaniards vexed at the advantages daily gained by the French Parties, especially those of Quincy's Regiment, that the Governor of Valenciennes had order to lay an ambuscade for them; and did it so effectually, that of a party of thirty nine Troopers commanded by a Lieutenant, twenty two were taken, and the rest killed or fled. St. Aubin who served there as a Volunteer was one of the Prisoners: they were all carried to the Army, where the Duke De Villa Hermosa who was gone to Brussels had left the Marquis d' Osseyra general of the Artillery Commander in chief in his absence. The Marquis called a Council of War, to advise what should be done to the Prisoners, several of which, and particularly the Lieutenant, who commanded them were known to be deserters. It was resolved the Troopers (on condition they would serve Spain again) should be pardoned, as having been debauched by their Officers. But as for the Officers, for terror to others, they were all condemned to be hanged as Deserters. St. Aubin, though not taken in that quality, was carried away as involved in the condemnation, the Troopers having declared he was an Officer: The Council being broke up, they sent a Confessor to every one of the condemned. St. Aubin was frighted at the Horror of so shameful a Death, and to escape it, was upon the Point of declaring who he was; yet he could not find in his heart to expose himself to be laughed at by the whole Army, his modesty prevailing over his fear; he prepared for Death with an heroic Courage. The Army was drawn up in Battalia, and these unfortunate Prisoners were brought to the Gibbet: The Lieutenant being hanged, St. Aubin frighted at the apprehension of so infamous a Death, desired to speak with the General, who to give reputation to so exemplary a Punishment countenanced it with his presence. The Marquis approached him, and surprised at the good mien of the Criminal, whose face he thought himself not altogether a stranger to, he heard him with compassion. St. Aubin so clearly made out the injustice they would have done him, by violating the Law of War in his Person, who had never been in the service of Spain, that the Officers fearful of like usage, if taken by the French began to murmur. The Marquis perceiving it, and unwilling a mutiny should rob him of the glory of saving St. Aubin, hastened the setting him at liberty.  
The Army was so satisfied with this piece of Justice, scarce any Officer of Note but waited on the Marquis to give him thanks: And as we usually love those we have obliged, the General was so pleased with his saving St. Aubin, that he took him to his Quarters, and finding he had all Accomplishments of a Person of Quality, he kept him in his House, and treated him with all the kindness and esteem he could have showed the best of his Friends. The Marquis being the same who had been in Love with Christina at Saragosa, was so changed since that time, and so disguised by his great Spanish Moustaches, that S. Aubin at present knew no more of him but the Name: But afterwards having recollected himself, he found his Deliverer was the same who had been his Ancient Contrade, and first Lover. He was so pleased to owe his life to this Illustrious Marquis, that he resolved to stick to him, and forbear writing, to undeceive his Friends who had heard he was dead. The Marquis also remembering S. Aubin had much of the Air of Christina, and ask if he were not related to her, for fear of being discovered, he confessed he was his Brother. The Marquis embraced him, and with a deep sigh said, he could never forget his Sister, though she had given him cause enough, in making the Letter he had written to her a Sacrifice to her Husband; and that he could never have resolved with himself to love any other, till he had heard of her Marriage.  
The memory of Christina, the merit of St. Aubin, and particularly his speaking Spanish so well, procured him every day new marks of the generosity of the Marquis. The Generals soon after marched towards Brussels, and the Marquis D' Osseyra being in Love with the Countess of Benavidez, a young Spanish Lady newly arrived with her Husband in Flanders, went frequently to her House, and would oblige her by bringing her a French Gentleman who was excellent Company, and a great Master of the Spanish Tongue. The Countess, who seldom saw any French, was so pleased with the Novelty and handsome Mien of the Gentleman that she received him very kindly; and having told him she was extremely desirous to learn a little French, and S. Aubin having as frankly offered to teach it her, she prayed him to come to her every day at an hour. The Marquis making no doubt but S. Aubin might be very serviceable to him in his Amour, made him acquainted with it, and conjured him to do him this piece of service with all the zeal and diligence in his power, in confidence he would be extremely sensible of the obligation. This was enough for S. Aubin, who besides the tye of gratitude he was under, felt in himself a violent inclination to undertake for his Friend the most difficult Enterprise. In the mean time, he thought he had seen the Countess before; but not daring to trust his Eyes, nor rely on her Testimony, he asked an old Chamber Maid if her Mistress had ever been at Saragosa: When she answered the Countess was born there, and that she was the Daughter of Don Francisco Cortes, S. Aubin was convinced he was not mistaken, when he took her for Zeraphine, his good Friend, and pretended Mistress, in the Convent of Vrsuline's. The Countess too, she thought she had seen a Person that had the Air of that Gentleman, but not being sure of it, she never spoke to him of it: Besides, she was so taken with him, she would have been troubled had she found out her mistake. The Passion of the Marquis increased daily; it rejoiced his heart to see S. Aubin returned to bring him News of his Scholar; and when he perceived him high in her favour, he declared to him the violence of his Passion, and entreated him to employ for his advantage the Credit he had with her. St. Aubin, who was deadly afraid of the Progress of this Passion, did all he could to divert his Friend from it, giving him very clear Reasons how improbable it was to gain the affections of a Lady, who had to her Husband so lovely and handsome a Gentleman as the Count Benavidez, and loved him entirely. But the difficulties he endeavoured to represent to the Marquis, proved but Oil to his Flames, and St. Aubin could not avoid promising him all the service that lay in his power: But the endeavours he used in favour of his Friend, produced a contrary effect; for the young Countess having strong inclinations for St. Aubin, found her Passion increase by his frequent Visits: This set her mind a roving, and she took that pleasure to look upon him as he taught her Lessons, that she was a whole Week learning the Verb Aimer, to Love. And making as if she thought it a very pretty word, but hard to be remembered, she spent several hours in making her Master repeat the first Person of it, I Love. She affected this repetition so often, that St. Aubin believed she loved him in good earnest, and resolved to apply himself to please her, to prevent her answering the Passion of the Marquis; and incline him to quit it, by letting him see she could love another. Fortune afforded him an occasion, which contributed very much to heighten the Passion of the Countess, and the good Opinion she already had of her Master. One of the Countess' Women being grievously tormented with the Toothache, and fancying all strangers skilful in one Mystery or other, applied herself to St. Aubin, and with incredible confidence, and a most assured Faith, prayed remedy from him. He presently answered, he could infallibly cure her: And having touched the aching Tooth with his Finger's end, and said two or three barbarous Words, whether this Maid was cured by conceit, or that her pain naturally ceased, she came to give him thanks for having wrought her Cure. The Countess wondering at the quick Effect of the remedy he had used, took that occasion to commend him who had applied it, who having the knowledge of such considerable secrets concealed with so much modesty. S. Aubin taking advantage of her Credulity, told her, he knew many secrets far more considerable; and that by looking on one's hand, be could tell all that should happen to that person: Women are naturally curious. This Lady adding impatience to her curiosity, prayed him instantly to look in her hand, and tell her what he knew by it. St. Aubin, without further entreaty, fixed his eye upon it, and having long been this Ladies Confident in Spain, and known her privat'st inclinations, he easily told her an infinite number of things that appeared admirable to her, by his giving her an account of the particulars of several Adventures of her life; and above all, how she had been in danger of punishment for a Crime she had not committed, and of being buried alive as a Prostitute Vestal. The Countess was extremely surprised at every word he said; and when he had done speaking, she confessed all he had said was very true. This was not sufficient to satisfy her curiosity; she had no sooner heard what was past, but she was willing to know what was to come, and conjured him with that earnestness to tell her what should befall her, that he was obliged to promise the doing it another day, praying her to allow him a little time to think on't: But upon condition she should keep it private without speaking a word of it, for he had no mind to be taken for a man that meddled in such matters. Things being thus agreed, he presently withdrew, and shortly after went into the Marquis' Chamber, where he found him busy writing a Letter to the Countess, which he prayed St. Aubin to read, and tell him what he thought of it. It was in Spanish, but so well expressed, it is impossible to translate it, without losing much of the Beauty and Energy of the Original. Let it suffice, that we know 'twas well writ, and that the Marquis would have put it upon his Friend to deliver it. St. Aubin, though very loath to undertake it, could not refuse him, but represented so dextrously the inconveniences that would attend his presenting it, and made the Marquis so sensible how fearful he was it would too much discover his being engaged in his favour, and deprive him of the means to do him more considerable services, that the Marquis was convinced, and found another expedient for conveying the Letter to his Mistress, who thought the time long while St. Aubin returned, not only for the pleasure she took in his Company, but the passionate desire she had to know her Fortune. St. Aubin came at the usual hour to teach her her Lesson, but before she would fall to it, her Curiosity must be satisfied St. Aubin was prepared what to say, and being concerned, to divert her from entertaining kind thoughts for the Marquis, he resolved to dissuade her from loving him, upon pretence the Stars were against it: And having assured her of very high Fortune, and Honours proportionable, he told her the Planets threatened her with a misfortune of being twice suspected to hold scandalous Correspondence and that the suspicion would be so strong, she should be in danger of her life, but that she should at last appear Innocent, and more glorious for her sufferings: But are you sure says the Countess, I shall not lose my life? Mine for yours, Madam, answers St. Aubin; and I observe you have already escaped one of your dangers, and I see nothing can disturb your happiness but the like influence of your Planet that threatens you at present. This signifies, as the Rules of my Art tells me, that a Person of Quality of your Country shall be in Love with you, and do extraordinary things to please you, and make you sensible of his Passion; and if he prevails, you are to expect a long Train of misfortunes and disasters. The Countess judge of what he said should happen, by what she had heard him say of what was past, never doubted the truth of his Prediction, and resolved never to Love Spaniard but her Husband. Two days after, the Marquis having sound a means to have his Letter delivered, was not a little surprised to see she had sent it back, without having read it, but expressed great indignation for his boldness. You cannot imagine how much the Marquis was troubled at the ill Fortune of his Letter; and not knowing what other comfort to have, went in search of his Friend to make his complaint to him, and desire his advice. S. Aubin glad at Heart for the good issue of the Game he had played, bid him not be discouraged: And to let him see how much he was concerned for him, he offered to make the Countess and him very good Friends again. The poor distressed Marquis was so pleased with the thoughts of the promised Accommodation, that St. Aubin to oblige him went to the Countess, and prayed her to be reconciled, and receive him into favour, assuring her, that the Billet she fancied so Criminal, contained only four Verses. 'Tis easy for those who are beloved, to persuade; the Countess, who had passionate kindness for St. Aubin, granted his request: And to give him a fresh instance of her Complaisance, she promised to admit of his Friends Excuses, as she very well might, being really not much offended with him. The Marquis made several sorry Excuses, which passed for good; but the disorder he appeared in, gave the Countess a clearer account of what was written in the Billet, than the reading of it would have done: And had she not been too much possessed with the fear of S. Aubin's Predictions, she had managed this Affair to better advantage: But her fear made her stand upon her Guard, and avoid all occasions of being found alone with the Marquis, or giving him opportunity to acquaint her with his Passion. St. Aubin appeared every day more lovely than other, and she made discovery of so many good qualities in him, that she could not forbear praising him in her Husband's presence; who having observed the pleasure his Wife took in speaking of him, and sometimes very little to the purpose, and oftener far than she was ware of, he began to suspect: And having watched the Countess more narrowly, he found this stranger, under pretence of teaching his Wife French, was grown very familiar with her. Jealousy made the most Innocent Actions appear Criminal, and the Count resolved to break off their Acquaintance: But having lived very lovingly with his Wife, he was unwilling to express his Resentments, but took a time to tell her, that though he had a good opinion of her Conduct, he feared the Spanish Ladies would not think well of it: And since she had a mind to learn French, 'twere better for her to take a French Woman into her Family. The Countess was extremely displeased at the advice, though she made as if she approved it; but though she promised to follow it, she continued taking her Lessons from St. Aubin, telling the Count, 'twas only that she might not forget what she had learned, while she could provide herself of a Maid. It went against the Heart of her to part with a Master that pleased her so well; and because she was under a necessity to obey, she resolved to make use of her time. As soon as St. Aubin returned to her, she acquainted him with the Jealousy of the Count her Husband, and that she had never given him cause to suspect her Conduct. Her duty, fortified by a strong inclination for him, having always made her abhor all unfaithfulness to him: Yet she never thought to have found her resolutions so ineffectual, but she saw herself under the necessity of yielding to an inclination involuntary and long checked, but in vain. St. Aubin relying on the modesty of the Lady, thought it the duty of a Civil Gentleman to take advantage of her disorder, by pressing her a little faintly: But he found her so unexpectedly coming and kind, that he smarted for the small advances he made, and saw he must use clearer and more passionate Expressions. And as the Lady unwilling her Compliance should be wholly useless, and thrown away upon him, reproached him with ingratitude for the favour she had showed him. The Count having heard all behind a Hanging, came forth with his Poiniard in his hand to stab his Wife, if St. Aubin with laying his hand on his Sword had not hindered him by a vigorous resistance; and seeing the Count ready to go call in his Servants to his Aid, chose rather to hazard the discovery of his Sex, than expose that unfortunate Lady to so many inconveniences, and himself to ruin. He prayed him (before he would make any more noise, or call in his People) to have the patience to hear him a moment: And to convince him he had something considerable to say to him, he laid his Sword at his feet, and himself at his discretion. The Generous Spaniard seeing his Enemy disarmed, became more tractable, and permitted him to speak. St. Aubin told him, it was for the Countess' Interest and his, the Count should be undeceived, by the discovery of a secret he had resolved to conceal all his Life. With that St. Aubin declared himself to be a Woman: and that in Spain under her true Name Christina, she was intimately acquainted with the Countess, and her very good Friend; that since that, a violent passion for Arms had engaged her in the King's service in the Wars, which was so agreeable to her inclination, that she hoped he was too Generous to discover the secret she acquainted him with, when she had declared to him the consequence of it. The Count could hardly be satisfied with the bare words of Christina; but his Lady upon hearing the story, and Name of Christina, having recovered her Spirits, and taking advantage of her Husband's disorder, persuaded him she very well knew who Christina was; and having reproached him for the ill Opinion he had of her Conduct, she took her turn to run into passion; and her anger which her Husband thought real, and several other Circumstances a great deal more true, especially the relation of what passed in the Convent, put an end to all his suspicions. He begged his Wives pardon, and thought, in favour of her chastity he remembered several particulars he had never heard of. He went out, to give them time to come to themselves again, out of the fear he had put them in. The Countess being recovered of the fright she had been in for her Gallant, and herself, continued a while under a grievous Confusion to find herself deceived: However she expressed herself very joyful to see her old Friend, but not without reproaching her; for that by concealing her Name, she had exposed her to weaknesses, no other in the World could have made her fall into. St. Aubin was so perplexed, he knew not what to answer. The Marquis, in the mean time, not able to Master his Passion for the Countess, whom he hoped to work upon by his perseverance, and the assistance of his Friend, had by his Liberalities gained one of her Women, who gave him an account of all that past in the House: And having observed St. Aubin using his Mistress with a familiarity unfit for any other Person, she thought it might be an acceptable service to the Marquis, if she watched them more narrowly. St. Aubin coming one day to the Countesses before she was up, was sent for into her Chamber, and made sit on her Bed; and that they might discourse more freely, the Countess bid her Maids quit the Room. This liberty, though ordinary in France, appeared to the Marquis' Pensioner so Criminal in a Spanish Lady, that she thought he would be very well pleased to know it, and went instantly to tell it him. The Marquis, no less Jealous than Amorous, was so surprised at the story, he was vexed at the heart: and his Jealousy persuading him more than he had heard, he resolved to be revenged upon his Traitorous Friend for all the ill usage he had received from his Mistress, not doubting but he had contributed a great deal to it. A secret inclination, he knew not the cause of, but attributed to the remains of Respect and Kindness he still had for the Brother of a Person he had loved above any, rendered his resolutions uncertain and ineffectual. Yet calling to mind how he had obliged him, and made him his Confident, and that St. Aubin had upon his word engaged to do him the best service he could with the Countess, he thought no Resentment too severe for a Traitor. But not finding in his heart to violate the Law of Nations, by taking a revenge unworthy his Quality and Honour, he resolved to sighed him fairly, in hopes to disarm him; and without further punishment, than to reproach him with his ingratitude. Having met him an hour after, he fell upon him briskly, without making any words. St. Aubin defended himself, but as a Man who would only ward off the blows of his Adversary, without doing him hurt. The Marquis making at him, with design to seize his Sword, dangerously wounded him. Upon that they were parted, and the Count Benavidez coming in, ordered St. Aubin to be carried home to his House; and fearing his Wound more dangerous than it proved, he could not forbear sending for the Marquis, and telling him the Name and Sex of the Person whose life he had endangered.  
The End of the first part.   

THE SECOND PART OF THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE Female Warrior. A TRUE HISTORY. Very delightful, and full of Pleasant Adventures in the Compaignes of 1676, and 1677.  
Translated out of French.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year MDCC.   

THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE Female Warrior. PART II.  
NEver was Man so astonished as the Marquis d' Osseyra, when he found he had wounded his Mistress the same moment, and with the same Weapon he thought he had taken Revenge of his Rival. The Count de Benavidez gave him an account of all that had happened, when he surprised (the supposed) St. Aubin with his Lady, and particularly of the discoveries he fancied he had made of the Intelligence between them: The Relation was so surprising, and the Circumstances so extraordinary, the Marquis was so confounded, and under so strong a Convulsion of different Passions, that what with fear, what with grief, he was Mute for some time, and appeared like a Statue without Sense or Motion: But the Passion he had had for Christina prevailing over the rest, and reproaching him secretly with having destroyed her, he prayed the Count to go instantly learn what news of her wound; the disorder he was in, being so great, he had not the confidence to visit her; but he followed the Count, though he scarce knew what he did. At the news of the Rencounter, several of his Friends flocked to the Marquis; some of the Commanders were so impertinently officious, they would needs stop him from going any further, to save him the trouble of seeing his Enemy the second time: But the return he made their mistaken Civility, was so unexpectedly untoward, his best Friends, not knowing the motions of his heart, were highly offended at it. They were all amazed to see him so troubled and not one could imagine what reason he should have to go to the Count of Benavidez's, where he knew they had carried his Enemy St. Aubin. The Marquis was not inclined to violent courses, yet they apprehended he might use his Authority to ruin the unfortunate Person that so publicly engaged him. A Colonel, his Friend was so officious, that to prevent a mischief he dreaded so much, he met him by the way, and entreated him to go no further, assuring him St. Aubin was so desperately ill, he could not live an hour longer. This was the Critical moment the Marquis really needed the assistance of his Friends, and had they not hindered him, he had certainly stabbed himself. The Count de Benavidez, mindful of the disorder he had left him in, returned as hastily as he could to let him know St. Aubin's wound was not dangerous: But the Marquis, who began to relapse into the extremity of his first Passion for Christina, was so fully prepossessed with the discourse of the Colonel, that he thought the Count did out of kindness conceal the danger St. Aubin was in, and was loath to tell him News he knew would grieve him. This made the Marquis resolve personally to visit St. Aubin in his Chamber; and he had certainly done it, had not the Count diverted him, by representing the inconveniences might attend the surprise and discoveries their first Interview would occasion before so many persons who were of his Retinue, and then bore him Company. The Marquis yielded to the persuasions of his Friend, but not till the Chirurgeon had assured him the wound he thought so dangerous would be cured in a short time. The Marquis could not forbear telling the Chyrurg on his Life should answer for St. Aubin's; and swore to him, that if he died, he should be concerned to make ready to follow him presently into another World. This being past, they brought the Marquis home, where he was visited by all the Persons of Quality in the Court at Brussels, who complemented him for his pretended advantage: Some carried on the Compliment so far, that they blamed him for the trouble he was in, having so great reason to be satisfied with the advantage he had gained over one of the bravest Men of France. He was so tired with these troublesome Civilities, that to be rid of them, he was forced to give order to his Porter to say, he was not to be spoke with. The Count de Benavidez loath to leave him under so much vexation, stayed with him, in hopes by his Company to ease him a little of the Tyranny of his Passions. As soon as they were alone, the Marquis conjured him, to tell him truly what he thought of Christina's Wound: The Count assured him it was very slight; and to pleasure him, offered to prepare Christina to receive his Visit that night. This offer comforted the Marquis, and the Count had no sooner made it, but he was forced to go home to find means to satisfy the impatience of his Friend. At his return he found his Wife was gone to Christina's Chamber, and he took the advantage of it to give her a Visit: When he had expressed the trouble he was under for her misfortune, he assured her the Marquis was almost distracted at it, and begged her permission to throw himself at her feet. Christina thinking the Marquis still took her for St. Aubin, not knowing the Count had told him all, was extremely surprised at the News; and answering, she passionately desired to justify herself, and let the Marquis know she was incapable of betraying so generous a Friend who had so highly obliged her. The Count hailed away to carry his Friend the good News, and shortly after both entered the Chamber where Christina lay, who taking upon her to be St. Aubin, assured the Marquis he could never have been satisfied with himself for being so unfortunate as to have disobliged him, had not the Count's Relation, and the generous Visit he was pleased personally to make him, given him reasonable hopes he was satisfied of his Innocence. The kind Marquis, as if he had forgot Christina had ever been St. Aubin, answered in terms full of transport and tenderness, praying her to change her Language, and quite rid herself of that unfortunate Name of St. Aubin, that had so unhappily occasioned his mistake, and engaged him blindly to attack a Life a thousand times dearer to him than his own. He continued the discourse with so much Passion and Kindness, that Christina finding it impossible to keep him longer in Error, gave free vent to her tears, perhaps for Joy she found him so constant: However, she pretended herself angry with the Count for having broken his word in discovering her to the Marquis. The Marquis then telling her how much he longed to know what had befallen her since she left Spain, the Countess having observed how much he was concerned for Christina, saved her the trouble of the Relation, and gave the Marquis a complete Relation of all the Adventures Christina had acquainted her with. The loving Marquis who thought all along Christina was Married, but hearing no such matter in all the Relation, was extremely impatient to know the truth of that particular. But the Count having bethought himself that longer discourse might incommode the Sick Party, told his Friend of it, and prevailed with him to withdraw.  
The Marquis was so full of the Idea of Christina, that he called to mind the smallest circumstances of his first passion; and not able to comprehend how she had left her Husband, his Love made him wish hearty he might find she had not been Married. He could not give over musing of his former Amour; at length he remembered, that the Person he had employed to carry his Letter, and told him she was Married, was a Sergeant in a Spanish Regiment in Garrison at Valenciennes: He presently dispatched a Messenger to bring him to him in all haste: The Sergeant being arrived betimes the next morning, the Marquis locked him up with himself in his Chamber, and with horrible threats charged him to declare truly why he had deceived him, and what reason he had to tell him his Mistress was Married, whereas he was newly informed by a French Prisoner, she never had been so. The Man was so astonished at the Marquis' Menaces, and betrayed by his own Conscience, that he stood for a while mute as a Fish: But being pressed to tell the Truth, he fell at his feet, and confessed he had been forced by the Marchioness his Mother to tell him that Lye. The Marquis not desiring to know any more, sent back the Sergeant; and not doubting but Christina had been always faithful to him, he resolved to love her as long as he lived. A Servant he had sent to inquire of her health, brought him word she was much better: With that he went presently to her, and entered her Chamber the moment they were going to blood her: But the Chirurgeon remembering how terribly the Marquis had threatened him the day before, was so disordered at the sight of him, that he missed the Vein twice; so that they were forced to pray the Marquis to withdraw, and sent for another Chirurgeon, who had a better heart, and did the business. As great care as was taken to conceal Christina's Sex, her Combat with the Marquis was become the Discourse of the Town, and the noise of her Adventures had inspired into all a curiosity about her: Every one spoke of her according to his Humour: The Public is never satisfied with the bare truth of things, and you may believe so many circumstances added to the disadvantage of the Countess in the story of Christina, that coming to her Husband's Ear, he could not forbear expressing to her his Resentment, and in very harsh terms. The Countess having already entertained a secret Jealousy against Christina, and perceiving herself the Cully of all this Intrigue, was vexed at the heart to see herself robbed of her Gallant, and at the same time in disgust with her Husband. This made her resolve to endeavour making sure of the Marquis, being satisfied, that Guilty or Innocent, she should be equally odious to her Husband, having the misfortune to be already suspected by him. The design was scarce framed into her mind, but the Marquis entered her Chamber, entreating her, that since he could not with decency visit Christina alone any longer, she would favour him with her Company to Christina's Chamber. The Countess received him with more kindness than ordinary; and the Marquis sensible what advantage it might be to him to have her his Friend to do Him good Offices with Christina, laid hold on the occasion, and answered her Civility so very obligingly, it gave her great satisfaction.  
As soon as Christina began to be somewhat better, she was visited by all the Persons of Quality in the Court at Brussels, Curiosity moving several to see her, who had no other reason to perform that respect. Her illness made her look much thinner than ordinary, but her Complexion had mended upon't, her long lying a bed having recovered the delicate white and red of her face, which the service of War had miserably tanned. She appeared very charming in very plain habit; and the Gentlemen of the Court expressed so much esteem for her, that it contributed very much to her cure. It may be said to the praise of the Spanish Gentry, that they are the greatest Gallants of any in Europe; and in menage of Intrigues, and carrying on the subtleties of neat and delicate Gallantry, exceed the French, who value themselves so much upon it. They have the Sex in so great Veneration, that to praise their Mistresses, they seldom scruple to run into profaneness: So that it will not appear strange, that the miserable condition of a Person beautiful as Christina, confined to her Bed upon an occasion so unusual with those of her Sex, moved all those who visited her, to pity her extremely.  
But the Count de Salazar, Governor of the Citadel at Antwerp, had scarcely seen her, but he fell desperately in Love with her. This Gentleman was a near Kinsman of the Countess de Benavidez, which gave him the advantage of visiting her oftener than others. His Love tormented him, yet he durst not complain of it, either fearing it might be in vain, or finding no small reluctancy in himself to act so unfaithful a part against the Marquis d' Osseyra his Friend. Love observes no mean, when fixed on extraordinary persons; and every Visit the Count made Christina, he found his Passion increase. At last it became so violent, he could not master it: He thought it high time to make his Declaration, and resolved twenty times to tell her how much he loved her, and twenty times failed of the confidence to do it. After all, he resolved to make his Kinswoman his Confident; and having acquainted her with the vehemence of his Passion, the Countess pretending herself very much concerned for him, promised to serve him; tho' in truth the principal motive that engaged her in that affair, was her particular interest to rob Christina of the Marquis, and at the same time to revenge herself of her Husband for his Jealousy. Salazar, assured of the Protection of the Countess, visited Christina very frequently, who as courteously received him, as introduced into her Acquaintance by the Marquis. Christina's Civility made Salazar believe the Countess had spoken to Christina in his favour. Being full of this Opinion, he spoke to her with that liberty he durst not otherwise have done. Christina perceiving by Salazar's discourse he was more concerned for her Recovery than might be expected merely from his Friendship for the Marquis, made as if she understood not his meaning; and to prevent the occasion of a breach with him, answered in Raillery his obliging expressions. Salazar applauded himself for the good success of his first attempt: This confirmed his Passion, and made him forget the respects he should have retained for his Friend. The Countess de Benavidez omitted nothing the while to rekindle the Marquess' flame: But finding her endeavours vain to recover for herself the affection of a heart which had newly submitted itself to the violence of its first impressions, which are ever the strongest, she bethought herself of an expedient, which (she doubted not) would make her Mistress of her design; and the better to deceive Christina, pretending herself very much her Friend, she told her, by way of confidence, she had newly learned a secret Christina was very much concerned to know. When she had made all the Preambles usual to smooth the way for a piece of ill news, she fell to aggravating the unhappiness of Woman that trust the Oaths of Men who make Love to them, when after her signal fidelity to the Marquis d' Osseyra, he was still in doubt of her, and set on his Friend Salazar to try her, by pretending to Love her: That the conduct of the Marquis in this particular appeared so criminal, when he had so great reason to rest assured of her fidelity, that she thought it her duty to make her acquainted with it as soon as her Kinsman Salazar had told her of it. Christina calling to mind Salazar's discourse, thought the intelligence the Countess had given her, of very great importance, and no less sincerity; and having expressed no small resentment against the Marquis, she thanked the Countess, and assured her she would take her advantages of the advice she had given her, and would make that fickle headed Lover know the interest he had in her was not so well grounded, but a proceeding so unhandsome and disobliging as this might utterly destroy it. The Countess joyful to see her Intrigue take so well, and making no doubt but Christina, to be revenged of the Marquis, would use Salazar well, made him sensible what good service she had done him, and told him he might declare himself freely, and never fear the success. This made him wait on Christina the oftener, and take his opportunity to make a formal Declaration of his Passion. Christina received his Compliment so gently and quietly, that Salazar flattered himself she was in Love with him. The Marquis observing how constant and diligent his friend Salazar was in visiting his Mistress, began to apprehend he might be his Rival. And she used him with that kindness in the Marquis' presence, it almost distracted him. He made his complaints of it to Christina, but she made so light of all he said, it vexed him at the heart. The Countess watching all opportunities, took her advantages of th' see favourable circumstances, to invite the Marquis more than ever: But all to no purpose; this threw her into absolute despair, and made her to resolve to satisfy her Revenge if she could not her Love. A Woman in that condition will sacrifice any thing to her resentment; and the Countess had recourse to new Artifices to provoke Christina against the Marquis, and him against Salazar: They were all so disposed for her purpose, she easily accomplished her design. The Marquis and Salazar were at very high words; and the Governor of the Spanish Netherlands being informed of it, ordered them both to be secured. Christina having newly recovered her health, was so troubled she had been the cause of so much noise, she resolved to return into France, and spend her. Life in a Convent, and be no longer the May game of Love, and of Fortune. She imparted her resolution to the Countess, who seeming to disapprove it, offered some weak reasons to divert her from the design, though in truth she was glad at heart she had taken that resolution, in hopes to see so dangerous a Rival at further distance, which Christina might have easily perceived, had she not been possessed to Blindness with the Opinion of sincere kindness she thought the Countess had for her.  
The Duchess of Arschott having about that time obtained a Passport from his Majesty of France to go from Mons to Lille, to settle some private affairs, passed through Brussels. Christina being in search of means to execute her design, and looking upon this as a favourable occasion for her return into France under the Passport of the Duchess, communicated her thoughts to the Countess, who seeing her resolved, facilitated all things for her private retirement, that the Marquis might know nothing of it. She presented her to the Duchess, and said in her favour whatever she thought necessary to persuade the Duchess to take her along. The Duchess received her very obligingly, and declared herself very glad of the company of so lovely a Person. Christina left Brussels abundantly satisfied, at least in appearance, to have the opportunity of returning to her Country, yet not without a secret reluctance to be at so great a distance from the Marquis, for whom she had more kindness than she was ware of. The Amorous Marquis failed not a day to send to the Countess to inquire of his Mistress: The Countess fearing he might have News of her departure timely enough to stay her, took care to tell those who were going from the Marquis to her Lodging, that she went to Bed very late the night before, and desired not to be awaked. The second day the Countess laid herself in the Bed Christina usually lay in, and counterfeiting her voice, answered the Person the Marquis had sent to inquire of her health, that she was much obliged to his master, for his care of her. The Countess had longer continued the cheat, had not one of her maids (who knew by experience the Marquis never failed to reward very liberally the smallest services done him) given Intelligence of those Passages; those who have been in Love can easily imagine the effects this News had upon the Marquis: He would presently have followed her, but that he continued under confinement: the thoughts of the ill condition he was in, inspired into him a thousand extravagant resolutions, when he called to mind how he had lost a Person whom he had so dearly loved in the Flower of his Youth, and had luckily met with after so long separation by extraordinary Adventures, and had no sooner discovered her, but he yielded himself absolutely at her dispose. He strictly examined his Conduct in the affair, to the ●ery smallest Circumstance, but could not find any cause to charge himself with having occasioned so sudden a departure: it was not in his power to guests the reason of it, tho' sufficiently assured he was not the cause of it; but he looked upon her remove as fatal to him, who could not live separated from her. Having tired himself with reflections, he thought he should but labour in vain to retrieve her, who in all appearance was got already to Lille: Yet unwilling his passion should justly reproach him to have omitted any thing in his power for recovering Christina, he resolved at all advantures, to pray the Duke de Montalto, General of the Horse, and his very good Friend, to send out a strong Party toward the way of Lille, with strict Order to stay all they met with, whether with Passport, or without. The Orders were punctually executed, and the Party brought in several who Traveled with Passports, but no News of Christina; and all this  served only to make a great deal of disorder, and give occasion to the Rumour raised about that time, that the Duke de Villa Hermosa had called in all his Passports.  
The Marquis would not be discouraged for all this, but searching the means to have a Letter conveyed to her, he found a man who promised to follow her to her very home, rather than fail to bring him an account of her. The Marquis in the condition he was in, thought this some comfort; and having loaded the man with his liberality, and filled him with hopes of more, he dispatched him away with this Letter:  
WAS it in your power to resolve to be gone, and leave behind you the most passionate of Lovers? Did you not think me sufficiently mortified by your permitting Salazar to presume to make Love to you, but you must utterly destroy me, by your unkind departure? Ah Cruel! Can you doubt that if you continue your Voyage, I will not quit my Charge, my Fortune, and (it may be) my Duty to follow you? I had done it already but that I looked on my Employments as advantages that belong to you, and I ought to preserve, to take away from you all pretence for reproaching my Love. Heaven is my Witness, that to engage myself to you with bands indissolvable, I waited only the recovery of your health, with that extremity of impatience you might easily have perceived, had you not been the most insensible person in the World. Let me know what shall become of me, and assure yourself, your Answer shall regulate the Destiny of the most faithful of Lovers,  
The Marquess d' Osseyra.  
When the kind Marquis had written this Letter, he read it several times, and finding it very agreeable to his sentiments, thought it long till 'twas delivered to his Mistress: But fearing the Bearer might by the way be taken by some Party, he resolved to send a second with such another Letter, in hopes that if one miscarried, the other might pass safe.  
Salazar was much troubled for Christina's departure, tho' the despair his Rival was in gave him some comfort: The passionate Love he had for her, and the opinion he flattered himself with, that she hated him not, made him send after her a trusty Person, that upon his report he might the better take his measures for his future Conduct: And not long after the Marquis' Friends, and his, reconciled the two Rivals, and Salazar received Order to repair to his Government.  
The Countess the while triumphed for the good success of her Artifices; and the passion her desire of revenge had given birth to, was grown up to that violence by the resistance it found from the Marquis, and the advantages she promised herself by the remove of her Rival, it was not in her power to conceal her Joy and her Transport from the passionate Lover; who far from answering her hopes, loaded her with reproaches; letting her know, he was not ignorant what Tricks she used to make his Mistress fall out with him. This touched her to the quick, and put her into such a confusion, and so desperate a fret, to see her Artifices discovered, she took her Bed upon't that very day, and continued a long time very dangerously ill; the Physicians who attended her having never discovered the cause of her distemper, but using Remedies for Diseases she never was troubled with.  
While the Countess was in Cure, the Duchess of Arschott was at Lille, so well pleased with the agreeable Conversation of Christina, that she entreated her Company, at least for the time she tarried at Lille. Christina finding herself stayed by reasons she could not master, easily consented, being glad of a pretence to continue a little longer in Flanders. He whom Salazar had employed to inquire after her, had learned she was to spend some days at the Duchess of Arschott's; and as he returned to give Salazar that account, he met one of the Marquis' Messengers; and being a witty man, and well acquainted with Salazar's secrets, he presently suspected the Messenger's business, and examined him so cunningly, that at last he discovered the occasion of his Journey: And applying himself after to get out of his hands the Marquis' Letter, he set about him so dextrously that, that he fingered the Letter, and carried it to Salazar, who received it with all the satisfaction imaginable. But the Marquesses other messenger more fortunate than his Fellow, delivered his Letter to Christina; who hearty glad of it, was extremely satisfied to find the Expressions so passionately kind, answered it thus:  
THank your own Jealousy, and reproach not me so unjustly, that I admitted of Salazar's Addresses: The passion of Love is none of the weaknesses I am subject to: yet I must own, I make a great difference between you, and any other man; and find, that could you be constant to the sentiments expressed in your Letter, it will be very difficult for me to hold the resolution I have taken, never to love. The Duchess of Arschott hath a desire to keep me here, and I cannot deny her, without appearing unworthy of the kindness she hath for me. In the mean time you may assure yourself no Person hath a greater respect for you than  
Christina.  
The Marquis having received this Letter two days after it was writ, was so well pleased with it, that he never enquired whether both his Letters were delivered. He kissed Christina's a thousand times over; and impatiently longing to see her, he did nothing but think of the means how to do it: The enterprise was dangeroous, and he saw well enough what a hazard he should run, to enter an Enemy's Town, where the vigilance of the Governor justly heightened his apprehension of being surprised.  
But Love, which never loves long debates, especially such as tend to keep it at a distance from its object, quickly suggested an expedient the Marquis thought infallible. He procured from the Marshal d' Humiers a Passport for a Pedlar of Brussels to go Trade at Lille; and having got some English Point, the best he could meet with, he went for Lille, and easily got entrance to the Duchess of Arschott's, under pretence to sell his Points; which were so fine, and so very cheap, he sold many of them to the Duchess, and her Women. At last he was brought into Christina's Apartment, who very luckily was alone in her Chamber, perhaps to read over the Marquis' Letter.  
The Love she had for him preserved the Idea of him so fresh in her mind, that disguised as he was, she knew him at first sight; and concealing her surprise, she prayed the Duchess' Maid who had brought in the Pedlar, to go call another Maid who had good skill in Points. By good fortune that Maid was abroad, and she who had been to call her being withdrawn, the two Lovers having cleared all misunderstandings, and the Marquis having justified himself, they had the opportunity to express themselves with all the freedom and tenderness imaginable. Christina quarrelled with him for having exposed himself to such evident danger: The Marquis took that occasion to tell her, that if she were so much concerned for his danger, as she appeared, she might easily prevent his exposing himself for the future, by permitting him to take her back with him to Brussels, and marry her. She confessed with some trouble, she could find in her heart to do it; yet found by herself, it would be impossible for her to resolve to be married to an Enemy of the Kings: What, interrupts the Marquis, would you have me then be a Traitor to my Prince, and my Country? I am not so unjust, replies Christina, nor can I think you capable of such a thought, and should esteem you much less if you were: But there is hope the War will not last ever; and the scruples you make to be married to an Enemy of your Prince, I may very justly pretend to, would my Love give me leave: Do not you think we sufficiently espouse the Quarrel of our Sovereigns, by sacrificing every day our Lives and our Fortunes to their Interest, without making our Love a part of the Sacrifice? But pray, let's have no more of these matters of State, but employ better the moments of a Conversation hath cost me so dear. Company, coming in as he was speaking, Christina was forced to dismiss the pretended Pedlar, and appoint him to come two hours after to her, being unwilling to buy any thing till she had first shown it to one who had Judment in it. He went away displeased he was so unhappily interrupted. Christina seeing it would be hard for her to have private discourse with him, writ him a Billet which she resolved to deliver him secretly, to let him know her mind.  
The supposed Pedlar being returned at the hour assigned, Christina who was in the Duchess' Chamber went to meet him at the Door, and told him aloud, she had as much English Point as she needed, and would buy none but Spanish, which pleased her best of any. With that she nearly slipped into the Marquis' hand a Billet to this effect:  
I Cannot without fear see you here; if you love me, provide for your safety and stay not a moment in a place so dangerous as for you this. Time peradventure will be more favourable to us, than we can hope for at present. This Duchess is so obliging, I doubt not but she will engage me to continue here longer: if I comply with her, you may believe 'tis much for your sake. Once more, let me beg you instantly be gone, and think that my repose depends on your safety.  
The Marquis having understood by this Billet, the disquiet of his Mistress, returned for Brussels, and appeared at Court before they missed him: the Duchess of Arschott was the mean time visited by all the Persons of Quality at Lille, her merit no less than the respect due to her Birth, drawing to her House all the good Company of the Town. The Marchioness de Belabre, in her return from Paris,) where she had been cast in her Suit) gave the Duchess a Visit, and was extremely surprised at the sight of Christina there, whom she presently knew for St. Aubin; and calling to mind the last years Carnaval, she made no doubt but Love had a great share in this new disguise; and according to most women's Humour, thinking it a mighty matter to penetrate the depth of an Amorous Intrigue, she was ready to applaud herself for the discovery she had made; and to carry on her design, came frequently to the Duchess'. Christina having been very well acquainted with the Marchioness at Paris, presently knew her; and not able to forbear blushing as often as she saw her, she resolved to take her time to speak to her in private, and undeceive her: But the Marchioness out of excess of discretion always avoided her; and perceiving it troubled Christina, she came to her one day, and whispered her in the Ear, Trouble not yourself, and never fear me, I can keep my Friend's counsel. Christina endeavoured to disabuse her, but in vain. The Marchioness having a strong fancy she knew the Lady had engaged St. Aubin to put on this disguise, tho' she made a thousand false guesses: for as soon as she saw St. Aubin speak to any Lady, immediately she concluded she was the Person.  
After much labour in vain, and fruitless observation, the Marchioness made the Baroness of St. Sauveur her Confident in the business, imparting to her the mighty mystery; imagining St. Aubin not mistrusting the Baroness, she would not be so reserved in her presence; and so she might easily find out the truth of what she earnestly desired to know. The Baroness being a young Lady, and of a very jovial humour, was ravished with joy at the discovery of such a Secret, and applying herself to a business so suitable to her humour, she observed Christina with a great deal of care, though little satisfaction. Angered at her ill success, and apprehending the Marchioness would impute it to want of Address, she doubled her diligence, and watched Christina more narrowly than before: But all this care and extremity of attention served for no more, than to make her take better notice of the good mien of the pretended Gentleman. She thought him so amiable, and took such delight in viewing him, that in a short time she found her Curiosity had produced an effect quite other than she expected, having insensibly engaged her in a passion for St. Aubin which was already so strong, she perceived she was not Mistress of it. This made her long for an intimate acquaintance with so Charming a Person; and the better to obtain it, she sought for cccasions of seeing and discoursing her; which was easy to find, all Persons of Quality having free access to the Duchess'. Christina satisfied the longing of the Baroness with so good a Grace she was no less pleased with her Civility, than taken with her good Mein. She was a hundred times upon the point of telling her, she knew the secret of her Sex; and that natural modesty that sticks so close to Women wellborn, made her as often change her resolution, and quit her design. After many Conflicts in her heart, where Love, Modesty, Freedom and Reservedness strove in vain to get the better one over the other, she found Christina alone, and adventured to tell her, she had never known a Person so deserving of Love as she was, and that had Heaven made her of a Sex different from hers, she should have found it very difficult to save herself from passion for a Person so amiable. Christina, who thought of nothing less than Love, thought this discourse an effect of her Friendship; and answered she was extremely obliged to her for her kindness, assuring her, she would endeavour to return it her with all the tenderness of affection she was capable of. The Baroness having already advanced so far, was not satisfied with so cold an answer: However, she thought it necessary to appear content for the present, and to prevent the loss of all, she embraced her tenderly, and gave her many thanks. The Duchess coming in, and finding them in that posture, asked the reason. The Baroness who thought her embraces as criminal as Christina believed them innocent, answered with some trouble (for a pretence to deceive the Duchess) that she was upon going, and could not take leave without embracing her dear friend. What she said was believed, not one having perccived how hearty she was vexed to leave a House where she so much loved to be.  
Every time the Marchioness saw the Baroness de S. Sauveur, she asked if she had not found out the reasons why S. Aubin had disguised himself: But having no account to satisfy her Curiosity, she became more impatient, and resolved to know it one way or other. Having mused a while, she resolved to tell her (whom she thought S. Aubin) of the business, and to oblige him to impart to her the secret of his Love; and in case of refusal, to threaten him she would publish the secret of his Sex. Christina extremely surprised with the Proposal, would have undeceived her, by making her a faithful Relation of her Adventures. But the Marchioness prepossessed with an Opinion she spoke to S. Aubin, gave no credit to the discourse, telling him, she would allow him till that time to morrow to think on't, assuring him he might rely on her discretion; but if he delayed any longer to acquaint her with the secret, she would certainly spoil all. Christina who concealed nothing from the Duchess, gave her ah account of the perplexity she was in, by the earnest solicitations of the Marchioness. This was good sport for them, and made them laugh hearty, and resolve together, since the Marchioness was so absolutely bend to be deceived, and not be disabused, they would for their divertisement afford their help to deceive her: the sole qnestion remained was, what Lady should be the Object of the pretended passion: Several were in nomination, but none so likely to take as the Baroness de S. Sauveur, being a handsome and jovial young Lady, and Christina's intimate friend. The Marchioness being told of it, was surprised at the news, but promised to keep his counsel, and expressed great satisfaction at the confidence he reposed in her.  
Christina, by agreement with the Duchess affected thenceforward so much kindness and care for the Baroness de S. Sauveur, and to appear so much concerned for her, and still long for her company, which the Baroness answered on her part with a great deal of pleasure, that the Marchioness having often observed them, was confirmed in her Error; and inwardly applauding herself for having so luckily discovered the Intrigue, would needs make the Baroness sensible of it, that she might know herself at her mercy for the discovery. And not longer able to keep a secret which was already a burden to her, she gave her a visit; and having reproached her for not dealing clearly by her, in concealing her knowledge of S. Aubin's passion, In earnest, says she, by way of Raillery, I was not ill prepared to penetrate S. Aubin's concerns, and you have acted your part very well, only 'tis pity you had not to do with a Fool. All things seemed to conspire to deceive the Marchioness; for the Baroness blushing, made her think that change of her countenance an effect of her confusion at the discovery she had made. You do not deserve, adds the Marchioness, I should use so much discretion in your concern, who were so unwilling to make me of your counsel: But fear me not, had I not promised S. Aubin secrecy at his confession, the respect I have for you would oblige me to silence. The Baroness surprised at the discourse, stood mute for some time, not knowing what to think on't: But as we easily believe what we passionately desire, the Baroness no longer doubting but S. Aubin loved her, and that the Marchioness spoke in good earnest, quickly passed out of a great astonishment into a far greater joy: If a man will love one, says she, how can we help it? Would you not think it hard to throw a Gentleman into despair, who does things so extraordinary for his Mistress, and demonstrates by his actions the violence of his passion? I will pardon you, replies the Marchioness, your want of confidence in me hitherto, upon condition you will hid nothing from me for the future. It was agreed, and they parted both very well-pleased with their mistakes; the Marchioness to see herself the Confident in an Intrigue she had so great a desire to penetrate; the Baroness to be assured by so good a hand things that did so much flatter her passion. She was so fully persuaded S. Aubin was in love with her, she began to repent she had been so forward to let him know the kindness she had for him, fearing it might have lessened the esteem she could wish he should have for her This made her resolve to force herself into more reservedness, and be more shy for a while, to set an edge on his passion. It fell out as she wished; for Christina to maintain throughout the part she was to act for the Duchess' divertisement, & her own, was every day kinder than other to the Baroness, who through dissimulation (usual with Women) receiving Christina's Courtship very coldly, hoped by that means to heighten the Passion of her supposed Lover.  
Christina not knowing the intention of the Baroness, nor the reasons she used her so, took so ill the flight return she made of her Civilities, that she for bore the continuance of them, and shunned her company, to prevent occasions of discourse with her. The Baroness perceiving it, could not brook this indifference above a day; the morrow she goes to Christina, and in some heat asked her what she had done to be slighted so by her, and make her affect avoiding her company, as she observe d she did. She let fall some, other hasty words, which surprised Christina extremely; who answered she had never been wanting to the friendship she had promised her; but that the Baroness had appeared so cold the day before towards her, she had no reason to wonder it had made her more shy. The Baroness was so impatient, she would not allow her time to finish, but embraced her instantly, and was upon the point of telling her, 'twas in vain to endeavour concealing his Sex from her, who know it already, by very good information: But she forbore, foreseeing she could not with decency take some little liberties with S. Aubin discovered she used with Christina disguised. Never did Woman love more to deceive herself, and never was there love of so singular a Character. Pressed by her Passion, she gave S. Aubin a thousand occasions to declare himself to be what she took him for: but finding, all would not do, and attributing it to his fear, she studied a thousand expedients to accomplish as Adventure she could not endure should hang in suspense. Time furnished her with an unexpected occasion: Her Husband being gone one Evening for the Country, she sat up very late at the Duchess', and having cunningly let fall a word, she would willingly lie there that night: She asked one of the Duchess' Women if she would admit her her Bedfellow: Christina offered her a part of her Bed; the Baroness at first seemed loath to accept of it, for fear of incommoding her, but at last she was persuaded, the maid she had first spoken to having a Bedfellow already, which the Baroness knew, though she pretended the contrary.  
When they were just ready to go to Bed, the Baroness retaining some remains of modesty, was so troubled, and out of countenance, she knew not what she did. But to give her dying Virtue some small satisfaction for the disorder her passion had brought her in, she told Christina she would have only one corner of the bed, where she prayed her to let her sleep quietly without touching her all night. Christina very readily promised what she desired, and as readily performed it. When the Lights were taken away, the Baroness wha expected with impatience the darkness she longed for, was astonished to find Christina fast asleep. At first she thought it her own fault, and that her Gallant feigned himself asleep to express his obedience to her; yet she knew not what to think on't. But having long expected in vain to find him more confident she asked him if he were asleep: but receiving no Answer, it almost put her beside herself. She fell a sighing, but her sighs as little affected Christina, who was in a deep sleep. The Baroness thought 20 times to awake her, but shame and vexation made her forbear. Never had Woman so bad a Night, though never Woman expected a better. At length it was day; and seeing her insensible Lover lie still as a Stock, she dressed herself hastily; and the despair she was in not permitting her to quit the Room without leaving behind her some mark of her resentment, she found Pen, Ink and Paper ready on the Table, and writ immediately this Billet:  
I Have received from you the most sensible outrage a Lady can suffer; but 'tis what I deserved, having so blindly abandoned myself to a passion for a man who knew no better to answer it. I must now endeavour to cover my shame: As for you, I advise you to continue the disguise that becomes you so well. You have already the modesty of the Sex whose habit you carry; and you are not to despair, but Heaven sensbile of its Error in making you a Man, may take from you that little you have remaining of that Sex.  
The Baroness having written this Letter, laid it on Christina's Toilette, and withdrew. As soon as she got home, she feigned she had been all night up at Play; and having had herself undressed, went presently to bed, which you may believe was not very easy to her. Christina at getting up having found the Billet, dressed herself in all haste to carry it to the Duchess: it made them good sport; and when they reflected on the course the Baroness had taken to get an interest in Christina, they concluded the Marchioness had imparted her secret to her, and so involved her in the same Error with herself.  
The Duchess was concerned at it, and had the goodness to go to the Baroness to undeceive her; and having fully told her what she knew of the business, at last, tho' with difficulty, disabused her. She would have gone thence to the Marchioness of Bellabre to do her the like g odd office: but the Baroness sufficiently confounded already, and fearing further explication might reflect more on her Credit, entreated the Duchess to say no more of it but to leave the Marchioness to her mistakes, as not daring to trust her discretion in so tender a point, where the matter appeared so fit for mirth, and her Reputation was so deeply concerned.  
The Duchess had now almost finished her business at Lille, and had written to Brussels she would return thither speedily, and hoped to bring Christina back again with her. The Countess de Benavidez, who was pretty well recovered, and had not lost by her sickness any part or her passion for the Marquis d' Osseyra, hearing talk of Christina's return, was so frighted at the News, she made it her business by all means to prevent it; and at length found an occasion to have a Letter writ to the Duchess of Arschott by a Lady, and one of her best Friends, to inform her she was with impatience expected at Brussels; that her concerns being very dear to her, she thought fit to acquaint her there was great murmuring at Court that she had thoughts of bringing back Christina, who would not fail to give intelligence to the French of all she could learn at Brussels; at least it would be believed so, Christina being already under suspicion of Gild in that particular. The Duchess being highly concerned to hold fair with the Spaniards, and fearing their jealousy of her long stay at Lisle, especially since the News spread in Flanders of her having had a hand in the Marriage of the Prince of Izinguien with the Daughter of the Marshal d' Humiers, looked upon the advice as not to be slighted: And whatever kindness she had for Christina, she could not find in her heart to expose herself to mine for her sake, in praying her to bear her company to Brussels. As they were alone one day, the Duchess took her opportunity to make a long discourse of the state of her affairs, and the necessity she was under to avoid any thing that might give a jealousy of her to the Spaniards: adding, that this obliged her to be very cautious in her Conduct; and to deny herself many things in themselves very agreeable to her. Christina had too much Wit not to apprehend the meaning of this discourse, and answered, she had for the same reasons resolved to return into France, as soon as she should receive Answer to a Letter she had writ into her Country; and in the mean time to put herself into a Covent. They concluded their discourse with mutual assurances of Eternal Friendship; and two days before the Duchess left Lisle, Christina entered the Covent of the Nuns of S. Thomas.  
The Marquis d' Osseyra seeing the Duchess arrived at Brussels without Christina, was very much alarmed at it, and went in great haste to inquire the news of her. When he heard she was gone into a Nunnery, it extremely disturbed him, not knowing what reason she had for it: But the Countess de Benavidez watching all occasions to vex him, dextrously gave out that Christina had long since privately communicated to her the disgust she had for the World, and the design she had espoused to spend her days in a Religious House. This coming to the Marquis' ear, the violence of his affection allowed him so little time of consideration, that he went away that Evening for Lisle, with his former Passport as a Pedlar; and made such haste, that he would have been there timely the next day, had he not been unfortunately stayed by the way by Robbers, who pretending themselves Soldiers of the Garrison of Ypres, got together to the number of seven, and robbed Travellers without any regard to their Passports. They led away the Marquis into a very thick Wood, where deceived by his Habit and Passports, they took him for a Tradesman, and forced him to draw a Bill of Exchange upon some of his Correspondents, threatening to kill him if it were not paid at sight; and that in the mean time he should stay with them for security. The Marquis was in no small perplexity, not knowing who to draw the Bill on; and if he discovered himself, they would certainly kill him, for fear of being punished by him when once at liberty: what course soever he took, death seem d inevitable; but to gain time, he gave them a Bill upon an Innkeeper at Brussels, who had been his Servant, and knew his Character. When he had written it in the most pressing terms for payment at sight; they could not agree which of them should be trusted with it for receiving so considerable a Sum: At last they pitched upon two of their Company whom they put most confidence in: The Marquis in the mean time endeavoured to insinuate himself with the Robbers, letting them know he could scarce find in his heart to be angry with them, not doubting but that they had been reduced to that way of living through the avarice of their Officers, who perhaps defrauded them of the poor Pay their Prince allowed them; and that he thought himself happy, in falling into their hands who used him so civilly, and were satisfied with a little Money. The desire he had to see Christina made the Marquis descend into Complaisances for saving his life, he had disdained to stoop to on any other score: These were so agreeable to their humour, that he was presently very familiar with them, and they used him more kindly than at first, and made him sup with them. The morrow betimes they sent away one of their Comrades to buy in Provisions; the Marquis seeing their number lessened, and fearing the return of those who were gone to receive the Money on his Bill, resolve d to seize one of their Swords and die at least with his Weapon in his hand. One of the four who stayed in the Wood, watched always while the other slept: The Marquis feigning himself very sleepy, the Watchman observing it himself, went a little further into the Wood The Marquis to lose no time, instantly seized their Guns before any of them awaked: but being too generous to kill men in their sleep, he took out the priming out of two of the Guns, having the other two in readiness to be discharged: Then went he to meet him who was gone into the Wood, and having threatened to kill him if he made the least resistance, he told him he was unwilling to take the advantage he had against him, and his Fellows, and was content they should have the Money on the Bill of Exchange, but that for his safe passage through the Wood he must have his company a League further, assuring him he would do him no harm. The Robber believing a Tradesman incapable of so bold a resolution, and astonished to hear him speak so stoutly, was forced to obey, and do whatever the Marquis commanded him. They were scarce got out of the Wood, but they were met by a Party of Horse of the Garrison of Lisle. The Marquis immediately presented his Passport, but having been taken with two Pistols about him, and in a quarter very suspicious, they told him, he made use of his Passports to rob the more safely: The Marquis to clear himself, told them, he had been robbed in that Wood, and related truly what had passed, and how he had escaped out of the Robbers hands, which made the Troopers resolve to enter the Wood to seize upon the Thiefs. But the Commander having be thought himself this discourse might be a mere invention of the Marquesses, to draw them perhaps into some Ambush, ordered only ten Horsemen to dismount, and go into the quarter the Prisoner should lead them, where they found the Rogues, and took them without resistance. They were all brought to Lisle, and having confirmed all the Marquis had said, he had his liberty, and no doubt made but he was, as he pretended, a Tradesman. What became of the Robbers, I know not, though likely they were hanged: But 'tis certain, the Marquess impatiently longing for news of Christina, went straight to the Covent where he had been told she was. When he was come, they told him there was no speaking with any of the Nuns, that day being set aside for receiving a French Gentlewoman into the Habit.  
The reports which had passed of Christina's having taken that resolution, and the Marquis' fears, made him believe it was she. Confirmed in this Opinion by his desperate Love, he bustled through the Crowd, and without further inquiry, addressed himself to the Priest ready to begin the Ceremony, and prayed him to stay till he had spoke with the Abbess. Those who observed with what disorder he pronounced h is words, were surprised; and the Priest who had prepared an Elegant discourse in praise of a Religious Life, was afraid, he should be obliged to reserve it for another occasion. The Marquis in the mean time was got to the Grate, and the Abbess appearing, he told her he was come to acquaint, the Person she intended to receive into the Number of her Sisters had promised him Marriage, and all the Vows she should make would be null. The Abbess much surprised, called the Maid to the Grate, and having told her what the Marquis had said, she charged her to declare the truth. The Young Maid, already sufficiently perplexed under the apprehension of that variety of Functions she was to undergo that day, thought the discourse of the Abbess a piece of formality, usually observed on such occasions, the better to assure herself of the willingness of those who took the Habit; and turning toward the Sister who had the care of her Education, she asked her very Innocently, what Answer to make. This, and the confusion in the Marquis' countenance at the sight of a Person he knew not, made all believe she was in good earnest. And the people cried out the man was a Fool. The Marque's defended himself so ill, that the distraction of his looks, and his silence, made them absolutely conclude he was mad; and they drove him out of the Congregation, without his being able once to make his Complaint.  
While his passion procured him all this ill usage, his friends were extremely concerned for his person. The Innkeeper at Brussels having been much pressed by the Thiefs to pay his Correspondents Bills of Exchange, knew the hand, and pretending he would pay them, went to the Marquis' quarters, and showed the Bill to one of his principal Servants, who confirmed it was of his Master's hand-writing, which made them believe he was in the Robbers hands: They applied themselves to the Duke de Montalto, whom they knew to be his very good friend; and having showed him the Bill, the Duke caused the two men, who demanded payment of it, to be presently arrested; and having severely threatened them, they confessed all. The Duke was in fear for the danger of his Friend, and went out in person in the Head of a Party of three hundred Horse, and some Dragoons. When he came to the Wood where the two Robbers had left their Comrades, he placed Guards at all the Avenues, and went in himself at the Head of his Dragoons, and so crossed all the Woods, but found not one Person. This heightened his fear, and made him detach three several Parties, sending them away into several quarters to endeavour a discovery where these Rogues had their refuge, but all to no purpose; so that he was forced to return without having any account of his Friend.  
The morrow, a servant of the Marquis' impatient for news of him, and thinking he might find him at Lisle, put himself into Boor's habit, and went in search of him. As soon as he was arrived at Lisle, he pretended he had a Letter for Christina; and having got her called to the grate of the Covent she was in, he asked her privately what news of the Marquis. Christina not able to give him any account of him, the Servant acquainted her with the departure of the Marquis from Brussels, the adventure of the Bill of Exchange, and all other circumstances of his absence. Christina who found in her heart a stronger inclination for the Marquis than she thought she had, was so concerned for his misfortune, that the trouble she was in at the news convinced her of the height of the passion she had for him. She earnestly prayed the Man to return instantly for Brussels, not to omit any thing to learn some news of his Master, and to let her know without delay the success of his care. Before she could make an end of these few words, her tears betrayed the affection of her heart. When the Servant was gone, she passed some hours in those inquietudes none can comprehend but those only who have been in Love. The mean time the Marquis' Servant being an honest Fleming, and very devout, despairing to find his Master, goes into a Church, and having hearty prayed God to inspire him where to meet with the Marquis, he no sooner turned himself about toward the Church-door to go out, but he spied the Marquis standing before him; and not able to contain himself; cried out at the Miracle. The Marquis also astonished at so unexpected an accident, had much ado to make his Man hold his peace; and giving out he was his Comrade, he told those who came running in at the report of the Miracle, that the Man was a little cracked, and had often such Fits. They got off by this Artifice, and went into a house where the Marquis had lain. His Man gave him an account of what had passed at Brussels, and of the disorder Christina was in at the news; the tears she shed, and the lamentable condition he left her in. The Marquis, who after the last days work durst not appear at the Covent-gate, was ravished with joy at the news of her being so concerned for his misfortunes; and having got her called for by his Man, he slipped into the Speaking room, and quickly revived her by his presence. Never was Conversation more tender than theirs; 'twas not in Christina's power to reproach her Lover with any thing the violence of his passion for her could not presently justify. She promised him once for all, never to be any man's but his, and prayed him not to expose himself again to so many accidents, assuring him she had already written into her Country to desire the Abbot Dizesle, who had the management of her Affairs, to take a journey into Flanders to agree with him about her Marriage. The Marquis well satisfied with these fair hopes, that she might be at ease, withdrew sooner than he would have done, and returned to Brussels, where his Friends by their joy to see him again, convinced him of the trouble they were in by the fears they had been under of having lost him. To keep them in ignorance, lest they should discover the mystery of his absence, he gave out he had lost himself a Hunting, (a Sport he was known to use) and was taken by Robbers, who having detained him three days, set him at liberty. This past for current, being so very probable, only the Countess of Benavidez would not believe it, her Jealousy having given her a true guess at the cause of his absence; it vexed her to that height, she presently resolved to leave no stone unturned to break the Correspondence between the Marquis and Christina.  
About this time news came to Brussels, the French Troops were on their march: it was very early in the year, and the Spanish Generals were extremely alarmed to hear of an Army in the Field in January, in a very cold season. All the considerable Officers came to Brussels to assist the Governor of the Spanish Netherlands with their counsel in a conjuncture of this importance. Count Salazar being arrived there one of the first, and having given the Countess of Benavidez a Visit, she endeavoured to revive his passion for Christina, reproaching him with his indifference, and acquainting him the same time with the dangers his Rival had exposed himself to for a sight of her. Salazar, who had been discouraged from seeing Christina by the difficulties appeared in the attempt, was somewhat ashamed; and to cover his coolness with a plausible pretence, and let her see he had not been wanting to his Duty, he bethought himself of putting a Trick on his Kinswoman, and persuading her he was more in Christina's Books than she made account. The Countess answered, She could hardly believe it: He offered to make it out, and desired only time to step to his Quarters to do it. 'Twas not long e'er he returned, and brought her a very passionate Letter of the Marquesses to Christina, being the same formerly spoken of which Salazar's men cunningly got from the Marquesses. Salazar having in his hand a Letter which so clearly proved what he had said, shown it his Kinswoman, and told her, she might judge by the Sacrifice Christina had made him, how much he was in her favour. The Countess having read the Letter, was very well pleased, and thought it very proper and effectual for setting the Marquis and his Mistress at variance: She spoke Salazar so fair, that she prevailed with him to leave it in her custody, upon her promise to make no ill use of it; which she kept so ill, that the very next moment she went to one of her friends, a Lady of the Marquis' familiar acquaintance, and having aggravated the dangers the Marquis had exposed himself to for seeing Christina, and the ill consequence of his passion; it might be excused, adds she, did Christina but love him; which she is so far from, that she cannot endure him, but sacrifices his kindest and most affectionate Letters to Salazar, who to my knowledge hath several of them, though he hath the discretion not to show them. To this she added many other particulars which convinced the Lady, and made her believe she could not do the Marquis a better Office, than to cure him of his passion, and disabuse him as to his Opinion of Christina. She fell to work on the morrow, and made use of all means the Countess had furnished her with to persuade the Lover to think no more of so faithless a Mistress. The Marquis who could not imagine Christina capable of falsehood to him, did not easily believe what was said of her, and would not for a long time admit the suspicions they endeavoured to infuse into him of her: But this Lady Pressing him to it continually he promised at length to believe what she said, if she would show him one Letter to convince him of the falsehood of Christina The Countess of Benavidez informed of this good success, sent the Letter to her good Friend, who having showed it the Marquis it extremely disturbed him. He read it over and over, and knew it to be the same he had wit to Christina, and she had sent him an Answer of. He made no longer doubt but she had betrayed him, and his heart reproaching him for having been so long fooled by so ingrateful a Wretch, he blindly resolved to declare his resentment, by writing her a Letter full of Scorn and Contempt, and in the most vilifying and bitter terms he could invent; which he did to this purpose.  
THe Interest I have in your Concerns engages me to write to you, to furnis● you the means to make new Sacrifices to my happy Rivals. But I advise you to make good use of this Letter, as the last you shall receive from me. Force yourself no further to comply with me, yet assure yourself I shall not envy the surprise of Salazar, for I hope you will revenge me of him, and will in a short time make a sacrifice of him also to another, who could find in your heart to betray the most sincere and most passionate of Lovers,  
The Marquess d' Osseyra.  
The Marquis had no sooner written this ●etter, but he gave it him who carried the former, charging him to be gone immediately, and deliver it Christina. Ill news fly apace, and the Letter was delivered her within two days after the writing it. Christina was so little acquainted with the language of it, she could hardly believe what she read: We are naturally inclined to be ignorant of what we wish should not be, and she would fain have been deceived. But seeing the Letter unquestionably of the Marquis' hand writing, and knowing the Bearer to be one he confided in, it offended her so highly, she thought it below her to justify herself against an Accusation so improbable and unworthy her Noble and Generous Soul: And laying aside, on the sudden, the gentleness and sweetness of her Nature, she angrily told the man who waited her Answer, she would never take the pains to clear herself to a man who thought her capable of Falsehood. And tearing the Letter in pieces in the presence of him who delivered it, she threatened to have him apprehended for a Spy, if he went not away immediately, or ever saw her face more.  
As haughty and courageous as she appeared before the Marquis' man, it was not in her power to overrule the infirmity of her Sex, but she burst out into tears, and was tormented with a thousand different thoughts. The despair she was in pressed her to take a course that should remove her for ever far enough from the Marquis: yet a secret inclination (the cause whereof she knew not) rendered her resolutions uncertain and ineffectual Sometimes she thought to return home, but presently disliked it, as having lately received a considerable supply of Money, and desired her Friends Consent to be married to the Marquis, which now could be of no other use to her, but to procure her the reproaches of a Province where people naturally love to talk of their Neighbours: A Religious Life pleased her as little, and after a thousand Reflections, finding none so agreeable to her humour as the Military, she took a strong resolution to spend the rest of her days in Arms.  
While she was taking private order for going to another Town to put herself in fit Equipage for War, the Marquis (now his passion was over) began to repent all he had done: And having considered former passages, and endeavouring to find his Mistress less guilty, he bethought himself that the man who had one of his Letters to carry to Christina, never came back again, but took Arms for the French. This made him believe he had sold his Letter to Salazar, and deserted the service of his Prince, for fear of being punished. The quick return of him he had sent to Lisle two days before, who brought him the news of Christina's indignation, and the Answer she had made him, confirmed his Opinion of the Innocence of his Mistress. He was upon the point of going to cast himself at her feet; but desirous to know the manner how this Letter came into the hands of his Rival, he prayed the Duke de Montalto (who was both their friend, and charged them never to question one another) to go to Salazar, and entreat him to tell him upon the word of a Gentleman, how he came by that Letter; assuring the Duke however it had happened, he would not resent it, provided he might know the truth, which for other reasons he was concerned to be informed of.  
Salazar being pressed by the Duke to give a positive answer, was highly displeased to find himself reduced to such a straight by the indiscretion of the Countess; and after a weak denial, was at last obliged to confess to his Friend the truth of the business. The Marquis having made this discovery by the Duke, was ready to die for grief, for having upon so light grounds suspected the fidelity of his Mistress. This was not all his misfortune; for while he thought of going to ask her pardon, news came to Brussels, that the Monarch of France was at the Gates of the strong Tower of Valenciennes, which he besieged in a season when the Heroes of former Ages would have thought it impossible to have an Army in the Field: Wherein he surpassed the Sun (which he hath taken for his Devise) since the Frost and the Snow which hinder the appearance of that Luminary, could not retard for one day the course of his Conquests.  
The surprise the Spaniards were under at the news, was incredible. Every man had order to be in readiness; and the Marquis d' Osseyra, Master of the Artillery, had his hands full; yet he was not so taken up with the business of his Charge, but he th●ught how to make his peace with his Mistress. But how pressing soever his passion was, his duty was more; and he found himself under the necessity of being content with writing her a Letter, which probably was very submissive and kind: What it contained I cannot give you a certain account, Christina having never received it. This Illustrious Heroine, who had laid her design for serving in the Wars, and promised herself never more to entertain any passion but for Honour, had left Lisle, and put herself into Equipage, good or bad; and having joined the King's Army, near Valenciennes, in a Troopers Habit, and under her former Name S. Aubin, he made his Court to the Marshal of Luxembourg, who formerly knew him; & having prayed to be admitted to serve him in the quality of Aid de Camp, the generous Marshal having inclinations of kindness for those who are handsome, especially if persons of Merit, granted his request, and employed him that very day to carry Orders into several Quarters of the Camp. Valenciennes, which boasted itself to have been fatal to the French, willing to preserve the reputation it had gained in the late Wars, made a vigorous defence. This happy beginning put the Spaniards in hopes the valour of the Inhabitants, assisted with the rigour of the season, would give them time to assemble their forces, and expect those of their Confederates for raising the Siege. But the renowned Monarch who besieged it, taking notice of this vigorous resistance, and that they were provided to endure a Formal Siege, caused them to be attaqu'd a new way, which may serve for an example to the Captains in future Ages. For having made a Detachment from his Army, those brave Souls animated by the presence and Orders of a General so much Superior to others, made themselves Masters of all the Outworks, in open-day: Nor can it be said it was by surprise, or without resistance, eight hundred men having died upon the spot, in an obstinate defence of their several Posts. The King's Musqueteers being foremost of the Assailants, entered the Town pell mel with those that fled into it.  
I shall not undertake to write the Great Actions done this Remarkable Expedition, I leave it to the Historians, whose business it is, and shall speak only of what concerns my Heroine. This Generous Person was always near Monsieur de Luxembourg, who being upon the service of the day, commanded that glorious Detachment. S. Aubin seeing that Worthy Marshal carry his Orders in Person throughout, thought the assistance of an Aid de Camp very useless in so hot a service, and having mingled himself among the King's Musqueteers, he entered the Town with them, and shared in the glory of so hardy an Action. The Granadiers of the King's Household, and the Regiment of Guards following the next moment, the Garrison laid down their Arms, and the Squadron of Horse who were drawn up in the Marketplace were dismounted. The Townsmen, who never expected an Assault of that nature, were so amazed to see the French in the Town, that most of them retired into the Churches and Monasteries to avoid the fury of the Soldiers.  
While all was yet in Confusion, some greedy Soldiers broke into the first Houses they met with; and S. Aubin seeing no more Honour to be gained where there was no more resistance, was marching out of the Town; and having by the way spied some Soldiers entering a House, which probably belonged to some Person of Quality, his generosity inspired him to enter among them, to prevent their pillaging it. He presently met with a young Maid, very handsome, who all in tears threw herself at his feet, praying him to save her Honour, and rest satisfied with the many Goods he should find in the House, which she wholly yielded up to him with all her heart. S. Aubin's heart melting at the disorder and tears of the poor Maid, he put on a face of Authority, and made the Soldiers, partly by civility, partly by force, to get out of doors; and having locked them, promised the Maid he would protect her, and stay by her as long as should be necessary to save her from the insolence of the Soldiers. This discourse, which in appearance should have dissipated her fears, served only to heighten them: She could not imagine a man covered with blood, and with dirt ('twas not a season for dust) should have so much Humanity, but fancied he saved her from others, the better to play a Game for himself. Prepossessed with these thoughts, she stood at a distance, and in a lamentable tone prayed him not to lessen the Greatness of the service he had done her, by offering her violence to no purpose, being resolved rather to lose her life, than her honour: Fear nothing, saith S. Aubin, were you acquainted with me, and knew me better, you would have better thoughts of me: I stay here only to guard you, and will be gone as soon as you command me.  
This Maid's Mother was gone that morning to Mass, and the Town was so suddenly taken, she had not time to return home e'er the business was done. The Father, who could not find in his heart to see his House rifled, retired into the Covent of Capucines, in company with several others who expected like usage, as very well knowing the Rights Victory gives them who take a Town by Assault. But the Serene Monarch of France, as full of Clemency as Valour, and willing the season of the Siege, the taking of the Town, and the use of the Victory should be equally extraordinary, sent in Monsieur de Louvoy, who by mentioning the King's Name, presently stayed the fury of the Soldiers, and within a quarter of an hour caused better Orders to be observed in Valenciennes taken by Assault, than had been observed by the Enemies at three days end in Treves, surrendered by Composition. 'Tis easy to guests what a pleasant surprise it was to the Inhabitants, when creeping out of their lurking holes, and places of refuge, instead of smoking ruins thy expected to see, they found houses very well furnished, and in the same condition they had left them; and instead of Fire and Sword they were so justly afraid of, they met with Officers coming into their houses with Gold and Silver in their hands to pay for what they wanted. S. Aubin a while after looking out at a Window, saw all things quiet by the indefatigable cares of the Minister I have named: And having observed the Shops of that great City begin to open, and that his fair Hostess was now out of fear, he went out to seek his General, whom he found with his Majesty, giving him an account of the particulars. The Parents of the Maid S. Aubin had so generously protected being returned home, ravished to find their Daughter there, embraced her with inexpressible joy. The first transports of this pleasant Interview being over, she made them a faithful Relation of the Obligations she had to the brave Frenchman who succoured her, and declared the circumstances of the service he had done her so much to the life, and how free the Gentleman appeared from Self-Interest, that her Father conceiving it not in his power sufficiently to acknowledge so virtuous and excellent an action, resolved to clear himself from being liable to an imputation of ingratitude and spent two whole days in searching (though in vain) for his Daughter's Deliverer in the City and Camp. Having heard the King's Musqueteers had first entered the Town, he presently fancied the man he looked for might be one of them. But having acquainted his Daughter with his thoughts, and told her the Musqueteers were Red-coats, she presently undeceived him, by assuring him, her Protector was in a Habit of a different colour. Those who are good natured, will easily guests what a torment it was to those grateful persons not to find him they held themselves so much obliged to: They were vexed at the heart they could not have saved their Goods without being ingrateful, and resolved to make new search for the man, when S. Aubin curious to know who she was, he had been so happy to save from the fury of the Soldiers, entered the House by a Backdoor, the very same he entered by at first.  
He crossed a little Yard, and found himself just in the Room of a young Servant maid, who not fully recovered of her frights the day before, was so troubled to see a Stranger in her Chamber, that she, set up her throat, and with the loudness of her cries drew all the House to her. They had certainly taken him for a Robber, had not his good mien, and his Habit, which was very decent, made them think him no such man. They looked on him with astonishment, and knew not how to begin speaking to him, till the Daughter of the House came in after the rest, and knowing S. Aubin's face, cried out, That same was her Guardian Angel, and stood at his Elbow in a transport of joy with the ingenuity and innocence of a true Flemish Girl. The Father and Mother as sensible as their Daughter of so happy a rencontre, ravished with joy to find themselves under those strong obligations to so lovely a Gentleman, embraced him with that affection and kindness may better be understood than expressed. The Father made him an offer of what part he pleased of his Goods, owning he held them of him, by whose bounty and goodness alone they were still his. The Mother, who had not yet spoke a word, interrupted her Husband, telling him, that in giving the Gentleman part of their Goods, they paid him only in part for the service he had done them: But since he had preserved Mary-Anne their Daughter, dearer to them than all the treasures of the world, it was but reasonable to recompense so considerable a good Office to the full, by entreating him to marry her; adding, she was their only Child, and that they had denied her to Wife to one of the best Gentlemen in their Country. The Father applauded his Wife's Proposals, and Mary-Anne gave consent by her silence. S. Aubin who was not altogether so hasty, answered their offers with a great deal of Civility, and gave them thanks for the Honour they would have done for him. The modesty of his answer heightened their kindness, and made them more eager, and put him to no small trouble to resist their pressing solicitations.  
After long discourse, S. Aubin being called away by his Employment, was going off with promise to see them again; but his intended Father-in-law looking upon him already as his Son, would not run the hazard of seeking him in vain, as he had done, over all the Army, but bore him company to his Quarters. By the way he gave him an account what a considerable Estate he had, and forgot not to acquaint him with the Personal Merits of his Daughter, and the Quality of her Suitors. S. Aubin desirous to put the thoughts of Marriage out of his head, took occasion to tell him, it would be great wrong to the Fair Mary-Anne to be married to a Stranger, who had nothing to trust to but his Sword, and must needs make her unhapqy, by being forced the morrow after his Marriage to follow the Camp, and leave her. The grateful Father was so far from being discouraged by these Reasons, that having highly commended St. Aubin for his modesty, he embraced him again, and with wonderful frankness told him, he thought himself the happiest man on Earth for having it in his power to contribute to the making the Fortune of a Gentleman of so singular Worth. With that they parted, and the Father, when returned home, gave there an account of his discourse with S. Aubin, magnifying the good Fortune of his Daughter, now likely to be the Wife of a Gentleman, the handsomest, the least huffish, and the best humoured of any in France.  
The mean time the Victorious Monarch having given order for the reparations necessary for the safety of the place, decamped a few days after; and St. Aubin going to take leave of those who had so much kindness for him, the whole Family was extremely surprised to see him upon going. To be rid of them, he told them, he was under an indispensable necessity to follow the Army the beginning of the Campagne, upon pain of losing the little Honour he had gained, and the esteem of all that knew him; yet to satisfy their importunities, he promised in some time to come and refresh himself at their house for a month. The Mother taking notice he said not a word of Marriage, asked him if he intended not to be their Son-in-law. S. Aubin having thanked them for the Honour they would have done him, repeated almost the very words he had said to the Father on the like occasion: But being desired to speak more positively, he answered in general terms, he had never yet thought of Marriage; that in truth he found himself very averse from it, and would advise them to lose no time for settling their Daughter. The Parents offended at the Answer, thought he slighted their Daughter. S. Aubin perceived it, and knowing they were troubled at it, he took his occasion to speak of Mary-Anne with all imaginable esteem and respect: But seeing they were not persuaded his discourse was sincere, he was at last forced, for their satisfaction, to make them a promise (which they desired of him) that he would never marry any other Maid but Mary-Anne. The Father presented him with a very fine Horse, which he was obliged to accept, to avoid utterly disgusting them: And having taken his leave, after a thousand embraces, S. Aubin got again to the Army.  
All Europe had their eyes fixed on the march of that victorious Army; some believed, that after an advantage which appeared rather the work and fruit of an entire Campagne, than a Conquest of fifteen days, the King would have returned to S.  to refresh himself after so great Fatigues, especially when his Majesty had News from all parts of the motions of the Prince of Orange, to join his Troops with those of the Spaniards, with design to oppose his Majesty's undertake. But that great Monarch not used to quit his delicious Palaces, to end a Campagne by the taking of one Town, how important soever, doubled the surprise and astonishment of the World, by pouring his Forces upon Cambray, the same which the Emperor Charles the Fifth had fortified with somuch care and expense, the last Age, to heighten the Trophies of that Great, that Wise and Generous King, though the Emperor, when he fortified it, designed it the Bulwark of the Low-Countries, and Citadel of France, as the Spaniards in the late times called it.  
While the greatest part of Europe was differently concerned for so famous a Siege, S. Aubin was busy in the service of his General with extraordinary assiduity and care, far beyond the usual rate of aids de Camp, which the Marshal de Luxembourg so well approved of, that he chose to employ him before any other. The City of Cambray being reduced to capitulate, the Governor, before he would retire into the Citadel, desired some favour (the particulars I know not) in behalf of the Wives of the principal Officers. Monsieur de Luxembourg being upon the service of the day in the Trenches, and concerned in that Negotiation, sent S. Aubin to Compliment the Ladies from him. He entered the City for that purpose; and having learned that several of these Women were retired into a Monastery, he went thither; and seeing two or three amongst them, to whom all the rest paid extraordinary respect, he made up to them to speak to them. He had scarce begun, but he perceived he spoke to the Countess de Benavidez, who had followed her Husband to Cambray, where his Regiment was, S. Aubin, though surprised at the sight of her, endeavoured to recover himself, and would have made an end of his Compliment: But the Countess, who presently knew him, would not give him time, but embraced him with such a transport, as scandalised the Company, this Lady, who always loved S. Aubin, having then forgot her Jealousy that made her hate Christina. They spent some time in private discourse; and S. Aubin having told her what great reason he had to complain of the Marquis de Osseyra, the Countess who had so great a hand in setting them at variance, was glad at the heart to hear the News, and pretending herself much concerned for her, prayed her to show her the quarrelling Letter he had injuriously sent her, S. Aubin having torn it, could not satisfy her desire, but told her the substance of it, assuring her it had occasioned her taking Arms afresh, with a resolution not to entertain any passion but for Honour and Renown. The Countess would gladly have Continued this discourse, but fearing the Company would take it ill, she put an end to it, telling them this Gentleman having been Prisoner the last year at Brussels, had done her the Honour to visit her often. S. Aubin having confirmed what the Countess had said, retired, having offered them all the service in his power to obtain the favour they desired; which he performed so well, that the Ladies were satisfied, and gave him thanks by Letter.  
The King desirous his Subjects of the Province of Boulonnois might be eased of the continual Incursions of the Garrison of S. Omer, and by his reducing that place might enjoy the redress his Majesty intended Picardy by the taking of Cambray, and the quiet all the rest of the Provinces of his Realm are blest with in the heat of War, his Majesty ordered a Body of an Army to be form under the Command of his Worthy Brother for besieging S. Omer, the same time he lay before Cambray. This Enterprise appeared so great, that Strangers doubted the success; and the Spaniards, who very well knew the strength of those places, and how well they were provided of necessaries for a long resistance, made no great haste at first to send their Succours: But frightened by the example of Valenciennes, they used extraordinary diligence to join their Troops to those of the Prince of Orange, in order to raising the Siege of S. Omer. The King having notice of their motions, and overseeing their design, made a Detachment out of his Army▪ which he sent under the Command of Monsieur de Luxembourg, in aid of the Duke of Orleans before S. Omer.  
While Monsieur de Luxembourg was conducting his Detachment with his usual activity and vigilance, S. Aubin, who followed him still, and animated by the happy success of the King's Arms, and the Marshals Illustrious example, fortified his resolution of continuing in Arms, had by his diligence so far gained the esteem of his General, that he took particular notice of him, and employed him on all remarkable occasions. This drew on S. Aubin the envy of his Comrades, particularly a young Gentleman, whose other good qualities prevail with me to conceal his right Name, and to give him that of Richmond. This young Gentleman, jealous of the kind usage S. Aubin received from the General Officers, and looking on him as an Upstart, and a very raw Soldier, let fall on several occasions some sharp language against him. S. Aubin, who was naturally good humoured, and had a very insinuating way, perceiving his disgust, endeavoured to gain him by fair means, Courting him every day, and omitting nothing that might oblige him to answer his kindness by some evidence of affection. Richmond had the ill nature to attribute S. Aubin's Civilities and obliging Carriage to his weakness, and fear of quarrelling with him. This made him more insolent, so that he purposely affronted him on several occasions, reproaching him often with his Woman's Face, and telling him a Martial-soul seldom lodged in so delicate a body. S. Aubin finding himself touched in so nice a point, could not forbear blushing at his reproaches; but willing to decline the noise of a quarrel, endeavoured to put off all with a Jest, which did but encourage Richmond to be worse than before. At last S. Aubin, urged by frequent persecutions, and sensible he could no longer conceal his resentment, without exposing himself to continual affronts, he took his time to find him alone, and tell him he was a weary of his Raileries, nor would endure them any longer, but prayed him, once for all, to put an end to them; other wise he should be obliged to let him see, he knew how to revenge himself, though unacquainted with the ways of giving affronts. Richmond made small account of this discourse, but fell again to his old way of Jeering. S. Aubin met him one day on his march, and taking his Pistol in his hand, told him, he was now resolved to keep his word with him. Richmond having put himself in a posture of defence, S. Aubin discharging his Pistol, wounded him in the arm he held his Pistol by Richmond being disabled, S. Aubin making use of his advantage, laid his other Pistol to his breast, threatening to kill him, unless he would beg his life. Richmond obstinately refusing, S. Aubin insisted on't no further, but told him, his obstinancy should not make him forget to be generous. Presently after they were parted by some Horsemen that overtook them. The Marshal of Luxembourg having heard of the Combat, caused them both to be arrested; and having carefully enquired into the cause of the quarrel, he heard only in general, that S. Aubin was the Aggressor. This surprised him the more, as having ever known him of a sweet and peaceable humour; which made him believe, he came not to these extremities without great provocation: So that he resolved to know the bottom of the business, and found S. Aubin had made use of all fair means in his power to win over his Adversary (but all to no purpose) before he had engaged him. Richmond was blamed for it, and Monsieur de Luxembourg unwilling he should serve any longer under him, sent him to Perron, under pretence of having his wound cured, though 'twas very light. The Combat proved much to S. Aubins' advantage, the General esteeming him the better for't; and the other Aids de Camp finding 'twas ill jesting with him, forbore their Raileries.  
Monsieur de Luxembourg was by this time arrived before S. Omer, just as Monsieur was preparing to quit his Lines to go meet the Enemy, though far more numerous. The succour came so seasonably, that both Armies being engaged, and that of the Confederates were entirely defeated: The particulars of the Battle have been already so faithfully and fully related, I shall not attempt writing what is better done to my hand by another; the very relations made of it by the Enemy, attribute all the advantage and glory of it to the Valiant Philip de France, who was every where present; reviving their courage who began to give ground, and animating the whole Army by his Example and Orders.  
S. Aubin having still had a longing desire to see a Battle, was hearty glad of being at this; the several Orders he had from his General to carry through the Army, gave him the occasion to satisfy himself to the full, and to be present where the Victory was most smartly disputed. Happening to be at the defeat of a Spanish battalion of Foot, out of his natutal abhorrence of bloodshed, he saved the lives of two Officers, under pretence of carrying them Prisoners to Monsieur de Luxembourg: And having ased them several questions about the condition of their Army, and what Generals they had, he found the Spaniards made a Body apart, under the Command of the Marquis de Osseyra. S. Aubin was so troubled at the Name, he stood mute for some time. He was thinking at first to seek him out, and demand satisfaction with his Arms in his hand for the outrage he conceived he had received from him; but he had scarce framed his design, but he felt his heart fail him, and more concerned for the person of the Marquis than it could be for an Enemy. He did what he could to suppress and get rid of that unseasonable tenderness, but all would not do, his heart still hankered after News of the Marquis, and was strongly bend to save his life, if possible.  
While St. Aubin continued under these uncertainties, the King's Victorious Brother taking his advantage of the disorder and consternation the Enemies were in, commanded Mounsieur de Luxembourg to pursue them with some Squadrons: And with admirable foresight, his Royal Highness sent other Troops to possess themselves of the Posts, by which the Enemies, though routed, might have attempted the relief of St. Omer. The Duke of Luxembourg the mean time being in pursuit of the Enemy, and perceiving the Dragoons (who should have followed him) lag behind, and busy themselves in taking Prisoners, which would but hinder the service of the day, he sent S. Aubin with Orders for them to march, and to kill all their Prisoners. S. Aubin carried these Orders, but with some reluctance; yet knowing it his duty to obey, not dispute the Orders of his General, he carried them with his ordinary diligence; and had no sooner approached the Dragoons but he discerned the Marquis de Osseyra among the Prisoners, which troubled him beyond expression. The Officer who commanded the Dragoons, seeing an Aid de Camp coming towards them a gallop, made no doubt but he brought orders; and having advanced a little way to receive them, St. Aubin concealing to his power the surprise he was in, without loss of time, he made use of that readiness of wit incident to those of the Sex, and told the Officer, that the Marshal de Luxembourg demanded a Prisoner, named the Marquis de Osseyra: As for the rest, they should be put to the Sword, and the Dragoons to march up to the Troops, in pursuit of the Enemy. The Order was presently obeyed, and the Marquis consigned into the hands of S. Aubin whom he followed some paces on foot, not able to comprehend by what good fortune he had escaped the fate of the rest of the Prisoners. The Countess of Bonavidez had told him Christina was in the French Army, which made him resolve, after the loss of the Battle, to expose himself where he might be made Prisoner, in hopes by that means to have a sight of his dear Heroine. The thought of this flattered him so pleasantly, that he had not yet cast his eyes on his Deliverer, being overjoyed with his having escaped the danger be feared of dying with grief, for want of an opportunity to clear himself to his Mistress. This joy was but short; for S. Aubin to carry on his design to the utmost, clapped a Pistol to the Marquis' Breast, and bid him prepare for death. This troubled the Marquis more now than it would have done on another occasion; and not able to Master his passion on the sudden, he reproached S. Aubin with his cruelty, in making him languish so long, when he had resolved to kill him. But reviving himself; I will die (says he) contentedly, if you will give me your word to look out in your Army a Cavalier who goes under the Name of S. Aubin, and tell him, the Merquess de Osseyra thought upon him to the last moment of his life, and had some pleasure in his death, as having been occasioned by the Love he had for him. He fixed his eye the while on him he spoke to, and began to remember himself, when S. Aubin being on this occasion more Christina than S. Aubin, and having had much ado to act this part with her Lover, dismounted, and expressed by her tears the passion of her heart, with greater Eloquence than the best Orator on Earth could have done it. The Marquis by this time knowing Christina was his Deliverer, was so deeply affected with this new Obligation, that he stood seized with a pleasant amazement at the goodness of his Mistress, at a time when she had so great reason to be angry with him. Yet as joyful as he was for having found her again in so extraordinary a manner, when he called to mind he had given her cause of offence, it almost distracted him; and not able to endure the misery of that condition, he begged her pardon, in terms so submissively passionate, that it was readily granted him, before explication made of the mystery of the Letter which had caused that disorder.  
They had scarce understood one another, but they found themselves hemmed in by a Body of Spanish Horse, which the Duke of Montalto had sent to rescue his Friend out of the hands of the French. The Marquis was so full of Ideas of Love, and appeared so little concerned for a liberty he was no longer Master of, that he was not yet sensible of his good fortune when the Duke of Montalto, who had given him up for dead, or a Prisoner, embraced him with all the marks of joy, a true Friend could express on such an occasion. The Duke seeing him out of humour, and musing, imputed it to the ill success of their Enterprise, and thinking to comfort him said, their loss was not so great perhaps as they feared it on the sudden, and assured him they had taken a considerable number of Prisoners. He observed, in the mean time, the Marquis had his eye fixed on S. Aubin, Which obliged the Duke to advise him to send away that Prisoner with the rest, and not trouble himself with taking charge of him. I own my life and my my liberty, says the Marquis to his Generosity; but these are the least of my Obligations to him, and the weakest reasons I have to share fortunes with him; and then judge you what reason I have to see him well used. This Discourse awakened the curiosity of the Duke, and made him look more earnestly than before on S. Aubin, whom after a short view he knew to be the fair Christina he had seen at Brussels, and was no stranger to her extraordinary Adventures. He gave his Friend joy of his good fortune, and being well acquainted with the passion he had for her, he easily imagined they had many things to say to one another, and discreetly retreated, on pretence of fetching up the Stragglers of his Troops.  
Though the day of the loss of a Battle may be thought a time very improper for a General Officer to busy himself with matters of Love, the Marquis could not forbear entering into a large discourse, to clear all misunderstandings between him and his Mistress. After a thousand reciprocal assurances of loving one another for ever, Christina represented to him the incoveniencies she exposed herself to, by being discovered by several Officers, as she had been by the Duke de Montalto, and made him so sensible of the injury it would do them both, and what a trouble it would be to her to be the subject of discourse for a whole Army, that the Marquis persuaded by so convincing reasons, consented at last she should return to the French Camp, having faithfully promised him she would presently retire, to Paris quit an employment so unsuitable to her bex, and put herself into a Covent till the end of the Campagne, and that she would then marry him; it being her desire to delay it so long, that she might do it with more decency. The Marquis in Person guarded her as far as he could, and then ordered a Trumpet to bring her safe into the Camp. The General was in pain for S. Aubin when he arrived, and had sent into several Quarters to inquire what was become of him: He told him, he had had the misfortune to be taken Prisoner; and that he was let go upon his Parol. Monsieur de Luxembourg believed him, and promised to send the Spaniards a Prisoner in Exchange.  
The morrow after the Battle, Mounsieur to make his Victory complete, by taking S. Omer, returned to his Camp before the place, and pressed it so vigorously, that they were glad to Capitulate before he was Master of the Counterscarp: And S. Aubin had the pleasure to be in employment about his General, the day the place was surrendered, as he had been at the taking of Valenciennes and Cambray, Monsieur de Luxembourg having had the good Fortune to Command the service of the day, when every of those places was surrendered.  
Three of the most considerable places of the Low-Countries reduced under the King's Obedience, a great Battle won, wherein the Forces of two great Potentates were defeated; and all this in the height of Winter, and in less than six Weeks time, are Prodigies Posterity will have scarce Faith to believe: Yet hardly any were surprised at the News, though very surprising; all who had heard of the Kings Marching in February, having expectated Actions altogether extraordinary: And we may truly say of him, he hath taught the World not to be amazed at his extraordinary performances. His Enemies do him right in that particular. The Court of Spain was in some Consternation at the News, the wise Prince, who is Prime Minister there, having heard some Grandees speak of it with surprise, and attributing the success of the King's Arms to his good Fortune, interrupted their discourse, to tell them, his success depended more on his Conduct and Merit, than on his good Fortune.  
When S. Omer's was taken, the King put his Troops into Quarters of Refreshment, until the ordinary season for drawing them into the Field: And most of the General Officers went to taste the pleasures of Paris. The Marshal of Luxembourg being of the number, S. Aubin to perform the Promise made to the Marquis, would not lose so favourable an occasion of accompanying the Marshal to Paris. He found himself by the way engaged in an Adventure extraordinary, as those he had formerly met with. The Duke of Luxembourg and Count Louvigny go in to together for Paris, the Baron d'Angosse, who has a dependence upon the Count, having in their March taken notice of S. Aubin's Countenance, thought he had seen him, but could not remember the time, or the place: He took occasion one day to tell him, he had seen him before. S. Aubin blushing at it, made d' Angosse more inquisitive. Having racked his memory a good while, he bethought himself at last this Aid de Camp had the Air of a Man he had seen at Monsieur Strasburgs at a Ball the year before, whom he had taken for Madamoiselle de Meyrac: the only thing that puzzled him was, that Man was a Fleming, and the Duke of Luxembourg's People assured him, this was a Frenchman, and had served among the Musqueteers. This put him upon a second address to S. Aubin, to pray him to tell him seriously, if he was not the same Person who was in Maid's habit when he mistook him for a Gentlewoman of Bearn. S. Aubin perplexed to find him so closely and busily curious, thought it better confess he had been disguised in Maids , than give him occasion to discover he had been disguised in Man's Apparel, d' Angosse having learned what he so much longed to know, told him, they might have very good sport when they came to Paris; and that if he would but put on Woman's , he should easily pass for Madamoiselle de Meyrac, by the help he would give him, to put a Trick on his Countrymen, which would be excellent divertisement. S. Aubin promised him all he desired; both arrived at Paris extremely well satisfied, D' Angosse tickled with the Conceit of his Projects, and S. Aubin glad at heart to get rid of his Importunities.  
FINIS.   

THE THIRD and FORTH PARTS OF THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE Female Warrior. A TRUE HISTORY, Very Delightful, and full of Pleasant Adventures in the Campaigns of 1676, and 1677.  
Translated out of French.  
LONDON, Printed for R. Wellington, at the Dolphin and Crown in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1700.   

THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE FEMALE WARRIOR. PART III.  
AS soon as S. Aubin was returned to Paris, he thought of nothing more than to throw off a Disguise had occasioned him so many troublesome Adventures. He had a Design to resume the Habit of his Sex; but finding himself engaged in Business for settling his Affairs, which he might act with more Freedom and Convenience in Man's Habit, he resolved to respite for some time his putting on the Petticoat. The Morrow after his Arrival one brought him a Set of Ribbons, which did not please him, who had retained so much of the Humour of the Sex whose Habit he had put off, that he was very curious of his Dress, and went in Person to the Palace to make choice of Ribbons to his Mind. Having satisfied his Curiosity, he retired in Company with a Man who quartered with him: As he passed through the great Hall, the Booksellers taking notice of his Soldiers Habit, thought he might have a Fancy for some Book treating of Matters of War, and showed him several, of which he made no Account: As he was hasting away to get rid of their Importunities, they told him, he must needs buy the Heroine Musqueteer: The Title was so extraordinary, it awakened his Curiosity, that he went to a Shop, and taking the Book in his Hand, opened it with that haste, they might easily see, by his Eagerness, the impatient Desire he had to read it: Having run over the first Leaf, and found it was the Story of his Life, he blushed: When he came to the Relation of his Brother's Death, he turned pale; and all the Wit he had was little enough to conceal the Astonishment he was under upon reading a Passage he was so much concerned in. His Companion observing him change Colour, thought him not well, and entreated him to go to his Quarters, and let alone those Books, which he might better see another time. But S. Aubin was so busy a reading, that he minded not his Companion, but read on with incredible eagerness. His Companion observing him so intent on the Book, snatched it out of his Hand, and told him it was Dinnertime. Being much pressed by his Friend, he concealed his Surprise, and went along with him, having first bought the Heroine Musqueteer, and some other Books, which he took not out of any mind he had to read them, but to prevent being suspected for the concern he appeared in for the Heroine Musqueteer, had he bought it alone. When they came to their Lodging there was very good company; but S. Aubin impatient to read out his Story, withdrew into a Corner of the Hall, to go on with the Book while the Meat was served in, and was hardly persuaded to give over till after Dinner. His Companion taking notice of his earnestness and haste to read over this Book, took occasion to railly him for his Curiosity. An Abbot who was in company, mingled in discourse with them. Having spent much time at Paris (where he wore a starched Band, which he took more care to change than his sorry discourse) he had the arrogance to take upon him to decide and censure all matters whatever; and told S. Aubin he was to blame for being so much taken with the reading of that Book, being but the Relation of a rambling Wench, whom the Author had transformed into a Heroine. A young Marquis who lodged in the House, interrupting the Abbot, said he was much surprised at his discourse; a Musqueteer his Kinsman, having assured him he knew the Maid, and had been an Eye-witness of her brave actions: The rest of the company took part with the Marquis, and the Abbot who loved not to be contradicted, maintained what he had said with more obstinacy than reason. They came to high words on both sides, and the Marquis had almost forgot all respect to the Abbot. S. Aubin was the only Person had not declared himself, and though glad at the heart to see the Abbot worsted, he thought himself obliged to endeavour to reconcile them, since he had occasioned the quarrel. He entreated them all not to be so much concerned for a thing they were not assured of; adding, he had heard speak of that Maid, and that her Conduct was not to be blamed: As for him, he was not surprised at the common injustice of Men, who will not admit a Woman capable of performing actions of Valour, but make it their business to cry them down, upon the account of weaknesses usually incident to Women, though it cannot be denied there are great Souls in that, as in the other Sex. The good Mien of S. Aubin gave new Eloquence to his discourse, which was applauded by all; and the Abbot, who was seldom used to yield, confessed at last, that if the Story was not altogether true, it was at least very probable. When the company broke up, S. Aubin continued reading without interruption: And having read the Book over, he reflected seriously on the condition he was in. He guessed by what had passed at the Table, what disadvantage it was to him to have the Story of his Life in Print, which exposed his Reputation to the different humours of the Readers: And fancying that probably there were more of the Abbot's opinion, he apprehended it might be much to his prejudice; and what a trouble it would be to the Marquis D' Osseyra if he should chance to know of that Book: This was the reflection most afflicted S. Aubin.  
As he was under this inquietude, the Marquis D' Angosse came into his Chamber; and finding S. Aubin alone, said, Mademoiselle, 'tis in vain to endeavour concealing yourself longer; I have learned who you are, and am come to offer you all the service I can do you. Christina, surprised at the Compliment, was forced to confess all, praying him to keep her Counsel, and assist her in deceiving those who had a suspicion of her. D' Angosse, glad to be her Confident, promised all she desired; assuring her he should esteem himself very happy to have the good Fortune to contribute any thing to her satisfaction. Company coming in, they changed their discourse: D' Angosse presently after withdrew, and taking delight in musing on what had happened, he made several reflections upon so extraordinary an Adventure. Being a Gascoyn he could not think any thing too difficult, and being a Person of Quality and Merit, but of a slender Estate, he took a fancy he might perhaps Marry Mademoiselle de Meyrac, whom he knew to be a considerable Fortune: He presently apprehended the Marquis D' Osseyra's Passion to be a main Obstacle; but easily flattering himself into hopes of attaining what he so earnestly longed for, D' Angosse looked upon the Marquis D' Osseyra's Passion as matter of humour, and a mere piece of fancy: And resolved to ply Christina close, he frequented her company with great assiduity. S. Aubin looking upon it as an effect of his civility, was not backward in returning it, making him acquainted with her greatest concerns, though (with a reservedness usual in such cases with those of her Sex) she spoke very modestly of her Engagement with the Marquis: This encouraged D' Angosse to take an occasion to tell her he was obliged, as her Servant, to inform her, the pretended Passion of the Marquis was entertained in the World as a very ridiculous thing, this being not the Age of those imaginary Heroes who would attempt any thing for their Mistress' service; but a Season wherein the longest-lived Passion lasts not three Months: Adding, he saw no great likelihood of their Marriage, but could discover many invincible difficulties lying in the way, which induced him to advise her to be undeceived in time, and think of a better settlement; and not furnish matter for new Stories. S. Aubin had wit enough to perceive D' Angosse's design, and thinking this discourse a little too free, and having not the patience to endure advice so contrary to her inclinations: answered, she had already thought of this business, but that there are some occasions People are unwilling to hear reason in, and contribute to their being deceived, though sure to be so, and to smart for it. However that she had not the least cause to distrust her Lover, but was extremely obliged to him, and sensible he would love her during life: This had been enough to have dashed the hopes of any but a Gascoyn, whom nothing can discourage. D' Angosse, notwithstanding all he had heard, resolved to pursue his design.  
D' Angosse being one day in company with some Ladies of the highest Quality, reading the Heroine Musqueteer, and seeming concerned at her Adventures; he, to oblige the Ladies, told them he was assured the Party was at Paris. The Ladies (as curious as those of meaner Quality) prayed him to inquire her out, and procure them a sight of her, which he undertook to do. The Morrow he told S. Aubin all France read his Story, and that he knew Persons of very good Quality, who expressed much concern for his Fortune, that it might be his advantage to make use of the occasion to engage two great Ladies in his favour. I have no broken business to manage, says S. Aubin, that I should need go a begging protection; nor will I make myself the talk of the Kingdom by trusting two women's discretion with a Secret, which, if discovered, will expose me to the raillery of all the Court: You have promised to keep my Counsel, and I believe you will keep your word with me. D' Angosse, fearing her displeasure, assured her again he would never speak of the matter, and that she might rely upon him in that particular.  
A while after the Ladies (the one being the Duchess of— the other the Marchioness of—) complained to D' Angosse he had broken his word with them, and prayed him to make new search for that Maid's Lodging, who they were assured was at Paris: He engaged himself to do it, speaking with such an Air, as made them believe his former failing was by wilful neglect, but that he would now assuredly satisfy their Curiosity. He was troubled not a little, how to bring it about: S. Aubin had already given him such an answer that he durst not propose it the second time; on the other side, he was very unwilling these Ladies should have cause by his failure to question his address, a quality those of his Country much value themselves upon. He was loath to do any thing to anger S. Aubin yet very desirous to oblige the Ladies: At last he resolved to rid himself of their importunities, without exposing S. Aubin. He bethought himself of the Marquis of Mesples, a young Gentleman of Gascoign, who was then in the Academy in the Fauxbourgs of S. German, learning his Exercises. This Marquis had a delicate Complexion, and a Countenance perfectly Feminine: D' Angosse prayed him to go along with him to the Tuilleries, where he would order it so he should be taken for the Heroine Musqueteer. Mesples having heard the Story, promised to act the part. D' Angosse having given the Lady's notice, they came to the Tuilleries, and seated themselves on a Bench: D' Angosse and Mesples came (as by chance) and sat near them, on the same Bench, D' Angosse insensibly fell into discourse with the Ladies, who eyed very narrowly the pretended Heroine. They were so prepossessed with the opinion of Mesples being a Maid, that they whispered one another they could not be mistaken: As for me, says the Duchess, I had no need of being told she is one of our Sex; the sight of her would have convinced me: Examine but her Face, the discovery will be easy. Being deeply engaged in discourse, the Ladies stood up, and went with the two Gentlemen into a solitary Walk: The Marchioness not able longer to forbear declaring what she thought she was so well assured of, said to Mesples, Really, Sir, your disguise serves you to little purpose; for upon a slight observation of your Countenance, any one may perceive you are nothing less than what you appear. Mesples affecting to appear confoundedly out of Countenance at the discourse of the Marchioness, seemed extremely disordered, which confirmed the Ladies in their error. They had the good nature to take pity upon him, and help him to recover himself, confessing they had intelligence from D' Angosse, and had desired her acquaintance to offer her their services. Mesples' very courteously answered their civilities, but expressed resentment against D' Angosse for being so easy, as to discover the Secret. They walked together a while, and asked Mesples a hundred questions; and he had the wit to answer them so, that he came off very well. The Marchioness, as sure as she was that Mesples was of her Sex, had a longing desire to know whether her Breasts were not hurt with her wearing so straight a Habit. She asked him the question, and without giving time for answer, suddenly unbuttoned Mesples' Justacorps up to his Stomach, which upon view appeared to be a Mans. D' Angosse, who never expected the Ladies would be so free, was extremely surprised: And Mesples, seeing himself discovered, fell a laughing so vehemently he could not speak a Word. The Ladies retired, much offended with the trick put upon them.  
The next Day D' Angosse went to the Duchess', and begged her Pardon a thousand times for what had passed; confessing ingeniously it had not been in his Power to keep his Word with them, S. Aubin having flatly denied his Consent. This Confession heightened the Curiosity of the Duchess, who at the length Pardoned him on Condition he would get her a Sight of Christina: He prayed her to have Patience two or three Days, and he would endeavour in that time to find an opportunity to satisfy her. D' Angosse frequently visited S. Aubin, and though he had not made a formal Declaration of his Love for Christina, she discovered it plainly by his deportment: The Condition of her Affairs obliged her to manage him as one who might be useful to her in discoursing her Kindred, and would be easily persuaded to take a Journey into her Country, if her Business required it; so that she went sometimes with him to the Comedies and Operas: About that time was presented the Opera of Cadmus, and took very much; D' Angosse made use of the occasion to take Places for S. Aubin and himself, in a Box, ever-night. Having received his Ticket, he sent the Duchess Word of it, and advised her and the Marchioness to take Places in the Box right against them, to have the better view of S. Aubin; which was done accordingly. D' Angosse and S. Aubin having taken their Places, the two Ladies little minded the Opera, being wholly taken up with viewing S. Aubin. Having taken exact notice of him, they thought they were not deceived this time; yet the Duchess, who could scarce believe a Maid capable to run through so many Adventures, would be better satisfied. She sent for a Lackey, who was a witty Fellow; and having showed him S. Aubin, bid him put off his Livery, and having put on another Coat, follow that Gentleman when he went out of the Playhouse; but be sure to do it so closely that she might have a certain Account where he lodged. The Lackey performed, and gave his Mistress an Account. She and the Marchioness resolved on a Frolic to try if S. Aubin were in Truth the Heroine Musqueteer, as they were made believe: After several Expedients, proposed and rejected, they pitched upon sending him a Billet that Evening, which was to this effect.  
WHoever you are, you are a dangerous Gentleman. I never saw you but once at the Opera, and you force me to a Confession which the handsomest Gentleman of France have, by long Service and great Assiduity, in vain endeavoured to draw from me: I love you, Sir, and am ashamed to let you know it, yet pleased with the thought of it. How great soever you are, you must expect no more. I desire a quarter of an Hours Discourse with you: my Quality debars me entertaining a Stranger in Public: follow this Lackey, he will bring you to a sight of me. If afterwards you think me worthy the esteem and addresses of a Man of Honour, I dare not pass my Word, but Time and your good Mien may triumph over my Weakness.  
They read the Billet several times over: The Duchess thought it too free, and would have burnt it; but the Marchioness told her it mattered not, being written to a Maid, and by an unknown Hand. The Duchess, swayed with these Reasons, called for the Lackey; and having instructed him what to do, gave him strict Charge of the Billet. The Lackey being come to the House where S. Aubin was quartered, went to his Apartment, and delivered him the Billet; which he read, and was not a little surprised. Having read it, he was very much perplexed, having a thousand Thoughts in his Head not knowing what Course to take: He was fearful of engaging in an Affair might be difficult to get rid of: On the other side, he knew that a Lady of Quality, if slighted, is a dangerous Enemy: This, and his Natural Curiosity, made him desire the Lady's acquaintance. He read the Billet over again, and seeing nothing desired but what he thought might be granted, and judging others as reserved as himself, he resolved to follow the Lackey; and having wrapped up himself in a Cloak, bid the Boy lead the way. Probably the Reader may think a Maid scarce capable of such a Resolution; but he is to consider our Heroine was naturally courageous and bold, yet as tender of her Honour (in the Essentials) as the most reserved. I have heard her say, she thought herself safer in Man's Habit, than that of her Sex; as exposing her more to Discourse commonly used to Women, if tolerably handsome, which at length leaves an impression. About Eleven a Clock the Footboy led him through a little Gate, of which he had the Key for the purpose; S. Aubin stayed in a Closet while the Lackey gave notice of it to the Duchess, who was then with the Marchioness. It surprised them to hear the Gentleman was come, as appointed; they began to repent their hasty engagement, fearing they should meet with a second Marquis de Mesples. The Duchess being a Lady of eminent Virtue, and highly concerned to preserve her Reputation, was upon sending him away without seeing him; and possibly had done it, but for fear of her Letter, which S. Aubin, if a Man, (as for aught she knew he was) might make very ill use of: The desire she had to have it again in her Hands, and her natural Curiosity, made her Resolve to admit him entrance. The first Civilities being over, S. Aubin being alone with the two Ladies, who eyed him very narrowly, appeared so handsome, that they believed him of their Sex. The Duchess, willing to get her Billet into her Hands, told him he might perhaps have a very ill opinion of a Lady who appeared so forward; yet she thought she could not do too much to make sure of so handsome a Gentleman: The Lady you see with me is my Confident, and we two framed the Billet I sent you. I fear it may appear too passionate, and being not so well acquainted with you as to leave in your Hands a Paper of that freedom, I desire you to restore it me; hereafter possibly I may know you so well, as to put my Reputation into your Hands. S. Aubin presently took it out of his Pocket, and the Duchess receiving it threw it in the Fire; and changing her tone, I must confess Sir, says she, my Curiosity hath exposed me to a great deal of folly. We have read a Book, called The Heroine Musqueteer, and had a desire to be acquainted with so extraordinary a Person. We were assured she was at Paris, and that you were intimate with her: You will highly oblige us to bring us acquainted with her. S. Aubin was so astonished at the Discourse, he had not a word to say: The Marchioness perceiving it, made use of that Moment for the Trial she had unhappily made upon Mesples, and found what she looked for: The Ladies embraced our Heroine, and made her a thousand obliging Offers of their Services. Christina, ashamed to see herself discovered, answered them with as much Civility as the Disorder she was in would permit. The Duchess conjured her to tell her sincerely if all that was written of her was sincerely true, and what was of the Author's Invention. The Duchess was so well satisfied with out Heroine's Modesty and Discourse, that she pressed her very much to take a Chamber in her House, assuring her she should be used as a Person of Quality and Merit. Christina refused, and gave so good Reasons for it, that the Duchess was satisfied, but prayed her to visit her as often as possible: Christina promised it, and after a long Discourse, and mutual promises of secrecy, retired. But for all their assurance of keeping her Counsel, she doubted their performance; and could not rely on their Discretion without scruple and diffidence, which gave her no small disquiet.  
About this time S. Aubin received news from Bearn, that upon a Report of his Death some of his Kindred had possessed themselves of part of his Estate. The Abbot Dizett, who had the management of his Affairs, advised him to make a Journey to Bearn, to dissipate, by his Presence, the false Report of his Death, and to take Order for other Mattrers. S. Aubin loath to go so far from the Marquis D'Osseyra, and expecting, with impatience, the end of the Campaign in order to Marriage, chose rather to hazard the loss of his Estate, than to engage in Business that would Rob him of those precious Moment's he thought better bestowed in thinking of his Love. Upon a second Letter to the same purpose, S. Aubin desired D' Angosse to undertake the Business; he readily took the Charge of it, and set out for Bearn within two Days.  
S. Aubin reflecting on his Engagement to visit the Duchess, thought himself indispensably obliged to be as good as his Word. He went to her, and was kindly received; there was commonly good Company there. S. Aubin was treated in so obliging a manner, that every one took notice of it, and enquired who that young Gentleman was, and very few knew him. A Principal Lord of the Court had long been in Love with the Duchess, and visited her frequently, but found his addresses fruitless, and had no further advantage by them, than an opportunity to gain an interest in the Servants by his Liberality. He was not discouraged by the severe Virtue of the Duchess from seeing her often, in hopes to prevail with her at Long-run. The Count d' Ex (for so was the Gentleman called) was so far in Love, that he easily became jealous, and could not with patience endure to see how familiarly the Duchess conversed with this Stranger: He questioned the Maids of his Party about it, but they could not give him a satisfactory account; the Lackeys were as much to seek as the Maids. He whom the Duchess had employed to carry the Billet to S. Aubin being no more proof than others of his Coat to the temptations of Gain, and finding no advantage from being his Mistresses Confident, would not slip the opportunity of getting something from the Count on this occasion. He told the Count of the Billet, and how he thought the Duchess became first engaged with the Stranger, not forgetting the Passage at the Opera. Here I cannot forbear blaming the injustice of most Men, to be so easily persuaded of the ill Conduct of Women: How many are there who are very Virtuous, yet have not escaped being condemned for debauched, upon the Report of Maidservant dissatisfied, or a Footboy misinformed? This Report passes to other Women, and seldom fails of coming to the Ears of one or other, who will be glad of the occasion to speak as ill of another, as she knows herself to be deservedly spoken of; and will be sure to divulge it very carefully, in hopes to confound the Criminal with the Innocent: The Story loses nothing by the Carriage, every one adds something to set it off the better; and there needs no more to destroy a Woman's Reputation: Of which, I could give you several Instances.  
The Count was much surprised at the discourse of the Lackey: He believed it without examination, and his Jealousy made him believe much more: It failed not to represent to him, that a Stranger of Quality, perhaps as obscure as his Name, was in favour with a Lady of her Merit and Rank, when she slighted him who was inferior to few in the Kingdom, for Handsomeness, Birth, or Employment. This made him resolve to be revenged of his Mistress, by depriving her of her Favourite. The Count, though otherwise very civil, was hasty of humour, and fiery: His Jealousy required him to make his Rival a Victim, which the goodness of his Nature would hardly consent to: It would have been no hard matter to ruin his Rival, but his revenge would not have been complete, if some part of it fell not on his Mistress. After much irresolution, he pitched upon a satisfaction no less cruel, than gallant: He had a Domestic, very witty and intelligent, to whom he discovered his design, and told him he intended to trust him with the execution; that his first care must be to find out a Wench who had been debauched through want of Money and Experience, and liked it so well that she continued the Trade; that he could not fail of choice in so great a Town, and therefore must pick out the handsomest he could find, but she must be such as could do him a kindness he should have cause to remember while he lived: And to that purpose, he was not to spare cost or pains; but withal, to put her into excellent Habit, lodge her in the best Apartment of the House, and instruct her how to counterfeit, in her deportment, a Lady of Quality. The Servant found a Person excellently qualified for the service his Master desired from her, and so witty, that she quickly learned her Lesson. This was so well performed, that the Count, who had resolved to have S. Aubin stolen away, committed the care of it to the same Servant; and took him along with him to the Duchess' to show him S. Aubin, to prevent a mistake. S. Aubin went commonly in a Chair, and usually retired from the Duchess' at Ten or Eleven, Clock at Night. The Count's Servant having made the Chair-men drunk, got others to wait in their room: S. Aubin, at coming off from the Duchess, not finding his Chair-men, made use of the next at hand. Three Men, well-armed, had order to guard the Chair: One of them, by the way, whispers S. Aubin in the Ear, that a Lady of Quality, being passionately in Love with him, had ordered them to steal him to her, for they were able to force him. S. Aubin, though surprised at the Compliment, was so used to extraordinary Adventures, that he permitted himself to be quietly carried where the pretended good Fortune waited him: As soon as he was arrived, two Men seized him, and led him in the dark up a back stair; and having crossed two Apartments, thrust him somewhat rudely into a Chamber full of lights, and nobly furnished: One of them who brought him thither took care to shut the Door fast enough. The Illustrious Personage, who was there ready to receive him, would not give him time to know her, but took him about the Neck with demonstrations of a passionate joy, as true as what is affected can be; you would have thought the rich Habit she was in had made her forget the meanness of her condition. S. Aubin, resolved what to do, was not daunted at all, but answered her Passion with all the civility and respect imaginable: But these were not the Entertainments she looked for, and after long discourse, the fair Lady having in vain endeavoured by an affected modesty to raise the Gentleman's Spirits, was quite tired with his reservedness, and attributing his want of boldness to the trouble he said he was in at sight of her; I come not, says she, to give you trouble, but to receive Love from you: At this, she hide her Face with her Fan, as if she had been ashamed she had let fall expressions so free. S. Aubin who thought of nothing more than how to get well out of the Briers, was in some hopes, observing her modesty, and assured her he had a great inclination to Love her, that he was unworthy so much favour, but would make it his business to merit it by his services: I will dispense with you in that point, replies she, and since I must tell you all, I desire we may spend this Night together: S. Aubin, who could not believe what he had heard say of the impudence of some Women, and expected not so very plain English, stood a while mute; and seeing no other course to take, fell at her feet (whom he thought had been a person of Quality) and confessed ingenously he was a Woman: The poor Wench who was made believe she should be largely rewarded, was in a lamentable fear to lose what was promised her, if it were once known she had not done the service expected from her: Which troubled her the more, for that she had designed the Money for several necessity uses, particularly for getting rid of that which made her so fit for the present purpose of her Paymaster; she than fell at S. Aubin's feet, and told him word by word all the Intrigue, advertising him the Master of the House, (whom she knew not) was jealous of some Person of Quality. It was no hard Matter for S. Aubin to guests it was the Duchess, and reflecting with horror on the Regale provided for him, he made the Wench sensible it was their common interest to keep mutual secrecy, which was accordingly promised, and having agreed what to say; the Wench went to Bed, which she took care to tumble so as if two had lain there: S. Aubin lay upon the stools. And on the Morrow, a little before day, the Wench went according to order to give, a Boy who was in an Antichamber hard by, notice of what past, assuring him he might when he pleased send away the Gallant, who was so fondly peppered, she undertook he should never forget that night's work. The Boy gave his Master this account, and he was very well satisfied. He sent the Wench word she should blindfold her Lover, and persuade him to be led so into the place Royal, it being too early to get a Chair: And it might concern her how she got rid of him. S. Aubin well pleased to see an end of an Adventure had so terribly frighted him, forgot not to give her who had so faithfully served him, some marks of his acknowledgement: His virtue prompt him to exhort her to live honestly, which he seconded with giving her some means to do it, he followed his guides, and assoon as he was at liberty, went to his Lodging to Bed.  
When he had rested sufficiently, he went to the Duchess' assoon as he thought her in a condition to be seen, and prayed her to send one for the Marchioness, assuring her she had news to tell them would make them very merry: Assoon as she was come they locked themselves up in a Room, where S. Aubin told them the particulars of the Adventure he had met with the Night before: The Duchess, who very well knew the kindness the Count had for her, and was sufficiently acquainted with his jealous humour, presently suspected he had the principal hand in it, which was confirmed by the circumstances, S. Aubin related. To put it out of doubt, they agreed that S. Aubin should not for two days appear at the Duchess', and that when first the Count came thither, the Marchioness should insensibly fall into discourse of S. Aubin, and the Duchess should express much sorrow for his sickness; which would certainly produce a discovery of the Count's thoughts of the business. S. Aubin vanished, the Count came, as he was wont, to the Duchess, and saved the Marchioness the trouble of the Discourse agreed on, by ask the Duchess why she looked so sad: The Marchioness answered that S. Aubin, whom the Duchess had a value for, was sick, and that she was troubled for want of his good company: The Count was so glad at the news, that he could not forbear ask merrily, what he ailed; the Marchioness, who knew the reason of the question, said she knew not, and proceeded no further.  
The Duchess, who lived very lovingly with her Husband, had told him the story of Christina, and how she had got acquaintance with that Maid in Man's Clothes: And being glad of an occasion to make him merry, she scrupled not to tell him the Adventure of the Count, at which they laughed very hearty.  
It was a fine time for going into the Country: The Duke having a House within fifteen Leagues of Paris, was minded to spend some time there, and told his Wife she would do him a pleasure to bring some good company thither. The Marchioness being a very Jovial Lady promised to make one; they had a great desire to have S. Aubin along with them, and the Duchess had invited him two or three times, but could not prevail: When he came to take his leave of these Ladies the day before their departure, the Marchioness told him, if he would not go along with them, she would discover the secret of his Sex. S. Aubin was loath to go far from Paris, for fear of exposing himself (as 'tis said) to new Adventures, though it was for another reason; yet he was so moved with the Marchioness threats, that he resolved to go along: The Duke very glad, and they promised all to keep S. Aubin's Council. When they were got into the Country, the Ladies thought of nothing but their pleasures; Hunting, Gaming, walking and making good cheer took up their time: The Duchess having considered that the Count continued his mistake, and still thought her Criminal, was troubled she had not undeceived him; she spoke of it to her Husband, who thought she had reason, it being ever to a Lady's disadvantage to give any cause of suspecting her Conduct. They resolved the Duke should write him a Letter to invite him into the Country: The Count, who thought very ill of that Journey the Duchess had taken, though he did not know S. Aubin went with her, was glad the Duke had given him the occasion of visiting them, and imagined the Duke had written without acquainting his Duchess. He got thither within two days, and was surprised to find so good company; there care was taken at his first arrival to have S. Aubin out of the way. After Supper the Marchioness said, she had lighted that day on the pleasantest story in the World: They prayed her to acquaint the company with it; she excused herself, saying, she had a very ill memory: With that, she stepped a little from the Table, and taking a Book out of her Pocket, where she had writ what she had to say, she pretended to make use of it to help her Memory, and said that a person of quality had been jealous of a Maid in Man's Clothes, and so went on, giving an exact and particular account of all that had happened to S. Aubin at the Counts, and how he had been deceived when he thought himself revenged: The Duke and his Duchess the mean while observed the Count, who knowing himself by the description to be the Party intended, changed colour and countenance at every word: The Marchioness having made a stop at the feigned sickness of S. Aubin, the Duchess was earnest to know if the Count had been disabused: The Marchioness takes her Book in hand, and read that; the Lady principally concerned, went shortly after into the Country, and having scrupled the leaving the Count in a mistake so disadvantageus to her, had prayed her Husband to invite the Count to come and visit them. But how did she justify herself, says the Duchess? My Book says no more, replies the Marchioness. This Gentleman, the Count, being newly arrived from Paris, may probably inform you. Never was Man more out of Countenance than he: The Duke pitying the Disorder he was in, told him, S. Aubin was, The Heroine Musqueteer; the Count begged the Duchess' Pardon, giving her many sorry Reasons to justify himself, which she little valued: They sent for S. Aubin, having first engaged the Count not to discover the Secret: They had good laughing at the Adventure; but the Count was so confounded at it, that he durst no more speak to the Duchess, and shortly after returned to Paris.  
S. Aubin in the mean time was not so merry as formerly, the same Reason that stopped his Journey to Bearn, would not permit him to be long absent from Paris with Patience: He expected News from the Marquis D'Osseyra, but received not any, though they had taken care to agree a way to maintain a Correspondence. As he was walking one Day with the Duchess, he spied three Spanish Soldiers returning homewards from Flanders, he spoke to them in Spanish, and asked them a hundred Questi●●s about the Marquis d'Osseyra: One of the Soldiers hearing him repeat so often the Marquess' Name, asked him boldly if he knew him, and had any Concern with him. I have been his Prisoner, says S. Aubin, and he used me so well, I shall acknowledge it while I live: The Duchess perceiving by S. Aubin's Countenance how glad he was to discourse with the Strangers, was willing to give him time enough to do it at his leisure, and ordered one of her Servants to entertain them that Day, and take care of them: They were scarce got into the House, but S. Aubin found them out, and addressing himself to the Soldier, who seemed best acquainted with the Marquis, he asked a thousand Particulars concerning him. The Soldier astonished to find a Gentleman so acknowledging, and perceiving him the Marquess' very good Friend, confessed he was his Domestic, and had by the way met with those two Soldiers going for Spain: But as for him, he went no further than Paris, on business from his Master: S. Aubin Ravished at the News and thinking himself concerned in the Journey, asked if he had not Letters for Christina: The Spaniard astonished to find him so well acquainted with the Marquess' Affairs, told him he had several for her: Give me 'em then, says Christina, forgetting herself to be S. Aubin. The Spaniard looked attentively on him, and with the cool Gravity usual in those of his Nation, answered, he would rather part with his Life: I am Christina's Brother, and a good Friend of your Master's, says S. Aubin. And you may trust me with them; but the Spaniard was not to be persuaded out of ' 'em. Christina seeing it, and being impatient to have a sight of Letters she so dearly longed for, confessed she was Christina, and had that Day disguised herself into Man's Habit for Hunting: Old Birds are not caught with Chaff, says the Spaniard, I'll as soon part with my Life as my Letters, which he bound with two or three Spanish Oaths, and quitting S. Aubin, went straight to his Comrades, and set forwards immediately for Spain: S. Aubin was upon the point of following them to set upon 'em by the way, and force the Letters from 'em; but fearing the Consequence of an Action so rash in a Kingdom, where such Violence is not allowed, he prayed the Duchess to give Order for Horses to carry him presently to Paris, fearing if the Spaniard missed of him there, he would return presently for Flanders. The Duchess not knowing the Reason of this haste, endeavoured very civilly to engage him to a longer stay. S. Aubin vexed at her unseasonable Civility, acquainted her with what had passed between him and the Spaniard: The Duchess, in Compassion to a Lover's Impatience, sent Horses the same day to wait S. Aubin's coming by the way, who on the Morrow went off in her Coach, and in a short time arrived at Paris. He failed not to go to the place where the Marquis would address his Letters, and thought it requisite to put on women's Habit, lest the incredulous Spaniard should scruple delivering him the Packet: Soon after the Spaniard arrived, and having desired to speak with Christina, he delivered the Letters, applauding himself much that he had not trusted them with a Young Gentleman, who would have surprised him with Untruths; but he had mistaken his Mark; for he could have rather parted with his Life, than his Letters. Christina more intent about reading her Letters, than hearing his Bravadoes, opened several which pleased her well: I would have inserted them here for the Reader's Satisfaction; but there are a sort of Letters very good for the Writer, and for the Party they are written to, but flat and insipid to others who have not the Key to understand the Meaning, and apprehend the Delicacy of them: I shall only give you one I thought easiest to be understood.  
ATtribute my Silence to the Excess of my Love: when my Letters are written I look upon them as yours, which makes them so dear to me, that I cannot find in my Heart to expose them to the danger of falling into the Hands of Strangers. By all those I send you by the Express, you will find you wholly take up my Thoughts. It is an Age since the beginning of this Campagne: why should the imaginary progress of our Armies stop that of my Love. If possible, draw near one of the conquered Towns, that I may have the Pleasure at last to think I am not far from you, and that if we lay a Siege, as the Discourse is, I may flatter myself with the hopes of haing you my Prisoner: But for Heaven's sake, be not in the Place, for I foresee the Cannon will be ill served, when I think it may be discharged against you. And I would choose rather to lose my Office, than do it on such an occasion.  
Christina in Reading the several Letters had all the joy a Person in Love is capable of after long expectation of News from her Lover.  
This was her Answer.  
I Am very well pleased with your Letters: they are all very passionate. But you alarm me, in telling me you are going to form a Siege. I tremble for you, that the success will not answer your hopes: Let me entreat you to think of nothing but loving me, there you are sure of Conquest, the other is uncertain. I will draw towards the Frontiers, because you desire it; I know I shall be better at ease, and I take Pleasure beforehand to think I shall hear from you oftener: Make an end of this Campagne as soon as you can, Love will make you amends for the damage your Glory suffers by it.  
Christina sent back the Marquess' Man with this Answer, and resumed her Man's Habit, and the Name of S. Aubin.  
D' Angosse in the mean time was returned from Bearn, and had, with the help of the Abbot d' Izzette, happily ended what he had to do there on S. Aubin's account, and much to his advantage; for which D' Angosse expected no small acknowledgement. He could not imagine but Christina would at length be sensible of his affection for her: And when S. Aubin would have made him a considerable Present, proportionable to the Service he had done him, D' Angosse took it for an affront, and told Christina he thought himself not unworthy of her affection. S. Aubin was so well acquainted with the boldness natural to those of his Country, that it surprised him not at all: But to undeceive him, once for all, told D' Angosse, he had a very high esteem and value for him, and would evidence it on all occasions; but entreated him for the future to order his Thoughts better, than to give him occasion to forbear his company, and forbidden him further Visits; which he would infallibly do, if he continued to discourse him at that bold rate. D' Angosse was too much a Gascon to be discouraged at this, so that S. Aubin, to be rid of troublesome importunities, was forced to change his Lodging.  
There was about this time, a Report that the Confederate Army had invested Charleroy, and begun already to form the Siege: Most of the young Gentlemen at Court, and other Volunteers, left Paris upon the News, and went for the French Army, not doubting but the Marshal Luxemburg, who Commanded it, would attack the Enemy in their Lines. The Army increased extremely in two or three Days, Volunteers coming in Post from all Parts, and not finding Horses on the great Roads, some were forced to take by ways to furnish themselves, that they might come in time. The Marquis de Fervaques, willing to be there with the first, to signalise himself on this, and other occasions, had the misfortune to be taken by the way, by a Party of the Enemies. The Officer who Commanded the Party, having seized some Books among Monsieur Fervaques' Baggage, opened one, which proved the Heroine Musqueteer: the Title made him eager to read it. This Officer had been bred Page to the Marquis D'Osseyra, and not a little surprised to find the Marquess' Name so often in the Book, he sent it the Marquis, who was extremely astonished at it.  
While every one wondered at the Confederates Resolution to lay Siege to Charleroy, having formerly attempted it in vain. S. Aubin alarmed to hear the expedition generally cried down as rash and unadvised, and all France confident it would come to nothing, began to be afraid for the Marquis D'Osseyra. He had not the patience to wait information, by the Public News, what was become of the Marquis; but pushed on by a Love, to which no difficulty was insuperable, rid Post to Charleroy, pretending the cause of his Journey to be only a Desire of Honour, natural to the French Gentry: Every Horseman he met by the way he fancied might be a Courier to carry News of the defeat of the Confederates. But when he came to the Army, he found the Confederates had been so wise to save him the fright his Love might have put him to for danger to the Marquis. They had, upon the approach of the King's Army, raised the Siege, as the best of their Game. The Confederates having made a very good Retreat, S. Aubin saw there was no cause of further Fear on their Account, the Marquis D'Osseyra being safe; but he could not find in his Heart to return for Paris, without giving the Marquis notice: He was so pleased with being so near the Man he loved best of any living, that he resolved to stay in Flanders: And having engaged himself in the beginning of the Campain to spend some time at Valenciennes, at Mariana's Fathers, he took that occasion to continue nearer the Marquis: And considering it would be difficult hearing from him at Valenciennes, where Count Magalotti the Governor was very strict to prevent intelligence with the Enemy, he made sure beforehand of a Ligeois Lad, who under pretence of carrying Victuals, went indifferently to both Armies; and was admitted into the Spanish, as well as French Towns. The Ligeois having promised to serve him faithfully, he went into Valenciennes, and sent the Boy into the Spanish Army with this Letter.  
YOur Enterprise of Charleroy put me in such a Fright, that I could not wait the Success in quiet: How could I be at rest, when I was to expect every Hour Designs against you?  I went, judge what Condition I was in, who could not wish the Glory of my Country, without giving an alarm to my Love; nor pray for your Prosperity, without breach of my Allegiance: Make me amends for the Trouble you have caused me, by letting me hear often from you at Valenciennes, where I resolve to stay and see what will become of you.  
When the Ligeois came to the Confederate Army to deliver the Letter, he found all in disorder there, by misunderstanding between the Generals; one blaming the other for the miscarriage of the Business of Charleroy. He was told the Spaniards were withdrawn, and that the Marquis D'Osseyra, Commanded a Body a part about Ghent: The Ligeois found him there, and having delivered the Letter, the Marquis rewarded him so, that he had cause to wish he might have more such Letters to carry, and soon after sent him back with this Answer.  
I Am extremely obliged to you for the Fright you were in, though it be the greatest harm our Army hath done. We are so used to ill Success, we are not at all moved at it: Yet I should be hearty sorry for it, but that I am persuaded you make a difference between me and others; and believe, did I act a part, I would alarm you oftener. But why should our Billets still speak of War, which ought to be full of Sweetness and Tenderness? Do you know our Business is grown Public, and that there's a Book Printed, Entitled, The Heroine Musqueteer? Since we are made the Subject of Romances, let's make an end as soon as we can, and enjoy the Fruits of our Love, without diverting the Public any longer at our Cost.  
This Letter was delivered S. Aubin at Valenciennes, where he was received by Mariana's Parents with Demonstrations of very great joy, and Evidences of a sincere kindness. They flattered themselves still with the hopes of having him their Son-in-Law; and being confirmed in this opinion, by his return, they made him very welcome, and gave him the best entertainment they could. Only Mariana appeared troubled, at the Sight of S. Aubin; An Italian Captain in Magalotte's Regiment, had, by his subtle insinuations, got that advantage over the simplicity of the honest Hemyn, that she told him all that had passed between her and S. Aubin; and the design of her Parents to make her his Wife, notwithstanding his great indifference for her. The Italian pretending himself very much concerned for her, used all his endeavours to undeceive her Thoughts of that chimerical Marriage, assuring her, S. Aubin who apparently was a Person of Quality, had no Thoughts of marrying her, having not as much as Writ her a Line since he left her: I know, adds he, the French well enough, they engage themselves with Women only for divertisement, Ambition and thirst of Glory are their predominant Passion: But 'tis no small Prejudice to a fair Lady so lovely as you are, to be exposed to the slights of a presumptuous Youngster, who, perhaps, makes sport in his Country with the obliging Offers your Parents have made him.  
Mariana having been frequently discouraged thus, found it no hard matter to forget S. Aubin: And the Captain finding her so well disposed, failed not to offer her his Service, and to make her sensible of the great Desire he had to merit her good Opinion. 'Tis no wonder a young Maid, who fancied all Men as shy as S. Aubin, should be taken at last with the Assiduity of a smooth tongued, and cunning Italian. Love, that you may be loved, is a maxim seldom fails, and whether it were that the Captain was in love with Mariana, or pretended it only, she was quickly comforted for the absence of S. Aubin by the care this Italian took to entertain her with frequent Discourses of the passion he had for her, and the indifference of S. Aubin: when he returned to Valenciennes she had disposed of her affection, and all her Parents cares to the Frenchman were but so many pieces of mortification to Mariana, who complained of them to the Captain. But when she reflected on her obligations to him, and the Pleasure of being beholding to so handsome a Gentleman, her sense of gratitude could not but reproach her for loving another. She acquainted the Italian with her reflections, who alarmed at the Discourse, made use of all the interest his subtleties gained in the credulous Girl: And considering he might never have so good an opportunity of making his Fortune, he was so fearful S. Aubin's presence might revive Mariana's former inclinations, and so loath to lose what he thought himself almost master of, that he made use of such means to make sure of Mariana, it was not in her Parent's Power to dispose of her to another. He forgot neither promise nor oath, and pressed her so hard, that she thought it but reasonable to grant him the highest favour his Love could expect: her Mother reproached her for entertaining the Captain so constantly, and slighting S. Aubin. But her Mother's Discourse and S. Aubin's cold Civilities were merely thrown away upon her, who had received such effectual proof of the Captain's kindness: S. Aubin was so taken up with writing Letters to the Marquis D'Osseyra, and so pleased with reading his answers, that 'tis no wonder he concerned not himself much with other People's Business. Mariana having improved her Wit by conversing with the Italian, advised him to get acquaintance with S. Aubin, as an infallible means to be welcome to her Parents, by Reason of the esteem and kindness they had for that Frenchman. Another Man would have scrupled seeing a Rival so dangerous as S. Aubin, but an Italian hath an absolute command of his Passion: The Captain dissembling the hatred he had for S. Aubin on Mariana's account, did him all the civilities imaginable, of which the Italians never are Niggard's; S. Aubin as courteously returned them. The cunning Italian easily had the advantage of the Frenchman, that in a short time they were intimate Friends: and the Captain, to discover S. Aubins' designs upon Mariana, frequently made her the subject of their Discourse. S. Aubin frankly declared he had an esteem for her. The Captain willing to try her further, and know whether he loved her, replied cunningly, that few are satisfied with a bare esteem of a young Lady of Mariana's Qualities: I can go no further, says S. Aubin, I have endeavoured to disabuse her Parents; and should be very sorry they should, for hopes which can never take effect, let slip the opportunities of settling their Daughter. The Italian well satisfied with an answer so agreeable to his desires, concluded from S. Aubin's Discourse, he was very well born, and thought not of matching into an inferior family, which made him ever after make his Court to S. Aubin with extraordinary deference.  
Mariana's Father was every day more and more charmed with S. Aubin's Behaviour and Carriage, and hearty sorry to see him so little concerned for his Daughter. The Italian frequented the House under pretence of seeing S. Aubin. Mariana's Father taking him to be a discreet Man, and one that had an interest in S. Aubin, whom he visited so often, took an occasion to tell him how much his family was engaged to S. Aubin, and that he designed to have him his Son-in-law, though he seemed not very fond of the alliance. The Captain glad of this confidence, resolved to make good use of it, he presently fell to giving him Counsel, and offered to speak of the Business to the Frenchman, which the Father accepted of with a great deal of Pleasure. The Italian being now become Mediator in the affair, consulted Mariana what answer he should return her Father from S. Aubin, and amused the good Man with delays and put-offs to gain time for a favourable occasion, for Mariana to declare to her Parents the necessity she was under of being married to the Captain. Lovers once Fortunate, flatter themselves with hopes they shall continue so still: But a Cruel accident, which is so troublesome to Married Women, so terrible to Maids, and sometimes fatal to Widows, was like to have broken all the Measures these Lovers had taken. Mariana found herself troubled with qualms, and with fits, occasioned by the familiarities of the Italian, so that she thought it high time to make her Parents acquainted with it: and believing her Mother more tender and compassionate (in such cases especially) she confessed ingenuously the condition she was in, and was so far from complaining of him who had caused it, that she extolled his merit in very passionate to terms; praying her to keep the Business private, her Lover who had promised her marriage, having important Reasons to conceal it for some time. The Mother thinking she spoke of S. Aubin, was so far from blaming her Daughter, that she excused the matter, and promised to speak of it to her Father, that order might be taken to have them privately married. The honest Fleming was so glad of the news of a Marriage he so passionately wished for, that he presently sent for a Notary to draw the Marriage-settlement, wherein he gave his Daughter very great advantages in Favour of her pretended Husband that was to be: The two Lovers had signed, and the Father had the Pen in hand for the same purpose, but missing S. Aubin's name in the contract; he told the Notary, he had observed on the like occasions, that the parties to be married first writ their Names, and others aftewards to make good the contract as Parents or Relations, to render it authentic as Witnesses: Having so said, he gave the Notary the Pen, which put Mariana into a terrible fright, and all the Wit the Italian had taught her was little enough to help her out: she told her Father S. Aubin was the Name of a Place, but that the Name he found in the instrument was that of his Family. This convinced the Father that he took the Pen again and signed the Deed. Being one of the most considerable Burgesses of the Town, and willing to pay respect to the Governor, he prayed the Captain who stood by, and past for S. Aubin's good Friend, to accompany the Notary to Count Magalotts, and desire his leave for the Marriage: The Governor having been possessed of the thing by the Captain, and glad an Officer of merit had found an occasion to make his Fortune, readily gave his consent, and agreed the Ceremony should be performed that evening in his Chapel. Mariana had the Wit to order her Business so well, that her Parents went not to the Chapel, but relied on an Aunt of hers she had gained: This was done with such speed, that S. Aubin was married in the imaginations of Mariana's Parents before ever he heard of it. The Mother gave so strict a Charge to all her Family, to keep the matter private, that every one thought himself sole confident of the intrigue: while the Ceremonies were a doing, S. Aubin withdrew to his ordinary retirement. A Maid who opened him the door, desirous to insinuate herself into his Favour, whom she looked upon as her new Master, wished him joy: The Father seeing him enter, and thinking that out of respect to him he was loath to appear to him, till he had repaired his Daughter's Honour, embraced him with great transports of Joy. Mariana's Mother having spied her imaginary Son-in-law, would not give her Husband time to speak, but took him about the neck, calling him her dear Son. S. Aubin, who understood not the meaning of their troublesome caresses, thought them mad. As he was going to answer their impertinent Discourse, a Friend of the Family, who alone was made privy to the Business, prevented him by giving him Joy: never was Man more perplexed than S. Aubin. He prayed them seriously to be undeceived once for all, since for very substantial reasons it was not in his Power to marry their Daughter. The Mother angry at so unexpected a Declaration, replied, that since those Reasons had not been strong enough to keep him from dishonouring her Daughter, they were too weak to dispense with his marrying her; adding, if he did it not, she would punish their infamy by strangling them both with her own Hands: The quarrel increased, and S. Aubin was in Danger of being ill used, had not the Governor come in with the new-marryed couple. This looks so like the last scene of a Comedy, that the Reader will scarce believe it. But I pretend not authority over men's Opinions, I allow every one Liberty to think what he pleases. My Memoirs tell me Mariana fell at her Parents Feet, and presented them her Husband, whom they were obliged to receive, the Marriage having been celebrated with all the formality usual, and Mariana in a very hopeful Condition to make them Grandsires in a short time. At last they were all satisfied, the Italian that he had got a good Fortune, Mariana, that she was Married to whom she loved; and S. Aubin, that he was delivered from her Parents persecutions.  
But the Mind of Man is never Content, and the Italian, (like others ingenious in tormenting themselves) though he saw himself Master, by his Marriage, of a considerable Fortune, and far beyond his Hopes; comparing the Plentifulness of his present Fortune, with those former Wants all his Industry was scarce able to preserve him from, he had a Crotchet in his Pate; there was something more than ordinary in the matter, that a Gentleman of Bergamo, no otherwise considerable than for a Company of Foot which he had gained by the ordinary means, should marry a rich Heiress, unless there were some secret Reasons for it. In a word, his good Fortune had so refined his Fancy, that he passed the same Judgement of his Wife most Men do, whose Wives suffer them beforehand to know what they should have been ignorant of till after the Wedding, and imagined Mariana had been as kind to some other as to him. Of all he could think of, S. Aubin appeared the most likely to be the Man: Having considered it well, he applauded himself secretly for his Penetration, and was confirmed in his Opinion that he had but S. Aubin's Leave, and was beholden for his Settlement to Mariana's being with Child; who, not daring to let her Parents know it, resolved to be married to him, when S. Aubin had refused her: He doubted not but they had long held Correspondence, and continued it; and loath to be any longer their Cully, resolved to observe their Motions. S. Aubin who had formerly avoided being alone with Mariana, that she might not have occasion to think he loved her, was often in her Company after she was Married; the Reason for absenting himself being now over, and her Conversation more witty than formerly; so that having reasonable good Company at Home, he thought he might well save himself the Trouble of taking it abroad. S. Aubin's Assiduity with Mariana, gave the Captain new umbrage: He durst not yet complain of it to Mariana, or forbidden her his company: his Jealousy the while represented the most innocent Actions as criminal. He was the more troubled to see most of the French Gentry in Flanders going for Paris, when S. Aubin, who probably had no great Business at Valenciennes, said not a Word of returning for France, for which he could not imagine any cause, but Correspondence with his Wife: He watched them so narrowly, that he quickly perceived S. Aubin often employed the Ligeois into the Country, and at his return quitted all Business to speak with him. The Captain's suspicions made him fearful of every Shadow: He was very desirous to know what Business the Ligeois was sent about, and gave order to an Italian Footboy, a very trusty Fellow, to hid himself in S. Aubin's Chamber, and hearken diligently what the Ligeois said. The Footboy did as he was Commanded, and reported to his Master that the Ligeois said not a Word, but gave S. Aubin a Letter which he read, very attentively, and sighed often in reading it. The Captain, well acquainted with Love-tricks, was so possessed with Jealousy, that he presently fancied the Letters were his Wife's, who perhaps had some Confident the Town who conveyed them to the Ligeois. This suspicion, how ill-grounded soever, gave our Italian no small disturbance. He resolved to find out the bottom of the Business; and, with the help of the Footboy, found the means one Day to draw the Ligeois into a Chamber of the House, somewhat remote from S. Aubin's, or any other Lodging-room: Having locked him up there, he threatened to run him presently through, if he would not tell him truly whence the Letters came he carried S. Aubin so often: The Ligeois not knowing what Relation S. Aubin had to the Marquis, but judging by the good usage of the one, and liberality of the other, that the Business was Moment, was very loath to answer him; understanding how dangerous a matter it is to hold Correspondence with an Enemy, especially in a Place of War. The Trouble the Ligeois appeared in heightened the Italian's Curiosity, that he repeated his threats, and put himself in a posture to execute them. The Ligeois affrighted at it, prormsed to tell him all, if he would but save his Life: The Italian promised it, and the Wretch made him acquainted with the Correspondence between S. Aubin and the Marquis D'Osseyra. The Captain surprised at the News, made no doubt but they held intelligence against the State, and was glad at Heart for so favourable an occasion to be revenged of S. Aubin, under a pretence of Zeal for the King's Service. The smallest things are of consequence in matters of this nature, so that notwithstanding his promise to the contrary, he made no scruple of securing the Ligeois, the Maxims of Italy having taught him he was not obliged to be a Slave to his Word: He advertised the Governor; who, having questioned the Ligeois, sent an Officer, with fifty Soldiers, to arrest S. Aubin, who had received notice the Ligeois was a Prisoner; and though he knew not the Reason, yet he apprehended he might have let fall something in discourse about the Letters he brought him: and that they might not be seen, he burned them; but it went so much against the grain, and he did it so slowly, that he was busy about this cruel Sacrifice, when the Officer sent to take him entered his Chamber, and after a sorry Compliment or two led him into Prison. The Officer failed not to give the Governor an account what he found in S. Aubin's Chamber, and what a sight of Letters there was in the Fire. This last Cicumstance made every one think him Criminal, and that he had burnt the Letters to prevent their being made use of as Evidence against him. This Business made a great noise, and, as 'tis usual on such occasions for every one to add something to the Report, this raised the News that passed then currant, of a great Plot discovered at Valenciennes. The Ligeois was examined very strictly, and so frighted with the Tortures they threatened to put him to, that he confessed all he knew, and a great deal more: His frequent Journeys to the Spanish Army, the Money received from a General of the Enemies, and the burning of the Letters were evidences so clear, in the opinion of the Public, that no doubt was made both the Wretches would shortly suffer. S. Aubin's good Mien, and Curiosity, gained him Compassion from all that saw him: Every one pitied, but none durst excuse him, for fear of being brought in as accessary to so ticklish a Crime. He was the while under extreme perplexity in Prison, every thing seemed to fall out cross: His stay at Valenciennes was looked upon as mysterious, especially after he had declared he had no design to Marry Mariana. It was hard to justify himself without confessing his Sex, which he could scarce find in his Heart to do. Being examined, he defended himself with saying he had written to the Marquis D' Osseyra as his particular Friend; but that his Letters had nothing in them that related to the King, or the State. The Judges were not satisfied with his answer, and perhaps would have condemned him, had not the Governor interposed his Authority, at the request of some Ladies, to have the judgement suspended till he might receive orders from the Court.  
As they seized what was in S. Aubin's Chamber, an Officer belonging to Governor had the Curiosity to read some Books found there. Among the rest, he read the Heroine Musqueteer, where he saw the Names of the Marquis D'Osseyra and S. Aubin so often repeated, that he fancied S. Aubin the Prisoner might be the same with S. Aubin Christina. He told the Governor, and showed him the Book. The Governor read it with Pleasure, and having, amongst S. Aubin's things, found a very tender Letter of the Marquis D'Osseyra's, perhaps the only one had escaped the Fire, he was fully persuaded S. Aubin was the Heroine Musqueteer, but was willing to be further assured of it. He sent for the Prisoner, showed him the Letter, and told him he doubted not but that which appeared only a Letter of kindness, was a cipher to cover some matter of State. S. Aubin showed him so many Reasons to the contrary, that the Governor believed him incapable of holding intelligence; but demanded of him a Letter to the Marquis D' Osseyra, to forbid further Correspondence. This Proposal put S. Aubin to the groan; and not able to give a good Reason for refusing to write so, he appeared so disordered, that he thought it might be justly taken for a clear conviction of his Crime, yet this Trouble justified him more than all his Eloquence: For the Governor imputing it to his love, discovered him to be Christiana, and no longer criminal. The Business was hushed up, and S. Aubin set at liberty. The whole Town was glad of it, and especially Mariana's Parents, who still had kindness for him, and had been afraid to lose him, the Italian had taken such care to inform them daily of some new Circumstance of his Crime.  
While S. Aubin was in Prison, the Captain, who made account to have his revenge of S. Aubin in the punishment the State would inflict on him, could not forbear telling his Wife something of it, and at the same time reproaching her with her falseness. A Reproach a Woman truly virtuous is most sensible of: And the Husband who uses such language to his Wife, doth but raise in her a desire to be revenged of an unjust suspicion by real disloyalty, when she sees him make so slight account of the reservation she values herself upon: Mariana, who no otherwise knew of any disloyalty but by her Husband's Discourse, and could reproach herself for nothing but having been too credulous, was so touched to the quick with her Husband's ingratitude, that she resolved to punish him for his Jealousy; it was long ere her resentment mastered her Virtue, being unresolved whom to make choice of to assist her in her revenge: But when S. Aubin was set at liberty, she fixed her choice on him; and looking on him as an Instrument very fit for her turn, she used him more obligingly than usual: Every Day she resolved to make him acquainted with her design, but when they were together she had not the power to do it, flattering herself perhaps he would guests at it. After vain expectation he would save her the confusion a compliment of that Nature would put her in, she acquainted him at length with the injustice of her Husband, but had not the Power to say all she intended, shame stopped her mouth; and S. Aubin contented himself with blaming the Italian, without making any offer of his Service to flatter her hopes.  
Mariana not discouraged at this, added, a Man of his Humour deserved to have a Wife that would be revenged of him. S. Aubin replied coldly, it was an honest Woman's part to think more of her Duty to herself than her Husband. This would be sufficient to keep her from any act of disloyalty, and for his part he little valued a Woman who was reserved on no other account but that of her Husband. Mariana who expected S. Aubin would have offered to go halves in the revenge she designed, was extremely surprised to hear him preach honesty to her. And not able longer to endure the vexation it gave her, retired into her Chamber, to weep it out there.  
'Tis natural to desire what appears difficult to obtain. S. Aubins resistance heightened Mariana's passion: to justify the discretion of her Lover she fancied he answered her thus, only to please her, who he knew was no Lover of very free discourse: I should have explained myself better, says she, how else should a Man I have always used hardly perceive a sudden change so much to his advantage. With that she resolved to speak more plainly; having observed her time to make a new trial, she told him she had reflected on what he had said to her of honest women's Duty to themselves, but found those Reasons too weak to resist the motions of a predominate passion. I cannot endure my Husband, and the desire I have to be revenged of a Man who makes so ill acknowledgement of what I have done for him, makes me forget all I would have regarded on another occasion: And since I am extremely concerned to make to make choice of a discreet Man, I have pitched upon you: she stopped there, thinking she had said enough: S. Aubin, who at first understood not what revenge she intended, thought she would have made away her Husband, and abhorring so violent a design, blamed her extremely, telling her, a Wife must bear much with her Husband, that the happiest marriages are attended with trouble; and that if all Wives who are not satisfied with their Husbands should take such violent Resolutions, no Man would dare Marry; adding, he would willingly adventure his Life against any one had offended her, but that he Thought it not the part of a wise Man to meddle between Husband and Wife. And leaving Mariana (in the disorder you may imagine) he thought fit to acquaint her Parents with the passages, and to take Measures with them to prevent further inconvenience; but he had the Discretion to tell them no more than that they would do well to prevent disorders might arise out of some small difference between the Italian and his Wife, for he perceived they were both too much disposed to quarrel: S. Aubin at their request took it upon him to speak to the Captain, and advised them the mean time to calm Mariana; he found out the Italian, and having told him he had something of Consequence to acquaint him with, he made him a long Discourse of the extravagant Humours of most Women, and the unhappiness of Husbands, who have not the Art of complying with their weaknesses, insuating, it was a wife Man's part to prevent Noise, and over handsomely the extravagance of an humoursome Woman; the Italian not knowing what the Discourse tended to; took it worse from S. Aubin than he would from any Man, fancying he intended to insult over him, by reproaching him with the easiness of his Wife. Being a Man of Courage, he had not the patience to endure the Affront, but laid his hand on his Sword, without giving S. Aubin time to finish the Discourse. S. Aubin stood upon his guard, and defended himself, but they were parted without advantage on either side.  
Mariana's Parents tired themselves with preaching to her to live in Peace with her Husband, when a Servant brings them News of a Duel between S. Aubin and the Italian, which surprised them all, though on different Accounts: The Father-in-law believed his Son had ill taken the good Offices S. Aubin would have done him, and so occasioned the quarrel: Mariana applying all to her Love, fancied S. Aubin had a generosity refined to that extremity, that he pretended himself unconcerned for her, that he might be in a condition the better to vindicate her. But the revenge she expected was of another Nature, such as she intended to share in the Pleasure of it with him who took it. The Captain arriving, complained to Mariana's Father of the injury he pretended done him by S. Aubin, and told him he would no longer endure the insolence of that Frenchman, who abused the respect they had for him. The Father heard his Complaints with Attention, and was surprised at the News of an Intrigue between his Daughter and S. Aubin, which might be likely enough: The Governor being told of the Quarrel, sent for the Captain, who confidently told him the Reasons he had to draw upon S. Aubin. The Governor not able to forbear laughing at a Jealousy so ill grounded, brought the Captain to himself, by telling him S. Aubin was a Woman.  
S. Aubin perceiving the secret he was so careful to conceal, was grown public, left Valenciennes, and went to Mons, being about five Leagues off, giving out he was an English Gentleman, related to the House Crovy: The Duke of Arschot who was Governor, received him very kindly: and as distrustful as he was of Strangers in a Garrison of that Importance, he could not believe a young Gentleman of so good a Mien capable of any ill Design. A Walloon Colonel, who had served in England, was very civil to him; and the Morrow after his arrival invited him to Supper. S. Aubin was no sooner come into the Colonels House, but he saluted his Wife, she was a Lady too well qualified to be capable of ingratitude, and having been with her Husband at Cambray when it was taken, she presently knew S. Aubin to be the Marshal Luxembourgs Aid de Camp, who had complemented the Ladies there from his General; she was extremely glad to see him, and to have that occasion to express her acknowledgement of his civilities: She fancied her Husband, to please her with the surprise, had brought him in as an Englishman; and she, to be even with her Husband, asked S. Aubin (as if she had not known him) what News from England. S. Aubin, not perceiving himself discovered, answered very naturally, and like a Man of that Country, affecting to speak broken French, and giving so exact an account of Affairs, that the colonel's Wife thought herself mistaken, in taking him to be S. Aubin: She excused herself for it, and her Husband made her mistake the Subject of his Raillery all Suppertime. S. Aubin having dextrously escaped discovery here, resolved not to appear before the Duchess of Arschot, knowing she had great Relations at Brussels, and would not fail to let her Friends know of it. He gave the Marquis D' Osseyra notice of his being at Mons by this Letter.  
THE Difficulties I found in receiving News of you, and giving you an Account of myself, made me resolve to come hither. Your Campaign is at an end, and I am in a Town you have no suspicion of: Consult your Love, and tell me what I shall do to keep within the Rules of Decency. I will wait your Answer before I appear at the Duchess of Arschots, that I may not expose myself to the Noise may be thereby occasioned; And you shall find, under the Name of S. Aubin,  
Your Christina.  
S. Aubin having sent this Letter to Brussels, by a trusty Messenger, resolved to wait an Answer in his Chamber, but was deceived: For the colonel's Wife having visited the Duchess of Arschot, for want of other Discourse, told her of the English Gentleman, who had supped the Night before at her House, and how she mistook him for a French Gentleman she had seen at Cambray: Having added a great deal about his Wit and good Mien, she raised in the Duchess a desire to see him. The Colonel undertook to bring him to her, found him in his Chamber, and having magnified the good Service his Wife had done, in giving the Duchess a Character of his good Qualities, he offered to bring him to the Duchess. S. Aubin, vexed at his officiousness, excused himself with saying his Head ached. The Colonel, who expected not a Refusal, and had engaged to bring him, pressed him to go along, assuring him he should not stay a Moment. S. Aubin was perplexed, being loath to see the Duchess before he had an Answer to his Letter, and not well able to get rid of the colonel's importunity, he prayed him to allow him a little time of rest, and he would go with him in the Evening. The Colonel went away well satisfied with the promise, and S. Aubin continued unresolved what to do. Having thought well of the matter, and knowing the Duchess a Generous Person, he chose rather to see her privately, and be known to her; than to expose himself publicly to the surprise his disguise might occasion. He left his Chamber before the Colonel returned, and being got to the Duchess', sent her Word there was a Stranger had Business of Consequence with her, and desired private Audience: The Duchess went presently into another Room, where S. Aubin was soon after admitted. As soon as S. Aubin appeared, the Duchess at first Sight knew who it was; and without allowing her time to speak, kindly embraced her, expressing much joy to see her. S. Aubin gave her a brief Account of Affairs, and the design brought him thither; and thinking it better to appear to the Marquis D'Osseyra in Maid's Habit, prayed the Duchess admittance once more into her Family; which the Duchess readily granted. All things agreed on, the Gentleman made as if he withdrew; and presently after returned by another Door the Duchess ordered to be opened on purpose. S. Aubin had provided a Suit of Woman's  at Paris, and having quickly shifted the Habit and Name of S. Aubin, into that of Christina, the Duchess produced her as a Gentlewoman of Lille, who was come to spend some time with her. It is the Prerogative of Great Ones to be believed without examination of Particulars by Inferiors; and Christina was taken by all, for what the Duchess declared her to be. The Duke of Arschot was the first deceived: The Colonel in the mean time returned to S. Aubin's Lodging, where he was told the Gentleman was gone. Reflecting then on what had passed at Table, he made no doubt but the pretended Englishman was the Frenchman his Wife had seen at Cambray. He was sorry he had been so credulous, and resolved not to appear at the governor's, for fear of being asked News of the Stranger. The Duchess, willing to divert herself with the Adventure, sent for the Colonel and told him, that being his Friend, she took that occasion to let him know the Duke was much surprised to hear he held Correspondence with the Enemy, and had entetained at his House, at Supper the last Night, a French Spy, though his Wife knew him to be an Aid de Camp of the Duke of Luxemburg's. The good Colonel, astonished at the Discourse, prayed the Duchess to continue his Protectoress; assuring her, by all that's sacred, he was innocent, and had taken that young Gentleman to be an Englishman. The Duchess, pretending herself satisfied, promised to clear him.  
The Duchess of Arschot, fearing to draw trouble on herself, writ to one of her Friends at Brussels, desiring Advice how to govern herself, as to Christina; and whether the Spaniards would not take it ill she entertained a French-woman. The Duchess de Villa Hermosa saw the Letter, and she told her Husband of it. The Marquis D' Osseyra was in the mean time gone to Mons, in search of S. Aubin; but could have no Account what was become of him. The Colonel informed of the Marquess' Arrival, waited on him to tender his Service; but finding him troubled S. Aubin was gone, he thought they had discovered some Plot, and made haste away for fear of being apprehended as having had a Hand in it. The Marquis could not, with decency, be long at Mons without visiting the Duke and Duchess of Arschot: He went to their House, and was received with all the respect due to his Birth and Merit. The Duchess, who guessed the cause of his coming, perceiving, by the distraction appearing in his Countenance, the trouble he was in, told him they had that Day surprised a French Spy, drawing a Map of the Town; and that she had much ado to prevail with her Husband not to cause him to be hanged up immediately. The Marquis full of fear for S. Aubin, asked her, with much trouble, what was become of the Criminal You may question him if you please, says the Duchess, for he is yet in my Chamber; and I am sure you will be for giving him his Life: Having passed in another Apartment, There is the Criminal, says the Duchess, showing him Christina. The Reader may well think they embraced one another  she could make an end of her Compliment. Christina, charming as she was, appeared much more so to the Marquis. They were both so well satisfied at the sight of each other, after so many cross Accidents, that they continued some time looking one upon another, not able to speak a Word to express their joy. They failed not afterwards to say all the kind things two Lovers are capable of on such an occasion. The Marquis thanked the Duchess for the pleasant Cheat put upon him, and confessed he was come with a Design to Marry his dear Mistress, and prayed her the Ceremony of it might be performed at her House. The Duchess, not expecting so sudden a Rosolution, could not handsomely refuse him; but desired time to think on't, and to receive an Answer from Brussels; adding, he would do well to send a Courier to the Bishop for a Licence. Christina saying she thought that very necessary, and desired it might be so; the Marquis sent away a Gentleman express to the Bishop, and charged him to dispatch that Affair with all expedition. The two Lovers, with a pleasing Impatience, expected the return of the Courier, and rejoiced the while to see their Constancy so near being Crowned with mutual Enjoyment. The Marquis was persuaded Christina's Thoughts were altogether Heroic, that she loved none beside him, and was above the weaknesses commonly incident to those of her Sex. How odd soever it might appear, that a Man of his Quality should Marry a Maid that had run through so many different Adventures, his Love, and the knowledge he had of the Virtues of his Mistress, prevailed with him above all other considerations. Christina, who had not on any other occasion been sensible of Love, but yielded herself to the sole Merit and perseverance of the Marquis, was extreme glad to see her Troubles so near an end, and herself upon the point of being united to the only Man of the World, who had the secret to please her, and she thought worthy of her affections: But this Joy was short-lived, and the satisfaction they had to be together some hours, seemed granted them only to heighten the grief that was quickly to succeed upon their Absence from each other, with small hopes of ever seeing one another again.  
The Duchess of Benavidez, who, after the taking of Cambray, was returned into Spain, and could not Pardon the Marquis D'Osseyra his insensibility, had informed his Mother of the Passion he had for Christina, and had given her so ill-favoured a Description of that poor Maid's Disguises and Adventures, that the Mother was persuaded her Son was bewitched: And attributing his Passion to something supernatural, she prayed Don John of Austria (who had a respect for her, having long Known her at Arragon,) to obtain an Order from the King, to the Governor of the Low-Countries, to obstruct the Marriage of the Marquis with Christina; and (if need were) to interpose the King's Authority to prevent it. The Order was sent into Flanders, as strict as the Marcioness could wish it, and the Duke de Villa Hermosa, very zealous for the Service of his Prince, and desirous to demonstrate an exact Conformity to the Orders of the Court, and repair, by performing what was in his Power, the misfortune he had to lose many Places it was not in his power to defend better than he had done; being advertized, by the Duchess of Arschot's Letter, of Christina's arrival at Mons, presently sent thither the Captain of his Guatds, with the King's Order addressed to the Duke of Arschot, declaring he must be answerable to the King to have Christina forthcoming. And being told the Maquess D' Osseyra was gone from Brussels, he presently thought him gone for Mons; which obliged him to dispatch a Courier thither, to tell the Marquis he must presently attend him. The Courier arrived as soon as the King's Order; and the Marquis (from whom the Duke concealed the Order he received) believed the French intended to attack Brussels; and went away in all haste, having taken leave of Christina, and recommended her earnestly to the Duchess. When the Marquis came to Brussels, he was extremely surprised when the Governor showed him the Order from Spain, and prayed him not to stir out of Town; for if he did, he must interpose his Authority to hinder him. The Marquis was upon the point of returning for Mons in spite of the governor's Orders, when a Letter was brought him from the Duchess of Arschot, acquainting him she was much troubled a Higher Power had put it out of hers to express her respects for him in the Person of his Mistress, who was now in a Covent, where she should be used very civility: but was not to be spoke with by any but the Abbess of the Place, the Order from Spain being positive in that Particular. This was a deadly blow to a Man in Love, as the Marquis; but it must be born with, and he must be content to write into Spain to endeavour to obtain a Revocation of the Order. Several Persons of the highest Quality writ in Favour of Christina, giving her the Character of an extraordinary Person; and that her Virtue, and excellent Qualities, deserved to be used with particular Respect. The good Offices intended the Marquis, by Letters so much to the advantage of his Mistress, had an effect quite contrary to his Friend's expectation. The King of Spain having been told of her, and scarce believing what was repoted of her, expressed a great desire to see so rare a Person: And having asked if it were not possible to have her brought into Spain, Don John of Austria promised she should. It being Don John's Custom to make the King acquainted with the greatest Affairs of Europe, by way of Divertisement; as in the beginning of his Ministry he made him desirous to learn to write, by showing him a Letter from the Duke of Savoy, all of the Handwriting of that young Prince; and assuring his Majesty he might, if he pleased, do as much in three Months. The King thought well of it, and learned to write. Order was sent to the Governor of the Low-Countries, to Embark Christina to be conveyed into Spain: the Duke de Villa Hermosa, willing to save the Marquis D' Osseyra the Trouble the removing his Mistress to such a distance might occasion him, kept this Order very private. When Christina was told she must go a Shipboard, she was at Death's-door; especially when she heard she was to go into Spain, and the Marquis to stay in Flanders, with so little hopes of ever seeing her more. These Reflections made her forget she had ever been S. Aubin, and yield herself wholly to the Sentiments of Christina; her Love drawing Tears from her in abundance, which the fear of Death was never able to force from her. She took Shipping at Ostend, in a Vessel fitted, and armed on purpose to convey her for Spain. She was recommended with so much care to the Officers of the Ship, that they thought her a Princess of some Sovereign Family, which the Spaniards had stolen away for Reasons of State. The Gentry of that Nation are great adorers of Women, and those in the Ship used her with that respect, that helped her to bear her misfortunes more patiently, a Woman, what condition soever she is in, being still sensible of the deference expressed for her. An Officer in the Ship (whether Lieutenant, or Ensign, I know not) possessed with an opinion of Christina's Highness, and having perhaps read in Don Quixot, that the first Duty of a Cavalier is to secure Ladies in distress, observing Christina one Day all bloated with crying, watched an opportunity to speak to her in private, and told her, if she was so averse against going to Spain, as her tears and her sighs gave him cause to believe, she might signify her pleasure to him, who would bring her where she desired, or set fire of the Ship. Christina, well acquainted with the extravagance of the Spaniards, in what concerns Ladies, doubted not but he spoke in good earnest; but looking on his Proposal as impracticable, she thanked him, pretending she would not consent to it, for fear of exposing a Gentleman of so much bravery to so certain danger. Who ever knows the humour of the Spaniards, will easily believe such an answer, from a fair Lady, was more than sufficient to oblige this Officer to undertake impossibilities for her sake: He conjured her to employ him in her service, assuring her he would endeavour to answer the good opinion she had of his worth. Christina, unwilling to act any thing rashly, advised him to consider a little of the matter; and because they could not, without suspicion, discourse long together, she prayed him to put in writing the means he thought proper to bring about his design by: The Officer promised it. As he was drawing up his Memorial, two Vessels of Tripoli attacked the Spanish Ship: I will not trouble the Reader with a tedious Relation of the Sea-fight, but acquaint him only that Christina, choosing rather to go into Spain, where she might hope to see the Marquis D' Osseyra once more, than to fall into the Turks Hands, did extraordinary Actions in the Fight; and having observed a Soldier, who scarce knew how to handle his Arms, took them out of his Hands, and made so good use of them, that she contributed very much to the shameful Retreat the Turks were forced to make.  
When all was quiet again in the Ship, the Captain and Officers, who all their Life had been under the Vulgar error, that a Woman is incapable of Actions of Valour, were astonished at Christina's dexterity and courage. They Complemented her for it, but having not in their Language Terms sufficiently expressive of their admiration, they expressed it by looking on her without speaking a Word. The Spaniards are great Bouncers, much given to Hyperboles, one called her the Queen of Amazons, another said she was an Angel descended from Heaven for their Aid. They were so well satisfied with the Miracles she had done (for so they called them) that had she taken her advantage of the favourable disposition they were then in, she might have easily persuaded them to land her in France: But she had a very stayed Wit, not apt to be led with Fancies, so that she never thought of it. In the mean time the Officer, who had offered her his Service, being confirmed in the Fancy he had of her high Birth, by the Actions he had lately seen, took a new Resolution to set her at liberty; and blindly, following his fancy, drew up an extravagant Project, suitable to the Capacity of a Man bred very meanly. It was divided into Articles too ridiculous to be inserted. The substance was,  
That he would steal Christina, by killing the Centinel at her Cabin Door; and because this could not be done without noise, he pretended he had provided against it, by a hole he had made in the Magazine of Powder, at which he would discharge a small Gun, set fire of the Powder-Room, and blow up the Vessel, as soon as they were got away, to a convenient distance, in the Longboat. The only Reward he desired for this brave Action, was to be sent to London with the Character of Ambassador from the Princess, to desire his Majesty of England's Protection. He was so pleased with the Fancy of his Project, that one Day he told Christina she would without fail be at liberty in few Days, all things being near ready, and presented her the Paper; Read it, says he, and you will find I have taken my Measures very right. Christina, who had already no great opinion of his Wit, received his Memorial, imagining he might write with more judgement than he spoke. The extravagances of the Spaniard would at another time have made her excellent sport: But now she pitied his folly, telling him, coldly, her mind was altered, and that she was very desirous to see the Court of Spain. Any Man, but a Spaniard, would have been offended at the slight; but what ever happens, a Spaniard finds Fuel in it to feed the Fire of his Vanity: He replied, she could not do better than go see the Grandeur of the Spanish Court, which, in his opinion, was the most Majestic of the Universe.  
The Ship this while drew near the Coast of Spain, and Christina, not forgetting she was still further and further from the Marquis D'Osseyra, afflicted herself every Day so much the more. As soon as they landed, the Master of the Vessel took Post to carry the Duke de Villa Hermosa's dispatches to Court. When he arrived there, they asked him a hundred several Questions about Christina. He spoke much in commendation of her Beauty, but when he came to the Particulars of the Engagement with the Vessels of Tripoli, he extolled to the Skies, the valour and courage of our Heroine. This appeared so strange, in a Country where Women spend their time in an excessive softness, and are generally fearful, that all who heard the News, spoke of Christina with great admiration. He who first gave the King an account of her, and occasioned his desire to see her, failed not to acquaint him with what the Captain said of her: The King was willing to hear the Captain himself, and sent for him. The King's presence, and the desire to please him, inspired Eloquence into the Captain, who gave his Majesty an account of the Fight, and particularly of what Christina had done; which he displayed with such advantage, it heightened the King's desire to see her. A Coach of the King's was immediately sent away, to bring her with more convenience, and expedition to Court; where, by the diligence of the Person employed to attend her, Christina arrived in very few Days.   

THE Heroine Musqueteer: OR, THE FEMALE WARRIOR. The Fourth and Last Part.  
CHristina being arrived at Madrid, was much troubled to find every one there so earnestly desirous to see her: The Countess of Benavidez had given so strange an account of her, and the Captain of the Vessel, in which she was transported into Spain, was so careful in publishing her Action against the Corsaires, (to which the People added so many fabulous Circumstances) that her valour was generally attributed to a supernatural Principle. Some confidently affirmed she was a Witch; but this ridiculous report vanished as soon as she appeared at Court, where she answered exactly all the Questions Don John of Austria asked her in the King's presence. She had the good Fortune to see whatever she spoke was pleasing and well taken; to which her Modesty, good Mien, and speaking Spanish so well, did very much contribute: The Court was well satisfied with her Discourse, and the Prince Don John of Austria assured her she should be well used, and treated with respect: When she was retired, the King, and the Prince his Brother, spoke much to her advantage: The Courtiers, as well out of a natural inclination the Spaniards have to speak always in favour of Ladies, as of custom, to approve whatever the King likes, highly applauded his Majesty's sentiments. They made particular Observations and Remarks on all that appeared charming in Christina, and discovered such excellency of Wit in expressions dropped casually from her, that the King was persuaded they had done her wrong who had censured her conduct; and of all those Gentlemen who waited on his Majesty, there was not one but could have wished himself the place of the Marquis d' Osseyra in her favour: Don John gave order she should have Lodging and Diet at the King's charge: These distinguishing Favours, and the obliging character given her by those who knew her, made several Ladies, of the highest Quality, very desirous to see her. 'Tis not to be expected they should have, for one of their Sex, the complaisance of Gentlemen, who, taken at first sight with the splendour of a beautiful Lady, observe not her defects, or at least pass over and excuse them: Women, on the contrary, overlook, or (at best) take very slight notice of any thing that appears pleasing and agreeable in another, and apply themselves with diligence to magnify and blazon all her imperfections, and whatever they believe displeasing or unhandsome. As soon as the Ladies had seen Christina, they blamed their weak judgements who had cried up her beauty, and endeavoured to make them sensible of several defects in it, though all the World is not yet of these Lady's Opinion in the case: The Countess de Benavidez, perceiving the presence of Christina would deface the ill impressions she had given of her, endeavoured to prepossess the Courtiers to her disadvantage: But being frustrated on that side, and looking on the Ladies as better disposed to serve her design, who are usually pleased to hear any thing to the prejudice of one of their Sex, who has gained the reputation of eminent; she spoke of Christina with that scorn and contempt, that several of the Ladies were unwilling to appear in the same Room with her. Notwithstanding the diligence of the Countess, and the discourse of the Ladies of her Cabal, the young Gentlemen of the Court liked Christina very well: But the Count Talara, first Gentleman of his Catholic Majesties Bedchamber, no longer able to stifle the Flame kindled in his affections, frequented her company, and omitted nothing to make her sensible he was in love with her. Christina, perceiving it, did all that could be expected from a virtuous Lady to disabuse him, and used all the Discourses and Arguments a Woman, who would discourage a Lover, and had no desire to be loved, could invent on that occasion: The Count de Talara, not discouraged by her severities, continued to love and wait upon her wherever she was to be seen, being not of the opinion of that experienced Lover, who said it was in a Woman's power, to deter any from loving her, by a cold entertainment, and at two or three several times telling them drily she was not pleased with the address. Christina having followed this maxim, and several others for curing the Count, thought it in vain to discourage him any more, but resolved (without giving herself the trouble of undeceiving him further) so to order her actions, and shape the conduct of her Life, as not to give him cause of the least hope of success: The Count attributing Christina's slights to some particular aversion he apprehended she might have against him, fancied she was otherwise inclined, and being a Person inferior to none, in handsomeness, quality, or wit, was troubled extremely with this imagination: To satisfy himself in this particular, he made some Persons, who now and then visited Christina, acquainted with his passion, and prayed them not to see her any more. The Gentlemen of Spain have that deference and respect one for another, that a request of this kind is not extraordinary there: Christina very carefully avoided all occasions of being alone with the Count, and went frequently to Court to entertain his Majesty with an account of passages in Flanders. And having one Day expressed a great desire to see the Escurial, to know whether that famous House answered the reputation it had in Europe; the King was glad there was any thing in Spain could move the curiosity of a Person who had seen so many varieties, and prayed two Ladies of the Court to bear her company thither, to show her the magnificence of that Palace, and the rare devises in several Apartments there, which Philip the second put so great a value upon: Order was given the Ladies should be sumptuously treated there: Count Talara, having heard of it, would fain have been one of the company, but was indispensably obliged by the Duty of his Place to attend the King's Person, and as things than stood in the Court of Spain, there was no absenting himself without manifest hazard of his Fortune. As he was thinking of a Person he might confide in, to speak in his Favour to Christina on this occasion, news was brought him that the high Steward of the King's Household, who was his Kinsman and Friend, was newly returned from the Army in Catalonia, where he had a command; the Count gave him a visit, and having confessed he was desperately in love with an excellent strange Lady, who was to be on the morrow at the Escurial, with several other Ladies; he conjured him to make use of the Privilege of his Place, in going to the entertainment, where it would be in his power to do him good offices with hia Mistress, under pretence of taking care of the Ladies. A Gentleman never refuses an employment of this nature, and this Friend of the Counts, readily accepting the charge he gave him, promised to acquit himself well of it. He failed not to go the next Day to the Escurial, where, having given the necessary orders, he went into a Gallery the Ladies were walking in; who, having notice of his arrival, advanced to receive him, believing he had taken this Journey merely out of respect to them: He had scarce begun to pass a Compliment of civility upon them, but having cast his Eyes on Christina, he stood still as a Statue: The Ladies were astonished, especially Christina, who fixing her Eye earnestly on him, knew him to be Don Philip de Palafox, of whom I spoke in my first Volume, as the Person who passed the Pyrenees to steal her away. Christina cried out, frighted to see herself so near a Person who had been deeply in love with her, and one whom she thought she had highly offended. Don Philip had not heard of Christina since he went into the Army in Catalonia, whence he returned but once to Court, to take his Oath of High-Steward of the Household, the Place being void by the Death of the Marquis Darizza his Father; so that 'twas no wonder he was surprised at so unexpected a sight of a Person who had been so dear to him, and by her insensibility had made him resolve to go into the Army: Those who have had any experience in Love, will easily agree, the sight, after long absence, of a Person we have tenderly loved and never prevailed with, cannot but cause extraordinary emotions in the Heart of a Lover. All Men are apt to flatter themselves in their passions, and Don Palafox, not able to imagine what strange Fortune should bring Christina (a French-woman) into Spain, when the Two Crowns were so deeply engaged in War, presently fancied she had repent her ill usage of him, and probably was returned into Spain in search of him. And continuing to interpret all things to his advantage, he thought the slights Count Talara complained of, and the loud cry her late astonishment, at first sight of him, had forced from her, effects of her passion for him. Being full of these fancies, he said a thousand extravagances; and Christina was so surprised, she answered not a Word: The Ladies who stood by, taking notice of the astonishment, on either side, helped to bring them to themselves again; and finding Christina much disordered by the presence of Don Philip, they prayed him to withdraw, which he could not deny them; yet hoped the disorder he saw Christina in boded him much good. He was no sooner gone, but Christina, observing that the Ladies were in pain to know the cause of her trouble, yet so discreet as to forbear ask her, acquainted them with what had passed in her Country, and whatever else had any relation to her concern with Don Philip: This lessened their wonder at her astonishment, and was easily believed by them, who were well acquainted with the headstrong humour of that Gentleman.  
Don Philip the while considered the Accident he had newly met with, and being naturally vain, flattered himself with an Opinion Christina was in Love with him. It was a pretty while ere he came to a Resolution whether to return to the Ladies, or retire to save Christina the Confusion he feared his Presence would put her in before the Company: After much Debate it was carried for the Retirement, in Confidence his Mistress would thank him for his Discretion, and esteem him the better for't. Count Talara, impatient to hear the Success of his Friend's Journey, had given Order he should have notice as soon as Palafox arrived: And going to his House soon after his Arrival, he asked him, with much Concern, what News of his Mistress: You have a Rival, answered Don Philip, who hath long been in Love with the fair French-woman, and he is a Gentleman I have a great Interest in, and my very good Friend. Know you not, replied the Count, thinking he meant the Marquis d'Osseyra, that the King hath explained himself in that particular, and declared, He will not consent to their Marriage: You surprise me, says Don Philip, (not comprehending the Count's meaning,) I did not think the Court so well informed of the Affair. A Kinsman of Don Philip's coming in, interrupted their Discourse, and prevented farther Explication: The Count took his Leave, and Don Pallafox remained very unquiet at the News he had newly told: Going to the King on the morrow, he found Christina there, giving His Majesty an Account of every thing worthy Observation at the Escurial: They asked if she thought it a better House than Versailles; there is no proportion between them, says Christina, Versailles being more considerable for the Waters, and delicate Gardens about it, than the magnificence of the Buildings, which are neat and convenient, but not stately; but the Escurial is a Palace of very large Extent.  
Don Philip pretending he knew not this strange Lady, asked those who stood by, who she was, while she spoke to the King: They told him what they had heard of the Marquis d'Osseyra's Passion, the Fights she had been in, in Flanders, and, in a word, all those Stories the Public had added to the truth of her Adventures. The King being gone to Counsel, Christina retired, and Don Philip gave her his Hand to bring her to her Apartment, which she would not refuse him, for fear of notice being taken of it in so public a place: As soon as he came where he might speak to her in private, he assured her he had always loved her; and that if he had been guilty of Disrespect in endeavouring to steal her, she ought to pardon it, as an Effect of the Excess of his Passion, his Intentions having been always very good. Christina willing to disabuse him, told him, his Explications were to no purpose, since she had disposed of her Heart to another, and waited only a favourable Opportunity to complain to the King of the Injustice of her Enemies, and to entreat his Majesty's Protection, if she should marry the Marquis d'Osseyra; otherwise, that she might have liberty to spend her Life in a Convent. With that she burst out into Tears, at the Thought of the Marquis; which Don Philip seeing, (that he might not afflict her more by Discourse he perceived troublesome to her) went away, but was so much concerned for her, that he made it his business to be better instructed in the Particulars of her Affairs.  
Having remembered himself that the Countess de Benavidez had resided long in Flanders, he gave her a Visit, and falling insensibly into Discourse of Christina: The Countess gave him a Description of her, much like that she had formerly given the Marchioness d' Osseyra, and many others; insinuating, that all her Disguises were the Effects of a Criminal Passion; which Don Philip was so far persuaded of, that he repent he had ever loved her: Most Men are disposed to believe what they hear reported of the ill Conduct of Women, and the gross Error of most Strangers, especially Spaniards, in the hard Censure they pass of the Liberty Women enjoy in France, did not a little contribute to confirm Don Philip in the Sentiments the Countess had inspired him with. He thanked her for her Information, and having that Evening met with Count Talara, as the King was going to Bed, he told him he would cure him of the Passion he had for Christina, assuring him he knew by a very good Hand, she was unworthy the Affection of a Person of Honour: The King having that Instant called the Count upon Business belonging to his Place, he had not the time to answer Don Philip; and presently after, every body withdrew: The Count, by this Privilege of first Gentleman of the Bedchamber, was to lie there that Night: The Passion he had for Christina, made him muse all Night of Don Philip's Discourse; at last, reproaching himself for having endured Language so much to the Disadvantage of a Person he Loved, he thought himself obliged, as a Gentleman, to demand Satisfaction, and got up with a Resolution to fight Don Philip, though Duels are forbidden in Spain: But the Prince dispensing very much with the severity of the Edicts, they are not observed there as exactly as in France, so that Gentlemen fight Duels there on very slight occasions. Count Talara having written a Billet to Don Philip, he delivered it to one of his Servants, a Navarrois, in whom he placed great confidence, commanding him to carry it to Don Philip: Challenges being out of fashion in France, I have inserted the form of this, translated Word for Word, being as follows.  
Whoever dares speak to the disadvantage of Christina, lies: She is of unquestionable Virtue; and he cannot be a Man of Honour, who judges otherwise of her: If you are of a contrary Opinion, let me find you at one a Clock after Midnight, at the Toledo-Gate, where you shall receive the punishment due for the wrong judgement you have passed of her.  
The Count recommended this Billet so often, and with so strict a charge to the Boy, that it gave him the curiosity to know what it contained. He was much surprised at the reading it, and having been born near Christina, and heard so many extraordinary things of her, he had a kind of inclination for her, and thought he might do her some Service in letting her see a Billet she was so much concerned in; and slipped privately into her Lodging to show it her: Christina having given him some Fruits of her acknowledgement, charged him to carry it safe to Don Philip, and acquaint her with his answer, telling him, (the better to engage him to it) it was of very great consequence to her.  
Don Philip, having received the Billet, was extremely offended with the outrageous Language the Count had made use of, and told the Boy it required no answer, but he would give his Master an answer at the place appointed. The Navarrois gave Christina an account, and then his Master: While the Count was fitting himself to appear at the assignation, Christina was in Tears, unresolved what to do. She considered, that as things were carried, this Duel must needs produce very ill effects, since the Relations of both the Gentlemen, would infallibly join with the Marchioness d' Osseyra, to ruin her, and perhaps prevail with the Court to take some violent resolutions against her. She was sensible likewise the Marquis d' Osseyra would be extremely displeased, to hear she had been concerned in so public a manner, and in a business of such noise in the Face of all Spain: A Woman, how small soever a share she hath in a Quarrel happened on her account, being sure to suffer by it; the public (which judges of things by appearances, without examining the truth) being always ready to blame her: Having made these reflections, she resolved to prevent their fight; she had scarce formed the design, but she repent it, reproaching herself for being so little sensible of her reputation, boldly and securely wronged by Don Philip. With that she gave herself up wholly to what her Anger, her Courage, and desire of Revenge suggested to her, and with the help of a French Merchant, got her a Suit of Man's , a Sword, and a Peruke. About an hour before the time of the assignation, she cunningly gave it out, the Count Talara was to fight a Duel; without mentioning Don Philip: This was enough to alarm the Count's Friends, who arrested him in his House. Christina in the mean time went to the place of Rendezvous, and having spied Don Philip, though the Night began to grow very dark, she attacked him so briskly, that she gave Don Philip a desperate Cut, which he had certainly revenged, had he not been instantly hemmed in by five or six Men, who seized both the Combatants. Count Talara's Boy, who loved his Master well, and feared the success of the Duel, had given notice of it to a Gentleman who was both their Friends, and having got together some other, ran with them to the Gate of Toledo as they begun to fight: They had put out their Flambeaus for fear of discovery, and 'twas so dark, they could not discern one Person from another, but hastily seized on them; and having put them into several Coaches, carried them to Don John's Apartment, that the Prince, who is extremely beloved by the Nobility, might take up the matter. But the Wound Don Philip had received, obliged them to take him to a Surgeons, who (perhaps to heighten the value of the Cure) presently said it was very dangerous, but that he would warrant the Cure. One of those who had parted them was already got to Don John to advertise him of the business; and as he began to give him an account of the Particulars, he spied Count Talara standing very quiet in Don John's Chamber: He was so disordered, to see there a Man he thought he had left in his Friends Hands in another Place, that it was not in his Power to continue his discourse. The Prince, observing the astonishment of the Man, told him he had sent for the Count, that he might be informed of the Affair, and that he would take care there should be no Swords drawn. Don Philip is mortally wounded, says the Gentleman, and we thought it had been by Count Talara. They were all surprised at this, especially when told, that he that wounded Don Philip was in a Coach at the Prince's Gate. As they were under the impatience to know who it was, Christina and her Company entered the Chamber. Every one wondered to see a young Man of so good a Mien. Christina addressing herself to Don John, informed him what had obliged her to disguise herself; and the course she had taken for staying the Count, that she might revenge, in Person, the injurious discourse of Don Philip: Her resolution was commended by all, and her Courage admired. The Prince, to divert his Majesty with the sight of this disguise, led her into his Majesty's Chamber; telling him, as he entered, he was come to beg his Majesty's Pardon to be granted that Criminal, who had wounded one of the bravest Men in his Kingdom. The King fixing his Eyes on Christina, presently knew her, and thought the discourse of the Prince, his Brother, had no relation to Christina: But when he was informed of what had happened, he blamed Don Philip extremely, for drawing that misfortune on himself, and assured Christina of his Protection. Don Philip being soon after almost cured of his wound, Don John made him and the Count embrace one another, and obliged Don Philip to ask Christina pardon. He was so ashamed to have been wounded by a Woman, that he left the Court, and acccompanyed his Brother into Sicily, where he was to take Possession of the Archbishopric of Palermo.  
While matters went thus in Spain, the Marquis D'Osseyra was in Flanders, where the Duchess of Arschot, who had a design to have him Married to a beautiful young Lady her Relation, amused him continually, pretending to send him every day some News of Christina, whom the Marquis thought still in the Convent, so careful had they been to conceal from him her Voyage into Spain. He fancied the long silence of his Mistress an effect of her Modesty, as knowing her Letters were to pass through the hands of the Duchess; and he expected every hour to receive Licence to return into Spain, where he designed to beg his Majesty's permission to Marry whom he pleased. Christina was alarmed with continual fears the Marquis had forgotten her, having heard nothing of him since she left Flanders. The late Duel had occasioned a thousand new Tales of her, in a Court where they are possessed with an opinion Women are good for nothing but matters of Love, not a Person but was infinitely desirous to see her; so that she could not stir a foot but she found herself compassed with a Throng of People, which made her resolve to beg his Majesty's leave to go into a Convent.  
An Illustrious Princess, who owes her Birth to Italy, had her Education in France, and by I know not what Freaks of Fortune is now in Spain, having heard various Reports of Christina's Conduct, had the Curiosity to inquire strictly into it; and to be satisfied of the truth of her Adventures, writ for that purpose into France, and the Low-Countries. Soon after she receceived Letters which confirmed the judgement she had formerly given in her favour, and assured her, Christina's disguise was a pure effect of a Martial inclination she had a little too eagerly pursued. This Princess, who by her own experience knew a Woman may, without prejudice to her Virtue, love Travelling, Hunting, and several other Exercises, commonly looked upon as proper only for Men, prayed his Majesty he would be pleased she might take Christina into her House. The King was content, and Christina accepted the offer with the greater acknowledgement, as being upon the point of entering into a Convent, where she expected vexation enough from the Reflections of the Nuns, who though little acquainted with the World, might have waggery and malice sufficient to torment her. 'Tis hard to express whether the Princess was more satisfied with the good Humour and Complaisance of our Heroine, or she with the goodness and obligingness of her Protectoress: They agreed so well in their tempers, they quickly came to have an entire confidence in one another, and mutually imparted their most important Secrets. Christina having one day declared she was troubled there were Books published of her Adventures. You have no reason to be troubled at that, says the Princess; 'tis my Fortune too, with this difference, that those which concern you are true Relations of what hath happened to you; whereas I have not had a hand in any thing they have written of me, though the Writers have had the malice to interlard their Relations with Circumstances so probable, many take them for true. Christina observing the Princess concerned, advised her to publish an account of her Life, to disown all others, and discover their falsities; and gave so many reasons for it, that the Princess (who is a Lady of great wit) applied herself to the writing it on the Morrow. Her first design was to write it in French, as a Language spoken in most Courts of Europe; but having considered there are few understand it in Spain, where she was concerned to clear herself, she published her Memoirs in Spanish, and some Copies of it have been transmitted into France.  
The Princess lodged at Madrid, with a Lady of the highest Quality, and a Relation of the Prince her Husband. This Lady was a Widow, and one who more than any other, blamed the least liberties Women take; saying there was little difference between a Woman really faulty, and one that's but suspected; the Reputation of a Woman being so delicate, that a mere suspicion, however ill grounded, may ruin it. The Princess had often, but in vain, endeavoured to convince her of her error, and persuade her that a Woman may be so virtuous as to have nothing to reproach herself with; but it is not in a Woman's power to stop the Mouths of her Enemies, from venting Stories, and Tales of her; which is too common in the World. The Widow's severity was proof to all reasons. The Princess was discoursing one Evening to Christina, the foolish and obstinate conceitedness of this Woman, and what difficulty there was in dealing with a Person wedded to so inconvenient and unjust an opinion, and that she was troubled she was obliged in decency to see her so often. Christina, who studied to divert the Princess, promised her to Act a Part which should undeceive the Widow by her own experience: She was fully informed of all that passed at the Widows, and had observed she was very : She was a Catalonian by Birth, and would be thought to descend from the Ancient Counts of Barcelona. Whenever a Person of Quality of that Province came to Court, she would be very angry, and think him illbred, if she came not to do her homage. Christina knowing all this, put on a Gentleman's Habit; and having taken order that if any came to the Gate, answer should be made, the Widow was not to be seen that day: She gave her a visit under the name of Don Artal de Cardona, newly arrived from Catalonia. The Widow, who was somewhat superannuated, being much pleased a Gentleman so handsome and well born should give her a visit, and speak so much in praise of her Family, (for Christina had attacked her weak side) she gave Christina the kindest reception imaginable: Their discourse was long, and before parting the Widow prayed Don Artal de Cardona to do her the Honour to see her again often: Don Artal promised it, and withdrew, and gave the Princess an account of the success of the first visit. She admired the Wit and Address of Christina, and prayed her not to omit any thing to make the Widow in Love. The Princess having visited her the same day, she could not forbear falling presently into Discourse of the handsome Catalonian, and relate several Particulars to his advantage, being liberal of her Praises, and extolling his Wit and good Mien; adding, she knew him from a Child, and that then he promised great matters.  
Two Days after, the pretended Don Artal went to see the Lady again, and knowing very well what Praises please a Woman best, especially one who is precise, and stands much on her Honesty, he fell a commending her Virtue and Conduct, and by little and little slipped insensibly into the Subject of her Beauty. Discourses of this kind never displease a Woman, especially a Widow, whose Condition, Age, and Pretences to Virtue oblige her to live retired. She heard all with Delight, and the Concern she began to feel in herself for this Gentleman, engaging her to eye him closer, and more attentively than before, he appeared so handsome, she thought she had never seen any Man so lovely. A Woman in Years being more coming than others, at the third Visit she was desperately in Love with him. Christina gave the Princess an exact Account of all, who not comprehending Christina's Design to abuse the poor Widow thus, asked her one day what she proposed to herself by it: I will convince her, says Christina, how virtuous soever a Woman is, it may be accounted a piece of Merit in her to resist the Attacks of a Man of good Mien, and some Indulgence is due to those who are every day exposed to Temptation.  
Christina sometimes waited on the Princess to the Widows, because they lodged in her House, and took great Care to alter her Voice in discoursing with them. Being with her, she had the Waggery to ask the Widow the Name of that handsome Gentleman she saw now and then enter her Apartment. The Widow, tickled with the Praises Christina gave a Man she had a Kindness for, told her a long Story of his Birth, Estate, and many other Circumstances; adding, he was her Kinsman, which was the reason she allowed of his frequent Visits. Christina applauding all she said, found she had discovered the Secret to please her: And not satisfied with playing upon her under the Name and Disguise of Don Artal, would needs be her Confident; which she found no hard matter to attain, by continuing her Commendations of Don Artal: As soon as she had shifted. Don Artal's Habit, she would presently run into the Widow's Chamber, to tell her she had seen him pass by, and that it was plain he was in Love. The Widow deceived by a Discourse that flattered her Desires, and fearing Christina might think Don Artal was in Love with another, and not with her, revealed to her at last what she thought to have concealed from all the World, and imparted the Secret of her Love for Don Artal; desiring Christina's advice; who answered, that in matters of that nature she had best consult her own heart, and consider the bent of her Affections; but that if any Passion were excusable in a Woman, it must certainly be that she entertained for a handsome Man: Christina could not say this without blushing, and her Heart having reproached her for having been so free in her Discourse, she took her leave.  
The desire we have to prevail for something we aim at, engages us often in more Discourse than is necessary; and 'tis sometimes very dangerous to be eloquent. The Widow, reflecting on all Christina had said in praise of Don Artal, (which yet fell far short of what she thought he deserved) concluded, from Christina's Discourse, she did not dislike the Catalonian: And being through her Age more inclined to Jealousy, she resolved to put a trick upon Christina, by pretending all she said to her was only to discover what she thought of Don Artal. The next visit she gave her, Christina began (as she had used) to speak of Don Artal: The Widow interrupted her, telling her she might do well to change the Discourse; adding, very seriously, she loved not the company of Persons so coming: She spoke this with such an Air of modesty, it might have deceived the most judicious. Poor Christina found herself disordered by so unexpected an answer, and her own Virtue causing her to approve of the Widow's discourse, she went away much troubled and perplexed, not having the confidence to answer a discourse that reflected on her modesty. When she came to the Princess, she complained of her misfortune in very lamentable expressions, as if the most innocent actions still turned to her disadvantage. The Princess, who was very discerning, and very much mistrusted those Women who are over careful of outward appearances, told her, she had run too hastily into the Snare, and that possibly the Widow did but pay her in her own Coyn. Christina, who had been frighted at this Adventure, took courage at the judicious Discourse of the Princess, and resolving to know the truth, put on her Man's Habit. The Widow the while applauded herself for the gold success of her Plot, in ridding her of so dangerous a Rival: She expected, with impatience, her Cardona; resolving, for the future, to take her advantage of the eagerness of his addresses: As soon as he came in, she gave him the usual reception; caressing him in the highest manner imaginable, with design to inspire boldness into him. And as closely as she adhered to her Virtue, her Love made her that Day express a little forwardness, which Don Artal seemed not to understand. The Widow, who had a great opinion of his Wit, wondered to see him so dull; and was confounded at his changing his Discourse, and falling upon the Subject of her high Birth, in terms which would have been pleasing enough to the Vanity of the Lady, had she not been that day under a strong influence of the Planet of Love, which for the time had the Ascendant of her Heart; and Don Artal very well knew it, though he had the malice not to take notice of it. She did all she could to make him reassume the former discourse, and he as carefully avoided it, magnifying the brave Actions of one of her Ancestors, who had signalised himself in driving away the Moors out of Granada. But she was then indisposed for War, and expected a Language less Martial, and more tender. Don Artal soon after took his leave, and the Widow remained very ill satisfied with his bashfulness. The Princess, sensible of the distraction she was under, thought it would be a Pleasure to her, to have the liberty of musing alone of her imaginary Lover: and having learned of Christina all the Particulars of the last Scene, she observed how careful most Women, especially the precise, are to salve up the appearances, not much regarding the essential part, if they may but cheat the World, and be esteemed Persons of a severe Life, and strictly Virtuous: while those who converse much with the World, making small account of some little liberties they take without scruple, are not safe from obloquy and censure, though really provided of a great stock of Virtue; while the others enjoy their Amours privately, and triumph in public for the applause this counterfeit reservedness procures them. In truth, said the Princess, those of our Sex are very unhappy in being obliged, besides the satisfaction due to their Conscience, to satisfy the World, which is always disposed to believe the worst of us. 'Tis certain, replied Christina, we cannot always blame them, there being Women of all Characters who by their ill Conduct draw upon themselves very heard Censures, and too often very deservedly; though it must be agreed the Example of one guilty Woman, gives occasion for condemning an hundred innocent.  
The Spaniards, though they hate the memory of the Moors and Saracens expelled Granada, Murcia, and Leon, by Ferdinand and Isabel, yet they retain to this Day several of their Customs; particularly, their Gallantries, their Bull-sports, and darting the Cane on Horseback, Divertisements the Court of Spain is very much taken with, where Operas are not known, and their Comedies (for the most part) ill. It was then a time of great rejoicing at Madrid; not for the taking of a Town, but to celebrate the Birth of their Monarch. The Princess was invited to see the Sports, and took Christina along with her. I shall not give you here a Description of these Sports which prove mortal to many, who think their Valour consists in daring a Bull, letting fly at him with their Darts, and then retiring with much skill and agility, though it frequently happens the Bull is too quick for these Gallants, tosses them in the Air, and gores them with his Horns; which sometimes dispatches them into another World, and generally maims them in this. This piece of fool-hardiness were excusable in ordinary People, who are drawn to it by Custom, and applause of the Populace; but cannot be too much blamed in young Gentlemen of the best Quality, who hazard their Life to so little purpose, in fight with Beasts as they do in Spain: where you may see them bravely mounted with a Dart in their Hand, expecting, in the middle of a Piazza, the coming of a Bull madded by the People; and though he come at them with a fierceness capable to astonish the highest courage, they bravely attack him, and pierce him so dextrously with their Lance, that sometimes they run him quite through the Body: But you may also see the Bull sometimes unhorsed them, to the extreme peril of the Rider, and terrible fright of the Ladies. This Solemnity where this Princess and Christina attended, was like others of the kind, where the fortunate rashness of those who came off well was applauded, and the tragical miscarriage of others lamented. The Morrow after these bloody Sports, the Cavaliers run Courses on Horseback, and dart the Cane as they run; which is done in this manner. They appear at the Barriere, with a Headpiece and light Armour, made (one would think) of Steel polished white; and have commonly some Devise of gallantry, or some Motto on otheir Shields, and a multitude of Ribbons of the colour best pleases theier Mistresses. Christina had seen several of these Courses, and having in the Armies performed the most violent Exercises, she thought this not very difficult, where all she had to do was to spur her Horse, and let fly a Cane with dexterity. She told the Princess she would gladly run a Career, and ask the Widow for a Devise, the better to assure her of her Passion. The Princess thought her in jest; but our Heroine telling her see doubted not but to come of well, the Princess undertook to provide her fit Equipage; and Christina, under the name of Don Artal of Cardona, went to the Widow for a Devise, letting her know she would run a Course for love of her, since other young People did it for their Mistresses, only he desired her she would give him a fitting Devise. The Reader may expect one of those witty ones so usual in Spain, but a Woman of her humour order her Life quite otherwise than the rest of her Sex: One so precise being no less careful to conceal, than an airy vain Coquet to make known she is Courted: The Widow refused to give Don Artal a Devise, telling him, she was not of those women's humour, who judge of their Servants love by the Colour of their Ribbons. I rely not, adds she, on such slight appearances, too often deceitful, I must have better proof of your Passion, to persuade me 'tis real: (The truth is, she expected such proof as Christina could not give:) If you loved me, as you pretend you would rather stay with me while they are darting the Canes, and would be more willing to give me proof of your loVe in my Chamber, than in a public place: what is done there generally serving only for matter of discourse to the Spectators. Don Artal assured her he loved her passionately, and thought to have given her an Evidence of his esteem of her, in carrying her Colours and Devise at the Course, being ready to do any thing she could desire to convince her of his love. Were your love as real and sincere as you would make me believe, would you put me upon the necessity of appearing so forward, and not guests at part of what is expected from you? Don Artal returning no answer, to a Discourse so easy to understand, the Widow was so ashamed she had spoken so freely, and, with all, unsuccessfully, that she turned about presently and locked herself in her Closet, for fear her Tears should betray her. Being there alone, she gave vent to a torrent of Tears despair forced her to; considering with herself, that having lived several Years retired Mm Company, and free from those Passions young Widows are usually troubled with, (for at six and forty Years of Age she counted herself of their number) she had the misfortune to be taken with the addresses of a harebrained young Fellow, who perhaps designed only to fool her: The next moment she consulted her Glass, which telling her she had Charms enough left still to procure love, she attributed Don Artal's reservedness, to the tenderness of his Years and want of experience: She was so pleased with this fancy, and thought it so reasonable, that she could no longer doubt but the timerousness of her Lover, was a pure effect of his small acquaintance with the World, being newly arrived from Barcelona, where he had not used to see Persons of her Quality and Birth; besides, she knew young Country Gentlemen have such Chimerical Ideas of Ladies of Quality;, that they think it enough to honour and admire them without daring to push on their Passion any further. While the Widow was thus deep in meditation, Christina, sufficiently ashamed at what she had heard, went back to the Princess, whom she found busy about her Equipage for the Course, not doubting in the least but the Widow had given the Devise: But when Christina informed the Princess of her answer, (though her modesty made her leave out several particulars) the Princess could not forbear laughing, especially when told by Christina she durst go no more to the Widows, for fear of being put out of Countenance, and quite shamed by her forwardness.  
On the Morrow the Princess and Christina were in a Balcony, near the King, to see the Courses. As soon as the Gentlemen appeared, all Eyes were fixed to observe their Devices: Count Talara, as he passed under the Lady's Balcony, put off his Head-piece, making them a very low Reverence: His Motto was, Quiero mucho, y espero poco; that is, My Love is great, and my Hope small. That concerns you, says the Princess to Christina: It put her to the Blush, and the King observing it, had the Curiosity to inquire the Reason: The Princess, very glad of an occasion to divert him, gave him her Sense of Count Talara's Motto; and added, that Christina could, if she pleased, perform Career as well as the best of those where to run. The King saying he did not think it, the Princess conjured Christina to make use of the Equipage (she had provided) for one Course at least. The young Monarch expressed so earnest a Desire to see how well Christina would come off, there was no denying him, and the Princess, their Request. That less notice might be taken, she pretended herself not well, and withdrew. Her next Care was for a Motto somewhat answerable to Count Talara's; which, being very witty, she was not long to seek. She caused these words to be written on her Shield, No ay que amar, y me nos que esperar de quien tienne duenno: 'Tis in vain to love, much more to expect Good from him who is already engaged. Christina, having set all things in as good Order as the shortness of the time would permit; appeared boldly at the Barrier, and called for Canes, but was troubled with an Accident she had not foreseen: The Order was, That the Cavaliers who presented themselves for the Course, should tell their Names, and make themselves known to the Officers appointed to Register them, to prevent Disorder usual on such occasions. Our Heroine, loath to Undergo that Law, was denied the Canes: The King, who had his Eye upon her, perceiving her in Disorder on that account, ordered his Brother Don John to let them know it was his Majesty's Pleasure that Gentleman should be dispensed with from telling his Name, or showing his Face. The King's Pleasure was no sooner known, but Canes were delivered her: And her refusing to submit to the Rules of the Course, and the King's Dispensation, gave cause to believe 'twas an extraordinary Person not willing to be known. This drew all Eyes upon her, every one guessing who it should be. Great notice was taken of the Motto: Count Talara, observing the Opposition between it and his, desired with Impatience to run a Course against this unknown Person, who managed his Horse very well: But it was not probable Christina should be as skilful at handling and darting the Cane, as the Spaniards, who are used to that Exercise from their Youth: And 'tis certain our Heroine had run a great Risque of being unhorsed, had not Don John, foreseeing what might follow, given Count Talara a private hint the Stranger (he was to encounter with), was Christina. You may easily guests the Effect this Intimation had on the Amorous Count, who was confirmed in the Truth of it by the Motto he had observed on her Shield: He could not at first find in his Heart to run against Christina; but having thought better of it, he put himself in a Posture. The Count, who had already run several Courses, with Advantage, against the most expert in the Sport, meeting the Stranger, pretended himself disordered and unready when he should have darted his Cane: Christina, without losing a moment's time, threw hers; which the Count appeared so stunned with, that he fell off his Horse: Christina was so confounded at the loud Acclamations of the People, (who judge of things by Appearance, without examining the truth) she knew not whether she had got the better or the worse, till she was presented with a Rose of Diamonds, the Prize appointed the Conqueror. Our Heroine, pleased with her Success, retired, loath to hazard in another Course the Reputation she had gained by this.  
Count Talara, having had a sore fall, was carried home to be blooded, which was much to the advantage of Christina's Reputation. The Count being known to be very expert at that Sport, the whole Court sent to see how he did. And the Princess made Christina sensible of the Obligation put upon her by the Count, who had fallen off his Horse of purpose, like a true Spanish Gallant, and advised her to send one to inquire of his Health: Christina, with some difficulty, consented to it. The Count, ravished with joy at the Compliment, answered him who was sent, that his fall did not much trouble him, but he had a Wound would not be quickly cured. It vexed Christina she had given the occasion for such an answer, fearing the Count would pretend to some advantages for the Obligation he had put upon her. The Princess bid her set her Heart at rest, and oblige the Widow with the Rose of Diamonds she had gained at the Course. Christina, though fearful to engage further with so forward a Woman, complied however with the desires of the Princess: She shifted herself into her Habit of Don Artal, and presently went to the Widow's Apartment, where she found her very much disordered.  
She was so precise she would not appear at the Sports, but knowing Don Artal would be there, and being much concerned what became of him, she had sent a trusty Person of purpose to observe how things went, and bring her exact information: He brought her the Names of all those who were Registered for the Course, but not his, for whose sake alone she had the curiosity to read all the rest: She was much concerned at the missing him, a Woman ever passionately wishing the Glory of her Lover. Her Spy told her there was a Gentleman appeared Incognito, and had refused to tell his Name; and that the King, to prevent disorder, had dispensed with the formality; and that this unknown Person had unhorsed the famous Count Talara, and retired with a Rose of Diamonds of very great value. The Widow wished with all her Heart, this Unknown might be no other but Don Artal; but then thought she, how should a Youth, and such a Novice in Love, be too hard for a Gentleman of so much skill and experience: with that Don Artal enters the Chamber; she presently asked him what news of the Course, and why he had not been there. I was unwilling to appear, answers he, without your Devise; and since you refused it me, I had no Mind to show myself where you would not be. I knew you had not appeared there, said the Widow, though the good opinion I had of you made me hope you might be that illustrious Unknown, who so eminently signalised himself, and carried the Prize; at least my heart gave me none better deserved it than you: but I see our Hearts often deceive us. You are not deceived in that, Madam, says Don Artal; and see here (adds he, presenting her with the Rose of Diamonds) the Mark you may know that unknown Person by, who hath had the good Fortune to deserve your esteem. The Widow, surprised at a Present so glorious and unexpected, received it very gladly, and embraced the occasion, so luckily given her, to present her Servant with a String of Diamonds of very great value, praying him to keep it as a Pledge of her Love. Don Artal, for fear of angering her, durst not refuse it; but finding she began to fall again into very passionate expressions, he pretended business of haste, and withdrew; having promised to return on the Morrow, at an hour she appointed. Christina having shown the Diamonds to the Princess, who understood Jewels very well, was amazed to hear they were worth fifteen thousand Crowns. This excessive Liberality fully convincing them of the violence of her Passion, Christina had compassion on her, and told the Princess she would disabuse her: The Princess having sufficiently diverted herself with the Intrigue, and thinking the Widow had punishment enough, said nothing against it. On the Morrow, at the hour the Widow had appointed, Christina sent her back her Diamonds, with this Letter.  
'TIS time to disabuse you, Madam; the Don Artal you love, is a Man in appearance, but really one of your Sex: I am in good earnest, and unwilling to take the advantage of your Liberality, being incapable to satisfy your Love. You need not fear me; I am well acquainted with the Nature of our Sex, and know it a hard matter to resist temptations; but I pity those who have not the Power to do it: be you less Consorious for the futur, and never fear my discretion.  
The Widow, who expected Don Artal, had not forgot any thing that might the better set off the weak Charms of a Woman of her age: She thought the Present he had made her, the Day before, a good Omen, and that she had reason to expect something better at the Assignation. She tasted beforehand a thousand imaginary Pleasures, and began to think long while her Lover arrived; when, lo, a Letter is brought her. The String of Diamonds presently alarmed her: and having read the two first Lines, she scarce held up from swooning; her surprise was so great, she fancied herself not well awake. Having finished reading her Letter, and reflecting on the Beauty, and other Circumstances of her pretended Lover, she believed all true that was written. She was not a little taken with her Generosity, in sending back her Diamonds; and out of a greatness of Soul, incidient to Persons well born, which ordinary People are not acquainted with, or the love she still retained for the Memory of Don Artal, she had the Generosity to send back the Diamonds to Christina, with a Letter.  
THough you have deserved Reproach for having deceived me, I cannot hate that in a Maid which I loved in the counterfeit Don Artal. Rest satisfied with the advantage you have had over me, and receive again the Present I made you: Yours to me shall be ever dear, and in high esteem with me. I desire, if you think fit, your acquaintance; and am not in the least indisposed to be your Friend. And I must declare my weakness is such, I cannot mistrust a Person I have once loved.  
Christina having received this Letter, carried it to the Princess, telling her she was much troubled with this String of Diamonds, and very scrupulous of keeping a Present so considerable. The Princess having read the Letter, advised her to keep the Present, and think no more of the matter; and would not permit her to be further acquainted with the Widow, (as Christina designed) knowing she would owe Christina a spite, for the discovery she had made of her.  
News was then received in Spain of the taking of St. Gislain, by the French; which very much alarmed the Court of Spain, who thought the rigour of the season (it being December) would hate hindered, or delayed at least, the Conquest of the Place. The Spaniards vented their rage upon the poor French living in Spain, without sparing those who had been thirty years Naturalised. They seized their Goods, banished their Persons, and exercised upon them all sorts of violence: Which is no new thing in that Country; for as often as the French take a Town, burn a Ship, or obtain a Victory, the Spaniards seize all the Goods of the French who Trade in their Towns. Judge you then how many Pressures they are exposed to under the Reign of Lewis the Great: This commonly ends in a great Tax laid upon them, after payment of which they let them alone for some time; but upon the next loss they have, the Persecution gins afresh, which happens so often, that many have been forced to withdraw and quit the Country. A Merchant of Bearn of Christina's acquaintance, and one she was obliged to, found himself under this Storm raised against the French upon the taking of St. Gislain. Christina protected him openly, having spoken in his favour to Don John of Austria, and represented to him the injustice done those poor People, who settle there, relying upon their Letters of Naturalisation, and with great labour and industry supply the Natural laziness of the Spaniards, furnishing them with a thousand Conveniences they would never know but for the French. The Prince, at her entreaty, caused restitution to be made this Merchant of all that had been taken from him, and promised to use the rest favourably. This got our Heroine very great applause; but the hatred those of Spain naturally bear all Strangers, made them attribute the favour she had obtained to something supernatural: Which occasioned the reviving the ridiculous Report formerly gone about, of her being a Witch, and that with the help of her Art she could effect what she pleased. After so many extraordinary matters published of her, 'tis no wonder the dull and sottish People gave credit to this Report, while the Court laughded at it, and the Princess made sport of it with Christina. But her Enemies would not lose the advantage of so favourable a Disposition of the people. The Marchioness d' Osseyra and the Countess of Benavidez durst not open their Mouths against her, since the Princess had taken her into her protection; but the favour Don John had granted her, awaked the hatred of the one, and the jealousy of the other, lest the Court should at last consent to her being Married to the Marquis d' Osseyra. This made them resolve to use all their endeavours to foment the opinion of her being a Witch. Having learned that Christina was that unknown Person, who had unhorsed Count Talara, almost without touching him; they took care to spread abroad this Circumstance, and others, to confirm the people in their error. Their Artifice was so great, and their Emissares so diligent, that several people of good sense, deceived by a number of probable Circumstances, gave credit to this extravagant Report. That was not all; for, cloaking their malice with a false zeal for Religion, they exhibited an information against Christina in the Inquisition.  
The Inquisition is so formidable a Court, that the name of an Inquisitor makes them in Spain tremble, the severe punishments inflicted by that Tribunal on Jews, Moors, and Heretics there, having gained it a high Reputation. The wiser sort speak of it with, respect, the lose hate the name on't, and the people generally have it in veneration. As soon as any Man is informed against in that Court, not a Courtier hath the boldness to say a word his favour, for fear of being brought in as an accessary, as they commonly are who are of a different Religion. The King's Authority is of no force at all there; and there is not one Precedent can be shown, where the Catholic Kings have intermeddled with any Affair the Inquisition had taken Cognizance of.  
The people are so afraid of them, that when I was in Spain I was assured, that the Court being met one Afternoon, some of the Inquisitors stood at a Window which looked into a rich Burgher's Garden, where was a Pear-tree full of excellent Fruit. One of them had a mind to some of those Pears, and sent his Man to desire some of them; but the Gardener having refused to give him any, the Inquisitor dispatched a Familiar (that is an Usher of the Inquisition) to tell the owner of the Garden the Inquisitor would speak with him: The poor Man was so frighted, he was scarce able to go to him; but recovered himself again, being told they desired only a Plate of his Pears: The Burgher promised to send it, and was glad he came off so. As soon as he got home he sent the Inquisitors all the Pears on the Tree; and to prevent being so frighted again, cut down the Pear tree.  
To return to Christina, the Inquisitors having received the Information, caused her to be arrested; and, (which was worse) left her in Prison a Fortnight before she was examined: 'Twas in favour to her Sex she was interrogated then, it being ordinary with them to keep a Man a Prisoner six, or twelve Months before he be examined. However the Princess, though advised to the contrary, laboured privately for her, but to no purpose, it being not in her power to discover the particulars of her Charge. Our Heroine, who had no reason to fear the Inquisition, upon the account of Religion, being Orthodox as her Judges, was troubled at the noise she knew this business would make; not doubting but it would come to the Marquis d'Osseyra's Ears, and that this, and her former misfortunes, would create in him an aversion against her, the disasters she had met with, though innocent, being enough to draw upon her the slight of a Person of Quality: Her business the while looked very ill. The Widow I have spoken of, having heard the news, and considering her having carried away the Prize, at the Course, from Count Talara, made no doubt but she was a Witch; and reflecting on what had passed between them two, when she took her for Don Artal, she was in horror at the danger she had exposed herself to, by Conversing with a Person, who, by the assistance of the Devil, could appear in what Form she pleased; and was ready to make her complaint to the Princess, for bringing such a one into her House; and would have done it, but for shame of discovering her weakness: Yet, being scrupulous of concealing so aggravating a Circumstance against the Criminal, she went to the chief Inquisitor, and told him, that to discharge her Conscience, she came to inform him what had happened to her with that Woman in Prison, who had several times appeared to her in the shape of a young Gentleman of Catalonia, called Don Artal de Cardona; but she took care not to tell him the other particulars of the Intrigue, choosing rather to lose her Diamonds, than to make it known she had presented Christina with them, as a mark of her Love. The chief Inquisitor, out of respect to the Widow's quality, dispensed with her in several formalities, taking only her Hand to the Depositions, which was one of the strongest Evidences in the Case. It is incredible what a noise this business made in Spain, where they could hardly believe a Maid could, without the-help of Magic, do Actions so extraordinary, and so much above her Sex. It was the general discourse, and they expected every day a solemn Judgement and Sentence, suitable to the Learning and Integrity of those worthy, and able Persons, who sit on that Bench. The people had already set the day of her Execution, and, I believe, hired Windows to stand in to see it, Some among them, to colour the better their losses in the Low-Countries, said there was no reason to wonder at them, since this Woman had bewitched all their Generals. The Princess was amazed at the ridiculous stories she heard every day of the unfortunate Christina: The more she justified her, the more they condemned her; and the least good Office done for her, was very ill taken by the People, The very Court was troubled with it, the greater part not knowing what to think on't, the rest suspending their judgements till the Inquisitors should pass sentence: The first Examination was wholly spent in formalities. The Inquisitors were surprised at her confidence, and to see so little appearance of fear in her looks. This made the Reverend Judges believe she trusted much to her Art, or was innocent. Two days after she was Examined again; the first question was, what Charms she had made use of to take the shape of Don Artal de Cardona? She answered, none other, but what people of Wit make use of to amuse Fools: She told them at large, that the great severity, or hypocrisy, of the Widow, made her desire to put a trick upon her, by visiting her under the name of Don Artal: The knowledge she had that Lady could not see very well having encouraged her resolution for that divertisement, in order to the rendering her less Censorious for the future. Then she was asked, how she could, with such a slight Cane, un horse Count Talara? She answered, He had notice beforehand, she was to run a Course, and that his fall was rather an effect of the Spanish Gallantry, than any Charms of hers. She was then questioned what made her disguise herself so often, and in Habits so different? She answered, that, having from a Child had a strong inclination for Arms, the death of her Parents had given her the opportunity of following that noble Employment? In a word, her answers were so modest, and pertinent, that the Inquisitors, being choice Men, and well seen in business, were persuaded of her innocence. And, which is most to be admired, the Archbishop of Saragosa, who was one of the Inquisitors, and the most prejudiced against her, knew her to be the same he had formerly seen in the Convent of Ursulines at Saragosa; and had occasioned the reprimands he gave the Nuns, upon his mistaking her to be a Man: He told the other Inquisitors the story, and from a severe Judge, became her Protector, and Friend.  
As terrible as the Inquisition is in Spain, it cannot fright Love. Count Talara, extremely concerned for the Imprisonment of our Heroine, being told by the Princess, the strongest proof Christina's Enemies made use of to destroy her, was the advantage she had of him in the Course, was so troubled to hear so ill-use made of his Gallantry, that he put himself voluntarily into the Inquisition, and desired his Process should be made, declaring himself accessary to the Crimes of Christina. The Inquisitors were astonished to see how easily he rendered himself Prisoner, and the People failed not to say, the Witch had by her Art forced him to't. The Count was examined, and his answer was found to agree with Christina's. The Inquisitors would have set him at liberty, which he refused to accept till our Heroine had hers: Which was granted her on the Morrow, to the wonderful astonishment of all Fools: Count Talara was so troubled he had, though innocently, occasioned her persecution, he never durst see her more.  
Christina had the fate of most people in trouble, every one strove to make her believe how much they were concerned for her, (now the danger was over.) The whole Court Complemented her upon her delivery, and the King had the goodness to tell her, he was glad to hear she had cleared herself with such credit. The Widow (fearing Christina, to be revenged, would publish the Passion she had expressed for the pretended Don Artal) Courted her friendship, and assured her she had never spoken against her, but to clear her Conscience, Christina had the goodness to pardon her, and they lived thenceforwards very good friends.  
Christina in the mean time was very much troubled she had no news of the Marquis d' Osseyra; sometimes she was afraid he had forgot her, the next moment she rejected that thought as injurious to the fidelity of her Lover, and in the end remained so perplexed she knew not what to think. The Princess, who had great kindness for her, perceiving her more pensive, and melancholy, than ordinary, did all in her power to divert her, and bring her into humour: She told her all the silly stories the people made of her Black Art, and gave her a hundred witty Jests on that account. Christina said she was not surprised at it, having from her Chamber in the Prison heard the discourses of other Prisoners, of the horrible Crimes she was accused of. Since you heard their discourse, 'tis not possible, replied the Princess, but you must be well acquainted with their affairs, it being commonly a comfort to one in Misery to relate and declare a Misfortune; and the ordinlry entertainment of Prisoners, is to tell one another by what Mischance they came thither. I confess, said Christina, I have harkened to them sometimes, with a great deal of attention; but most of those who are Prisoners in the Inquisition, being charged with impiety, or some other Crime relating to Religion, they are very mistrustful, every one taking his Fellow for a Spy, or a Trepan: Yet I remember I often heard the Complaints of a Soldier, who blamed extremely the Ingratitude of his Country, in retaining him Prisoner in the Inquisition, for Actions which would have been highly rewarded in a well-governed State.  
He boasted of great Services he had done his Catholic Majesty in Flanders; where, perceiving the Spanish Regiments grow thin, he married a Wife at Conde, by whom he had two Boys: But the Place being afterwards taken by his most Christian Majesty, he was made a Prisoner of War, and never knew more what became of his Wife. Upon exchange of Prisoners he was not long after set at liberty, and was in Garrison at Air, where he married another Wife; but that Place having also been taken afterwards by the French, he was carried to Cambray, where he thought himself secure: There he married a Third Wife, which began to rejoice his Heart with her fruitfulness, when that Place also was taken by the most Christian King in Person; that at length, being tired with the War, and fearing his Person fatal to the Places he entered, he quitted Flanders, leaving several brave Boys there, who would in time make good Soldiers for the King, and was returned to Madrid: He added, that he passed homeward through France, and observed that Kingdom to be so full of People, and the Villages so near one another, that he thought he had travelled two hundred Leagues all in one Town, which appeared to him very extraordinary, who had been used to travel five and twenty, or thirty Leagues in Spain, without seeing a House, unless it were some pitiful Venta, or sorry Inn: And having considered with himself that the misfortune of Spain proceeded from its being so desert, he was willing, what in him lay, to repair that defect, by marrying again: But two of the Wives he had left in Flanders having followed him to Madrid, and found him at home with his Wife, it angered them so grievously, that they had recourse to Justice, and charged him with several other misdemeanours and impieties: that the Inquisition taking Cognizance of his Crimes had clapped him up in Prison, and kept him there, though in all he had done, he had no other end but the Service of his King, and glory of his Country. The Princess could not forbear laughing at Christina's Relation, which gave her so true a Character of a Spaniard; it being certain there is nothing so conceitedly haughty, as a Spanish Soldier at his return into Spain, from the Army in Flanders: he thinks himself the only Man that hath preserved the State, and that now he may be allowed to follow his inclinations, and take his Pleasure without punishment, or control  
As soon as our Heroine was alone, she fell into her former fit of melancholy, as if she had presaged what was a driving on against her in Flanders.  
The Marquis D'Osseyra knew nothing of his Mistress being gone into Spain, but thought her still in the Covent at Mons; the Duchess of Arschot having taken care to keep him in that error, by writing often to him under pretence of sending him news of Christina: She advised him still not to be too hasty, and a little patience would certainly make him happy. But the Duchess had other designs: the interest of her Family, and her particular dependences on Spain, made her resolve to have her Niece married to a Gentleman of that Nation. This Niece of hers had not yet appeared abroad, but was bred in a Convent; all the knowledge they had of her, was that she was very handsome, and a very considerable Fortune. The Quality and Merit of the Marquis D'Osseyra, made the Duchess think him a fit Match for her Niece. In order to this, she was willing to endeavour curing him of his passion for Christina, being fully persuaded the Beauty, the Birth and Estate of her Niece, would be sufficient to accomplish her design within a short time after her appearing at Court. But having observed by the Marquis' Letters, the constancy of his affection for Christina, the Duchess despaired of success, and respited the sending her Niece to Brussels, for fear her Charms should have, upon some less interested Person, the effect she desired they should work on the Marquis alone. About that time it was French took S. Gislain: the Duchess fearing, from the situation of the Place, Mons in the Spring might have the like Forune, which would break all her Measures, and make it too late to execute her design; she resolved to go to Brussels to communicate her intentions to the Duchess de Villa Hermosa, who was very well pleased with the zeal she expressed for the Spaniards. Divers means were proposed to assure the success of the Marriage, but all appearing uncertain, or dilatory, they parted without coming to any resolution. The Marquis D'Osseyra went every Day to see the Duchess d' Arscot, who, very desirous to penetrate his sentiments, after a great deal of Discourse, by the by, advertised him, as his Friend, that Christina had in confidence acquainted her with her design of making herself a Nun; but if it should be so, he might be otherwise provided of a Mistress, to supply the loss of this. The Marquis was much alarmed at Christina's resolution, and entreated the Duchess to give it all the Obstruction she could, which she promised very frankly. Having given the Duchess de Villa Hermosa an account of this Discourse, she found her no less than herself at a loss what course to take: But at last, seeing themselves straitened in time, the report of his Christian Majesty leaving Paris in few Days being spread all about, they agreed that the Duchess should advise the Marquis to steal his Mistress out of the Covent, and marry her as soon as he could get her out. They thought this a very probable way to effect the Design, because the Duchess might easily deceive him, in substituting her Niece in the Place of Christina. The Duchess of Arscot would not hear of it, as a thing unworthy a Person of her Quality to use any Artifice to make a Spaniard marry her Niece; but at length her ambition, and the flatteries of the Duchess de Villa Hermosa, prevailed with her to reject all these considerations; not doubting, with her dextrous address, she might trap the Marquis; and that the Beauty of her Niece, and respect due to her Birth, would stop his complaining of a Cheat put upon him so much to his advantage. Soon after this delicate Project, the Marquis came to the Duchess of Arscot's: The ordinary expressions of civility were scarce over, but she told him, with some concern, that Word was sent her from Mons, Christina was every Day more and more resolved to take the Nun's Habit, and that she durst no longer undertake, but she would suddenly do it. The Marquis answered her, it would break his Heart; and conjured her not to forsake him, but use all her interest with Christina to divert her from this resolution. To what purpose, says the Duchess; for neither the King, nor your Relations will ever give way to your marrying a Stranger that has no Fortune, is but of mean Birth, and (as virtuous as I take her for) hath occasioned very different judgements of her: To disabuse you, 'tis my opinion you should no longer oppose her design of turning Nun, it will be more for your Reputation than you are ware of, and this Action alone will justify all the rest of her Life. The Marquis confessed she had Reason of her side, but that the violence of his Love would not let him yield to it; that he would make himself happy to his own satisfaction, without troubling himself what others thought of it, as being not of their judgement who think a Man's happiness depends on the opinion others have of it. Since you are of that Mind, says the Duchess, I will let you see how true a Friend I am to you, in doing you a Piece of Service more considerable than you could have hoped for, and such as shall make you happy all the Days of your Life. The Marquis assured her he should ever acknowledge her Favours, and promised to do whatever she advised him to. You must then, replies the Duchess, steal her out of the Covent, and I will undertake she shall consent to it; for her desire of turning Nun proceeds only from her fear that you have forgot her. And as all Women are very sensible of being slighted, she is glad of amusing the World, by giving out she will spend her Life in a Cloister, though it be in truth only to save her Credit, in case you should not love her: And that you may be no longer exposed to the Freaks of Fortune, or the Violences of the Duke de Villa Hermosa, my Almoner shall marry you in my Chapel, as soon as you have got her out of the Covent. The Marquis, overjoyed at a Project that so pleasingly flattered his Passion, threw himself at her Feet, not having the Power to answer her a word, but his dumb Eloquence expressed his Mind clearly enough: They agreed how all things should be carried, and the Duchess on the Morrow went for Mons, to dispose things for Execution of the Design.  
She told her Niece she had made Choice of a Husband for her, with whom she should have abundant Cause to be satisfied; but that there were invincible Reasons to oblige her to permit herself to be stolen out of the Covent, and be married without Ceremony; adding, she was not to be surprised at it, as being all for her Advantage. The young Lady, who in the whole Course of her Breeding had been taught to pay the Duchess very great Respects, submitted herself wholly to her Pleasure. The Duchess having made sure of her Niece, and all others she had use of, writ to the Marquis d'Osseyra, to let him know all was in readiness; and that he had no more to do but come the next Night to Mons, with two of his trustiest Domestics, and that he might come to her House, where she would tell him how the business should be managed. The Marquis, who waited with Impatience for News from the Duchess, failed not to set out the Hour she appointed. He arrived at Mons, and went to the Duchess', as had been agreed on. You see, says she, what I expose myself to for your sake: But that you may not be blamed for this Action, I think it very fit you should write to the Duke de Villa Hermosa, to let him know you are married; and entreat him, that since 'tis a done thing, that he will write into Spain, in your Favour, that the Court may agree to it: I will take care your Letter shall be delivered him, and send him word the same time, I have had no hand in your business. The Marquis consented to all she desired, but had his Head so full of Love, he would never have been able to finish his Letter without the Duchess' help, who made him write what she pleased, without naming Christina, with design to take her advantage by that Letter to justify herself to the World, as if the Marquis had indeavoued to steal away her Niece, and that he might be forced to marry her, if the business in Hand should unexpectedly miscarry.  
All things thus ordered, she forgot not any thing that might heighten the Beauty of her Niece. It was no hard matter to set off a young Lady, whom Nature had made very handsome and amiable: The Duchess having visited her a little afore Night, gave her new instructions for her dress, and deportment, and returned very well satisfied with her Charms. She appointed her to be at the Covent-Garden Gate, with a Maid who was of the Plot, and to follow the Gentleman who came in search of them: She charged her by any means not to speak, to cover herself with a great Veil, and not show her Face, till the Priest had finished the Ceremony; telling her, it was no more than in decency was requisite, to satisfy the Gentleman, and the Company, of her modesty. The Duchess being returned home, told the Marquis all thing were ordered as he could wish. At last, the Night so much desired by the Marquis, and perhaps by the Lady as earnestly longed for, was come; the amorous Spaniard, full of good intentions, and led by his passion, entered the Garden through a Door, of which they had given him a Key for the purpose. He found there two Persons veiled, one whereof was about the height of Christina: Having approached, with a respect not free from fear, he took her by the Hand, and led her to the Duchess' with the haste you may imagine. They went strait to the Chapel, where the Priest waited their coming: The Marquis fell presently at the Feet of her he thought his Mistress, to thank her for her goodness, and began to say such things as love inspires a Man in his condition withal: But the Duchess hastened the Priest to do his Office, and said to the Marquis, he was not to lose time in Fruitless Discourse, to keep his Mistress from the Pleasure she proposed to herself, in being at liberty to look upon him, without wronging her modesty. The Marquis having his Head full of the thoughts of Christina, fancied he saw her, without showing her Face: He was satisfied with a Kiss of her Hand, fell on his Knees, and was married. The Ceremony was scarce ended, but the Marquis cried out, he was the Happiest Man alive, since it was not in the Power of his Enemies to prevent his being united to the most amiable Person in the World. Yes, and more happy than you are ware of, replies the Duchess throwing off the Bride's Veil, since in marrying you to my Niece, who might be the Darling of the best Man on Earth, I have married you to a Lady of great Birth, and a considerable Fortune. The Marquis was so troubled at the Discourse of the Duchess, and the surprising Beauty of her Niece, that for some time he stood mute. Your Relations, and Friends, have agreed to this Marriage, continues the Duchess; and nothing but a Merit equal to yours could have prevailed with me to have a Hand in a Trick of this kind, to make you happy against your will. The Marquis was so agitated with different motions, he could not answer a Word, needing all the respect those of his Nation have for Persons of the best Quality, to keep him from breaking out into outrage against the Duchess. She was about to speak to him of the advantages of this Affair. Madam, says the Marquis, interrupting her, I pray insult not over my grief; for I know not whether I shall be able to take it at your Hands. This was but one of those expressions of sorrow and regret he let fall, which forced Tears from the new Marchioness, who had not any Hand in her Aunt's Cheat, and expected Compliments from her Husband of a very different Nature. The Marquis moved at her Tears, and wounded to the Heart with his own Sorrows, went into another Room, and would have left the House with a Resolution to go whithersoever despair would lead him: But the Duchess, who fearing the Noise this Business might make, had the Foresight, and Care, to make sure of an Order from the Duke de Villa Hermosa to arrest the Marquis; had it put in execution, by Persons who waited at the Gate for that purpose. He was so disordered, he scarce knew he was arrested. An Officer, his Friend, whom the Duchess sent for to speak with him, endeavoured to persuade him to be satisfied, but without effect. The Marquis passed all the Night in very great disquiet: the morrow the Duke de Villa Hermosa arrived at Mons, where he had long Discourse with the Marquis; I know not the particulars, but 'tis probable he showed him the advantages of this Marriage, and the necessity lay upon him to make no more stir about the Business: which if he did, he would be laughed at, and provoke the Court, his Friends, and the Duchess' Family all against him. The Marquis convinced with these Reasons, and seeing there was no Remedy, submitted to the advice of the Duke de Villa Hermosa; and thought it best to return to his Wife, and beg her Pardon for what was passed. But she would not hear him, being resolved to pay him in the Coin she had received from him, and avoid his company who had so much slighted her. The Duchess found all her Authority over her Niece, little enough to retain her: She would not afford an Ear to any thing could be said for him, who had expressed himself sorry he had married her.  
A beautiful Lady hath great Advantages, her Complaints are moving, her Reproaches wound to the quick, and her Tears find Compassion in the stoniest Heart. The Marquis, who had approached his Lady with a great deal of Indifference, was so sensible of her Complaints, her Reproaches and Tears, that he fell on his Knees, protesting the Crime she thought him guilty of, a pure effect of his Astonishment; and that if she would vouchsafe him the hearing, he could easily clear himself. She cast her Eyes upon him, without answering a Word; her Looks, and the Difficulty she made of being appeased, heightened in the Marquis the Desire of Reconciliation: He made her so many Pretestations, and assured her he would love her eternally, that at last she yielded to the Instances of the Duchess, or rather the Oaths of the Marquis; But upon Condition he would give her a true Account what had occasioned him to express himself troubled for having married her, and to absent himself as he had done. The Marquis promised it, but whether he kept his Word I know not, having not been able to learn the Particulars of the Account he gave her, which lasted all Night; but 'tis very likely she was very well satisfied, having never complained of it since: The Marquis about a Week after brought her to Brussels, and to justify himself to those who were acquainted with his Passion for Christina, said, It was not in his Power to resist the Decrees of Heaven, where his Marriage had been appointed many Ages ago.  
Though Christina had not heard of this Marriage, the News of it having not yet reached Spain; 'tis certain her Heart misgave her some Ill was towards her, which cast her frequently into Melancholy the Princess had much ado to persuade her from, by telling her she was not to afflict herself beforehand, by fancying she foresaw the unfaithfulness of her Lover. Christina confessed herself to blame for't, but could not help it.  
Hearing the English Envoy was returning for London, she acquainted the Princess with the great Desire she had to lay hold on that occasion to leave Spain, and go to the Marquis d'Osseyra. The Princess gave many good Reasons to divert her from this Resolution, but in vain; Christina acknowledging the force of her Reasons, but that it was not in her Power to yield to them, and that she should certainly have the Displeasure to see her die with Despair, if she opposed her Design any longer. Loath as the Princess was to part with our Heroine, she was however forced to let her go, to prevent the mortal Effects of her Despair: She gave her a Letter of Recommendation to the Envoy, entreating his Care of that young Spanish Gontleman, being a Person of Quality and Merit, and very desirous to go with him into England. The Princess gave her several other Letters, in her favour, addressed to Persons in good Credit in the Court of His Majesty of Great Britain. Christina having resumed her Man's Habit, and the Day of her Departure hired a Spanish Footboy, overtook the Envoy two Days Journey from Madrid, not having ventured to go out of Town with him, for fear of being stayed, if discovered. The Envoy received her very courteously, easily believing the good Character the Princess gave in her Letter to him of young Montalban (as she called him) who confirmed by his Mien, and Discourse, the good Opinion the Envoy had of him at first Sight.  
Montalban was so pleased with the thought the should shortly have a better opportunity of informing himself truly of the state of his Love Concerns, that he appeared very cheerful and eyrie, which the Envoy was much taken with, but could not let him know it for want of skill in the Spanish Language, which he could not speak, though he understood it very well. Montalban pretended he had no other Language, but that he had a small insight in the French, yet not so much as to speak it. The Envoy, who had been bred in France, was glad of that, and from thenceforth spoke to him always in French, which Montalban answered in Spanish. He maintained this Character very well, till one Day the Envoy observing him in a deep Study, asked him if he had left a Mistress behind him at Madrid. Montalban having his Head full of Love, and surprised with the Question, answered him in French, He had not a Mistress in the World; and continued speaking in that Language, till he perceived the Envoy astonished at it: Whereupon, making use of that readiness of Wit which had done him so good Service on former occasions, and few Women want, he fell a laughing at the Envoy's Surprise, and prayed him, in Spanish, to tell him truly if he had spoken good French. The Envoy assured him, a natural Frenchman could not have spoke better. In troth, replies Montalban, I thought the Princess had but jested, when, having taught me those three or four words, she told me I pronounced them very well: I will apply myself to learn French, as soon as I come to London. You will infallibly attain it, says the Envoy, you are so naturally fitted for it. Our Heroine having, by her Wit, retrieved the Fault her Distraction made her fall into, avoided carefully all occasions of letting him perceive she could speak French, the better to maintain the part she designed to act in England. Being arrived at London, Montalban delivered a Letter from the Princess, to the Marquis Bargamanero, Envoy extraordinary from Spain. The Marquis being an Italian born, doubted not but the young Spaniard was very well descended, as the Princess had signified by her Letter: He used him with all the civility imaginable, praying him to accept of an Apartment in his House; for, besides the respect due to the recommendation of the Princess, an Italian, or Fleming, employed in the King of Spain's Service, is glad of any occasion to oblige a natural Spaniard, to take off the jealousy and umbrage they have of Strangers employed in Affairs of that Crown. Montalban would not lodge at the Marquesses, but Dined there every Day, and went often to Court with him, where he was kindly received by those who espoused the interest of Spain: this was of incredible advantage to the Spaniard, the English who were used to see those of that Nation haughty and huffish, admiring the civility and good Mien of Montalban. But he could not be satisfied with the Care the Marquis took to divert him, nor the civilities he received from several English Courtiers, such was his impatience to know how things went in Flanders: He asked every one, what News from thence, and was told of the Preparations made for the Campaign, the provident Care of the Spanish Governor for the Places most in danger to be attacked, and many other particulars Montalban was not concerned in, nor cared for: But not a Word of the Marquis D'Osseyra, nor durst he inquire after him, in particular, lest his Countenance should betray him, and discover the Reason of his Curiosity that way. His Heart misgave him still, and continued the alarms and presages of ill success to his Love, which so haunted his Thoughts he could not relish any Pleasure, though frequently invited to partake of it. Sometimes he resolved for Brussels, to know how things stood; the next moment he discovered Reasons to divert him from that design. Tormented with this inquietude, and not able to resolve what course to take, but inclining to continue in an uncertainty, which left him some poor hopes of the constancy of the Marquis D'Osseyra, rather than hazard the discovery of a truth which might plunge him in despair. As he was at Dinner at the Spanish Envoys, a Gentleman of Flanders, newly arrived from Brussels, came in to salute the Marquis Borgamanero, and delivered him Letters from the Low-Countries. The Marquis having known the Gentleman by Name, received him very civilly, and made him sit at Table with him. When the Fleming had drank the Healths of all the Beauties of Brussels, his Tongue began to run, and he gave them several Pieces of choice News from Flanders, adding some Gallantries of the Spanish Generals the Winter past; and, interrupting himself, now that I am fallen upon the Discourse of Gallantry, Have you not heard, says he, of the officious Cheat put upon the Marquis D'Osseyra, to cure him of the violent Passion he had for a French-woman. Had any one than observed Montalban's Countenance, he might have easily discovered the Trouble he was in: But they were all attentive to the Flemish Gentleman's Discourse, who told them, the Duchess of Arschot, by Agreement with the Duke de Villa Hermosa, on pretence of Favouring the Marquis De Osseyra's Marriage with the French-woman, had married her Niece to him. Oh Heavens, cried Christina, no more minding the Name, or Nation she pretended to, and fell off of her Stool. The Company thought it some Disease, or Infirmity, and every one strove to help her, attributing the Exclamation to the violence of the Distemper, and not dreaming in the least of the true Cause of the Acident. The Envoy of Spain was the most alarmed at it, fearing, in a time where poison are so ordinary, it might be thought this Spanish Gentleman had been poisoned at his House.  
Can one have died of violent grief, I am persuaded our Heroine had taken her leave of this World, upon hearing the Gentleman's News: but a Death of that kind happens not in our Age, and she, by the Marquis' Care, recovered her strength pretty well, and was carried into her Chamber, where, intending to give free vent to those passions the ill news had occasioned, she had the dexterity to get rid of the importunate Care of those who accompanied her, by telling them she was often subject to Infirmities of that kind, and had learned by experience that rest was the only, and infallible Cure. As soon as she was alone, she burst out into Tears, and her Fancy, to her further Torment, represented to her a Thousand unpleasant things to increase her grief, which was swelled to that height the most cruel Death would have been welcome. After much debate with herself, she thought it fit for her to return into her Country, and spend there the rest of her Days in a Cloister, her Virtue suggesting to her she was obliged to make the World this Amends for all the innocent scandals she had given it.  
Upon the News of the Accident at the Spanish Envoys, the pretended Montalban was visited by several Persons of the best Quality: The Gentleman, who had brought the News of the Marquis D'Osseyra's being married, thought himself obliged in civility to give him a visit. Christina (or, if you will, Montalban) was a-bed when this Gentleman came to his Lodging: Montalban gave order he should come in, and the ordinary civilities being over, told him he was sorry his Infirmity had deprived him of hearing the particulars of the Marquis D'Osseyra's Marriage: The Gentleman offered to make him the Relation; Montalban answering, he would much oblige him in it, the Gentleman acquainted him with all the Circumstances of the Affair, without perceiving the change it produced in our Heroine's Countenance, who had (to prevent his discovery) drawn her Bed-Curtain that she might not be seen. The Fleming being retired, Christina fell again into Tears, yet without any murmuring against the Marquis D'Osseyra, whom she could not accuse of infidelity. As strongly as she laboured to confirm her Resolution of going into a Monastery, she found within her no small reluctancy against the putting it in execution: so hard a Task was it to disengage herself from the inclinations she had for a Person she had loved so entirely, and esteemed so worthy of her affection: After much struggling and striving with herself, she resolved to send him a Letter, which was written as followeth.  
I Shall never believe any one can die of grief, since I have survived the sad News of your Marriage, attended with such Circumstances as make me despair, without leaving me the Liberty to complain of you: Was it not enough to lose you, but I must, with the Loss, have the cruel and doleful Satisfaction to know I lost you against your Will? Had you been ungrateful for the affection I bore you, the consideration of your unfaithfulness would have, in some Measure, allayed my sense of the loss of you: But while I adore you, and you love me, another enjoys you. Pardon the Trouble my grief forces me to give you, in bidding you adieu for ever. When you know how easily I part with the World, you will be sensible I continued in it thus long only for your sake; and since you cannot be mine any longer, I shall quickly take leave of it with very little concern.  
Christina having heard that the Spanish Envoy sent a Gentleman with Letters into Flanders, desired him to deliver this to the Marquis D'Osseyra, and tell him, the Party who sent it expected not his answer. Our Heroine having written this Letter, found herself somewhat better at ease; she weighed the design she had of entering a Covent, and found it in truth a course of Life wholly unsuitable to her Humour: She considered how many made their Lives unhappy by embracing a Profession out of despair, or to Please their Friends, or for other like Reasons contrary to their Inclinations: She chose rather to seek out an opportunity to perish gloriously in the Wars, than to languish many Years in an unhappy condition, not doubting but the thoughts of her beloved Marquis would Haunt her in the most private retirements. This made her throw off the relics of weakness her Sex had left her, and having heard that his Majesty of France had opened the Campaign by the Conquest of Ghent, she continued her disguise, and went into the Army with two or three English Volunteers, who went to learn the Rudiments of War under that great Master. The Town of Ypers being besieged about that time, our Heroine, to avoid meeting with those who might probably know her, during her long abode formerly there, consulted rather the motions of despair, than endeavoured to signalise herself by Actions of extraordinary valour: She mingled herself one Day with a Detachment of the Regiments of the King's Household, who with Sword in Hand took a Halfmoon, where Christina received a Musquet-shot, and was carried to her Tent. The Surgeons, less Complaisant in the Army than elsewhere, judged her Wound mortal: The English, who came with her from London, and still thought the pretended Gentleman a Spaniard, fancied he had received the Wound by endeavouring to put himself into the Spanish Service, by getting into the Town: This made them acquaint the Marquis de Conflans with what had past. He was Governor of the Place, and having Captitulated that very Day to surrender it, the English let him know there was in the Camp, a young Gentleman, a Spaniard, called Montalban, who was wounded with a Musquet-shot, by endeavouring to get into the Town. The Marquis, well acquainted with the name, thought he might be one of the Noble Family of Montalban, the Head whereof is the now Duke of Uceda, and dispatched a Colonel of the Garrison to inquire of his Health, and see if he were in a condition to be carried to Brussels. The English accompany d the Colonel, and told our Heroine they had informed the Governor of Ypres of his Quality, and Hurt; and that he had sent thither this Colonel, to know if he would be carried to Brussels. Christina, amazed at the Discourse, was pleased however at so good an occasion of going to Brussels, in hopes to see the Marquis D' Osseyra before she died: She confirmed them in their error, and having answered the colonel's civilities, as well as the condition she was in would permit her, she prayed him to tell the Marquis of Conflans, he would do him a singular Favour to convey him to Brussels, which was accordingly done. Soon after her Arrival there, the Marquis of Conflans informed the Court, he had brought thither a young Gentleman of Spain, who was lately come out of England to throw himself into Ypres, but was unfortunately prevented by a Musquet-shot, received as he was endeavouring to get into the Town. The Persons of the greatest Quality at Brussels, fearing to incommode Montalban with their visits, sent to inquire of his Health: But he fell into a Fever, and no hopes of Cure. All those about him wondered at the Care he took to inquire who the were who sent to know how he did, which proceeded from the desire the supposed Montalban had to hear the Marquis D' Osseyra named for one. At last he was told that this Marquis, being newly returned from Bruges, had sent a Gentleman to inquire of his Health. Montalban was so glad of it, that those who attended him observed a vaisible Change in his looks: Having fetched two or three sighs, he said, he should be very glad to see the Marquis, having something of Consequence to Communicate to him. The Marquis being informed of it, ran to him immediately, fancying him to be a Gentleman of the House of Montalban, who had been of his acquaintance in Spain. As the Marquis entered the Room, they told him the Gentleman was speechless. The Marquis went hastily up to the Bed, and looking steadfastly on the Person that lay there, knew her to be his Christina, a dying: She reached forth her Arm, and taking him by the Hand, made him sensible of the satisfaction she had, to see him before she died. The tragic Spectacle so affected the Marquis, he was ready to fall down dead for Sorrow: He continued many Days retired in a religious House, and incapable of comfort for being the cause of our Heroine's Death, he resolved to quit that Country where a hundred Objects would every Day represent to his memory, the Death of Christina: He made use of his Friends to procure him Employment elsewhere, and in a short time after received Orders from Spain to go and Command in Biscay.  
FINIS.   

A Catalogue of BOOKS Printed for R. Wellington at the Lute in St. Paul's Churchyard: Where Gentlemen and Ladies may be furnished with all sorts of Histories, Novels and Plays. Newly Published,  
A Collection of Novels, viz. The Secret History of the Earl of Essex and Queen Elizabeth. The Happy Slave. And, The Double Cuckold. To which is added, The Art of Pleasing in Conversation. By the Famous Cardinal Richlieu. Price 5 s.  
The History of Polybius the Megalopolitan; containing a General Account of the Transactaons' of the whole World, but principally of the Roman People, during the First and Second Punic Wars. Translated by Sir H. Sheers, and Mr. Dryden. In Three Volumes: The Third Volume never before Printed.  
Familiar Letters: Written by John late Earl of Rochester, to the honourable Henry Savile, Esq; and other Persons of Quality; With Love-letters, written by the late Ingenious Mr. Tho. Otway, Sir George Etheridge, and the late Duke of Buckingham.  
A Discourse upon the Nature and Faculties of Man, in several Essays: With some Consideration on the Occurrences of Human Life. By Tim. Nourse, Gent.  
The Whole Works of that excellent Practical Physician Dr. Thomas Sydenham. Wherein not only the History and Cures of acute Diseases are treated of after a new and accurate Method; but also the safest and shortest way of curing most Chronical Diseases: Translated from the Original Latin, by J. Pechy, M. D. of the College of Physicians.  
Essays upon several Important Subjects. By Sir Tho. Pope Blunt, Baronet. Price 3 s.  
Love-letters, writ by a Nun to a Cavalier. With the Cavalier's Answers.  
A Treatise of Education, especially of Young Gentlemen. In Two Parts. By Obadiah Walker, D. D. The Sixth Edition, Enlarged.  
De Re Poetica; or, Remarks upon Poetry. With a Character of the Poets both Ancient and Modern. By Sir Tho. Pope Blount. Quarto.  
Examen Poeticum Duplex sive Musarum Anglicanarum Delectus Alter, cui subjicitur Epigrammatum seu Poematum Minorum Specimen Novum. By Mr. Addison, Mr. Friend, Mr. Wallis, Mr. Alsop, Mr. Stepney, etc.  
A Mathematical Companion, or the Description and Use of a new Sliding Rule, by which many Uuseful and Necessary Questions in Arithmetic, Military Orders, Interests, Trigonometry, Planometry, Sterenometry, Geography, Astronomy, Navigation, Fortification, Gunnery, dialing, may be speedily resolved without the Help of Pen or Compasses. By William Hunt, Philomath.  
An Italian Voyage, or a complete Journey through Italy. In Two Parts. With the Character of the People, and Description of the chief Towns, Churches, Monasteries, Tombs, Libraries, Palaces, Villas, Gardens, Pictures, Statues and Antiquities; as also, of the Interest, Government, Riches, Force, etc. of all the Princes; with Instructions concerning Travel. By Richard Lassel, Gent. The Second Edition. With large Additions, by a Modern Hand.  
The Family Physician; being a choice Collection of approved and experienced Remedies, to cure all Diseases incident to Human Bodies, useful in Families, and serviceable to Country People. By George Hartman Chemist, Servant to Sir Kenelm Digby till he died.  
A General Treatise of the Diseases of Infants and Children, collected from the most Eminent Practical Authors. By John Pechy, of the College of Physicians.  
A Treatise of the Immortality of the Soul, by way of Dialogue. By Dr. Charlton. 4 to.  
A Plurality of Worlds. Translated from the French by Mr. Glanvile.  
Dialogues of the Dead. Translated from the French.  
The Essays of Michael Seigneur de Montaigne, in three Volumes in Octavo. Faithfully Translated by Charles Cotton, Esq;  
A Vindication of two late Comedies, viz. The Relapse; or, Virtue in Danger. And, The Provoked Wife. By the Author of those Plays.   

INCOGNITA: OR, LOVE AND DUTY RECONCILED. A NOVEL.  
LONDON, Printed for R. Wellington, at the Lute in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1700.   

INCOGNITA: OR, LOVE and DUTY RECONCILED.  
AUrelian was the only Son to a Principal Gentleman of Florence. The Indulgence of his Father prompted, and his Wealth enabled him, to bestow a generous Education upon him, whom, he now began to look upon as the Type of himself; an Impression he had made in the Gaiety and Vigour of his Youth, before the Rust of Age had debilitated and obscured the Splendour of the Original: He was sensible, That he ought not to be sparing in the Adornment of him, if he had Resolution to beautify his own Momory. Indeed Don Fabio (for so was the Old Gentleman called) has been observed to have fixed his Eyes upon Aurelian, when much Company has been at Table, and have wept through Earnestness of Intention, if nothing happened to divert the Object; whether it were for regret, at the Recollection of his former self, or for the Joy he conceived in being, as it were, revived in the Person of his Son, I never took upon me to inquire, but supposed it might be sometimes one, and sometimes both together.  
Aurelian, at the Age of Eighteen Years, wanted nothing (but a Beard) that the most accomplished Cavalier in Florence could pretend to: he had been Educated from Twelve Years old at Sienna, where it seems his Father kept a Receiver, having a large Income from the Rents of several Houses in that Town. Don Fabio gave his Servant Orders, That Aurelian should not be stinted in his Expenses, when he came up to Years of Discretion. By which means he was enabled, not only to keep Company with, but also to confer many Obligations upon Strangers of Quality, and Gentlemen who traveled from other Countries into Italy, of which Sienna never wanted store, being a Town most delightfully Situate, upon a Noble Hill, and very well suiting with Strangers at first, by reason of the agreeableness and purity of the Air: There also is the quaintness and delicacy of the Italian Tongue most likely to be learned, there being many public Professors of it in that place, and indeed the very Vulgar of Sienna do express themselves with an easiness and sweetness surprising, and even grateful to their Ears who understand not the Language.  
Here Aurelian contracted an acquaintance with Persons of Worth of several Countries, but among the rest an intimacy with a Gentleman of Quality of Spain, and Nephew to the Archbishop of Toledo, who had so wrought himself into the Affections of Aurelian, through a Conformity of Temper, an Equality in Years, and something of resemblance in Feature and Proportion, that he looked upon him as his second self. Hippolito, on the other hand, was not ungrateful in return of Friendship, but thought himself either alone or in ill Company, if Aurelian were absent: but his Uncle having sent him to travel, under the Conduct of a Governor, and the two Years which limited his stay at Sienna being expired, he was put in mind of his departure.  
His Friend grew melancholy at the News, but considering that Hippolito had never seen Florence, he easily prevailed with him to make his first Journey thither, whither he would accompany him, and perhaps prevail with his Father to do the like throughout his Travels.  
They accordingly set out, but not being able easily to reach Florence the same Night, they rested a League or two short, at a Villa of the great Duke's called Poggio Imperiale, where they were informed by some of his Highness' Servants, That the Nuptials of Donna Catharina (near Kinswoman to the great Duke) and Don Ferdinand de Rovori, were to be solemnised the next day, and that extraordinary Preparations had been making for some time past, to illustrate the Solemnity with Balls and Masques, and other Divertisements; that a Tilting had been proclaimed, and to that purpose Scaffolds erected around the Spacious Court, before the Church Di Sante Croce, where were usually seen all Cavalcades and Shows, performed by Assemblies of the Young Nobility: That all Mechanics and Tradesmen were forbidden to work, or expose any Goods to Sale for the space of three days; during which time all Persons should be entertained at the Great Duke's Cost; and public Provision was to be made for the setting forth and furnishing a multitude of Tables, with Entertainment for all Comers and Goers, and several Houses appointed for that use in all Streets.  
This Account alarmed the Spirits of our Young Travellers, and they were overjoyed at the prospect of Pleasures they foresaw. Aurelian could not contain the satisfaction he conceived in the welcome Fortune had prepared for his dear Hippolito. In short, they both remembered so much of the pleasing Relation had been made them, that they forgot to sleep, and were up as soon as it was light, pounding at poor Signior Claudio's Door (so was Hippolito's Governor called) to rouse him, that no time might be lost till they were arrived at Florence, where they would furnish themselves with Disguises and other Accoutrements necessary for the Prosecution of their Design of sharing in the public Merriment; the rather were they for going so early, because Aurelian did not think fit to publish his being in Town for a time, lest his Father knowing of it, might give some restraint to that lose they designed themselves.  
Before Sun rise they entered Florence at Porta Romana, attended only by two Servants, the rest being left behind to avoid notice; but, alas! they needed not to have used half that caution; for early as it was, the Streets were crowded with all sorts of People passing to and fro, and every Man employed in something relating to the Diversions to come; so that no notice was taken of any body; a Marquis and his Train might have passed by as unregarded as a single Fachin or Cobbler. Not a Window in the Streets but echoed the tuning of a Lute or thrumming of a Gitarr: for by the way, the Inhabitants of Florence are strangely addicted to the love of Music, insomuch that scarce their Children can go, before they can scratch some Instrument or other. It was no unpleasing Spectacle to our Cavaliers (who, seeing they were not observed, resolved to make Observations) to behold the Diversity of Figures and Postures of many of these Musicians. Here you should have an affected Vallet, who, Mimicked the Behaviour of his Master, leaning carelessly against the Window, with his Head on one side, in a languishing Posture, whining, in a low, mournful Voice, some dismal Complaint; while, from his sympathising Theorbo, issued a Base no less doleful to the Hearers. In Opposition to him was set up perhaps a Cobbler, with the wretched Skeleton of a Gitarr, battered and waxed together by his own Industry, and who with three Strings out of Tune, and his own tearing hoarse Voice, would rack attention from the Neigbourhood, to the great affliction of many more moderate Practitioners, who, no doubt, were full as desirous to be heard. By this time Aurelian's Servant had taken a Lodging, and was retuned to give his Master an Account of it. The Cavaliers grown weary of that ridiculous Entertainment, which was diverting at first sight, retired whither the Lackey conducted them; who, according to their Directions, had sought out one of the most obscure Streets in the City. All that day, to the evening, was spent in sending from one Broker's Shop to another, to furnish them with Habits, since they had not time to make any new.  
There was, it happened, but one to be got Rich enough to please our young Gentlemen, so many were taken up upon this occasion. While they were in Dispute and Complementing one another, (Aurelian protesting that Hippolito should wear it, and he, on another's hand, forswearing it as bitterly) a Servant of Hippolito's came up and ended the Controversy; telling them, That he had met below with the Vallet de Chambre of a Gentleman, who was one of the greatest Gallants about the Town, but was at this time in such a condition he could not possibly be at the Entertainment; whereupon the Vallet had designed to dress himself up in his Master's Apparel, and try his talon at Court; which he hearing, told him he would inform him how he might bestow the Habit for some time much more to his profit, if not to his pleasure, so acquainted him with the occasion his Master had for it. Hippolito sent for the Fellow up, who was not so fond of his design as not to be bought off it, but upon having his own demand granted for the use of it, brought it; it was very Rich, and upon trial, as fit for Hippolito as if it had been made for him. The Ceremony was performed in the Morning, in the great Dome, with all magnificence correspondent to the wealth of the great Duke, and the esteem he had for the Noble Pair. The next Morning was to be a Tilting, and the same Night a Masking Ball at Court, To omit the Description of the universal Joy, (that had diffused itself through all the Conduits of Wine, which conveyed it in large measures to the People) and only relate those effects of it which concern our present Adventurers. You must know, that about the fall of the Evening, and at that time when the Aequilibrium of Day and Night, for some time, holds the Air in a gloomy suspense between an unwillingness to leave the light, and a natural impulse into the Dominion of darkness. About this time our Hero's, shall I say, sallied or slunk out of their Lodgings, and steered toward the great Palace, whither, before they were arrived, such a prodigious number of Torches were on fire, that the day, by help of these Auxiliary Forces, seemed to continue its Dominion; the Owls and Bats apprehending their mistake, in counting the hours, retired again to a convenient darkness; for Madam Night was no more to be seen than she was to be heard; and the Chemists were of Opinion, That her fuliginous Damps rarefyed by the abundance of Flame, were evaporated.  
Now the Reader I suppose to be upon Thorns at this and the like impertinent Digressions, but let him alone and he'll come to himself; at which time I think fit to acquaint him, that when I degress, I am at that time writing to please myself; when I continue the Thread of the Story, I writ to please him; supposing him a reasonable Man, I conclude him satisfied to allow me this liberty, and so I proceed.  
If our Cavaliers were dazzled at the splendour they beheld without doors, what surprise, think you, must they be in, when entering the Palace they found even the lights there to be but so many foils to the bright eyes that flashed upon 'em at every turn!  
A more glorious Troop no occasion ever assembled; all the fair of Florence, with the most accomplished Caviliers, were present; and however Nature had been partial in bestowing on some better Faces than others, Art was alike indulgent to all, and industriously supplied those Defects she had left, giving some Addition also to her greatest Excellencies. Every body appeared well shaped, as it is to be supposed, none who were conscious to themselves of any visible Deformity would presume to come thither. Their Apparel was equally glorious, though each differing in fancy. In short, our Strangers were so well bred, as to conclude from these apparent Perfections, that there was not a Masque which did not at least hid the Face of a Cherubin. Perhaps the Ladies were not behind hand in return of a favourable Opinion of them: for they were both well dressed, and had something inexpressibly pleasing in their Air and Mien, different from other People, and indeed differing from one another. They fansyed that while they stood together they were more particularly taken notice of than any in the Room, and being unwilling to be taken for Strangers, which they thought they were, by reason of some whispering they observed near them. They agreed upon an hour of meeting after the Company should be broke up, and so separately mingled with the thickest of the Assembly. Aurelian had fixed his eye upon a Lady whom he had observed to have been a considerable time in close whisper with another Woman; he expected with great impatience the result of that private Conference, that he might have an opportunity of engaging the Lady whose Person was so agreeable to him. At last he perceived they were broke off, and the another's Lady seemed to have taken her leave. He had taken no small pains in the mean time to put himself in a posture to accost the Lady, which, no droubt, he had happily performed, had he not been interrupted; but scarce had he acquitted himself of a preliminary Bow (and which, I have heard him say, was the lowest that ever he made) and had just opened his Lips to deliver himself of a small Compliment, which, nevertheless he was very big with, when he unluckily miscarried, by the interposal of the same Lady, whose departure not long before, he had so zealously prayed for: but, as Providence would have it, there was only some very small matter forgot, which was recovered in a short whisper. The Coast being again cleared, he took heart and bore up and, striking sail, repeated his Cemony to the Lady; who, having obligingly returned it, he accosted her in these or the like words:  
If I do not usurp a privilege reserved for some one more happy in your acquaintance, may I presume, Madam, to entreat (for a while) the favour of your Conversation, at least till the arrival of whom you expect, provided you are not tired of me before; for then upon the least intimation of uneasiness, I will not fail of doing myself the violence to withdraw for your release. The Lady made him answer, she did not expect any body; by which he might imagine her Conversation not of value to be bespoke, and to afford it him, were but farther to convince him to her own cost. He replied, She had already said enough to convince him of something he hearty wished might not be to his cost in the end. She pretended not to understand him, but told him, If he already found himself grieved with her Conversation, he would have sufficient reason to repent the rashness of his first Demand before they had ended: for that now she intended to hold discourse with hrm, on purpose to punish his unadvisedness, in presuming upon a Person whose Dress and Mien might not (may be) be disagreeable to have wit. I must confess (replied Aurelian) myself guilty of a Presumption, and willingly submit to the punishment you intent: and though it be an aggravation of a Crime to persevere in its justification, yet I cannot help defending an Opinion in which now I am more confirmed, that probable conjectures may be made of the ingenious Disposition of the Mind, from the fancy and choice of Apparel. The humour I grant ye, (said the Lady) or constitution of the Person, whether melancholic or brisk; but I should hardly pass my censure upon so slight an indication of Wit: for there is your brisk fool as well as your brisk man of sense, and so of the melancholic. I confess 'tis possible a fool may reveal himself by his Dress, in wearing something extravagantly singular and ridiculous, or in preposterous suiting of Colours; but a Decency of Habit (which is all that Men of best sense pretend to) may be acquired by custom and example, without putting the Person to a superfluous expense of Wit for the contrivance; and though there should be occasion for it, few are so unfortunate in their Relations and Acquaintance not to have some Friend capable of giving them advice, if they are not too ignorantly conceited to ask it. Aurelian was so pleased with the easiness and smartness of her Expostulation, that he forgot to make a reply, when she seemed to expect it; but being a Woman of a quick Apprehension, and justly sensible of her own Perfections, she soon perceived he did not grudge his attention. However she had a mind to put it upon him to turn the discourse, so went on upon the same Subject. Siginor (said she) I have been looking round me, and by your Maxim I cannot discover one fool in the Company; for they are all well dressed. This was spoken with an Air of Raillery that awakened the Cavalier, who immediately made answer: 'Tis true, Madam, we see there may be as much variety of good fancies as of faces, yet there may be many of both kinds borrowed and adulterate if inquired into; and as you are pleased to observe the invention may be Foreign to the Person who puts it in practice; and as good an Opinion as I have of an agreeable Dress, I should be loath to answer for the Wit of all about us. I believe you, (says the Lady) and hope you are convinced of your error, since you must allow it impossible to tell who of all this Assembly did or did not make choice of their Apparel. Not all, (said Aurelian) there is an ungainness in some which betrays them. Look ye there (says he) pointing to a Lady who stood playing with the Tassels of her Girdle, I dare answer for that Lady though she be very well dressed, 'tis more than she knows. His fair unknown could not forbear laughing at his particular distinction, and freely told him, he had indeed light upon one who knew as little as any body in the Room, herself excepted. Ah! Madam, (replied Aurelian) you know every thing in the World but your own Perfections, and you only know not those, because 'tis the top of Perfection not to know them. How! (replied the Lady) I thought it had been the extremity of knowledge to know one's self. Aurelian had a little overstrained himself in that Compliment, and I am of Opinion would have been puzzled to have brought himself off readily; but by good fortune the Music came into the Room, and gave him an opportunity to seem to decline an answer, because the company prepared to dance: he only told her he was too mean a Conquest for her Wit, who was already a Slave to the Charms of her Person. She thanked him for his Compliment, and briskly told him she ought to have made him a return in praise of his Wit, but she hoped he was a Man more happy than to be dissatisfied with any of his own Endowments; and if it were so, that he had not a just Opinion of himself, she knew herself incapable of saying any thing to beget one. Aurelian did not know well what to make of this last reply; for he always abhorred any thing that was conceited, with which this seemed to reproach him. But however modest he had been heretofore in his own thoughts, yet never was he so distrustful of his good behaviour as now, being rallied so by a Person whom he took to be of judgement: Yet he resolved to take no notice, but with an Air unconcerned and full of good humour entreated her to Dance with him; She promised him to Dance with no body else, nor I believe had she inclination; for notwithstanding her tartness, she was upon equal terms with him as to the liking of each others Person and Humour, and only gave those little hints to try his Temper; there being certainly no greater sign of folly and ill breeding, than to grow serious and concerned at any thing spoken in the raillery; for his part, he was strangely and insensibly fallen in love with her Shape, Wit and Air; which, together with a white Hand, he had seen (perhaps not accidentally) were enough to have subdued a more stubborn Heart than ever he was master of; and for her Face, which he had not seen, he bestowed upon her the best his Imagination could furnish him with. I should by right now describe her Dress, which was extremely agreeable and rich, but 'tis possible I might err in some material Pin or other, in the sticking of which may be the whole grace of the Drapery depended. Well, they danced several times together, and no less to the satisfaction of the whole Company, than of themselves; for at the end of each Dance, some public Note of Applause or other was given to the graceful Couple.  
Aurelian was amazed, that among all that danced or stood in view he could not see Hippolito; but concluding that he had met with some pleasing Conversation, and was withdrawn to some retired part of the Room, he forbore his search till the mirth of that Night should be over, and the Company ready to break up, where we will leave him for a while, to see what became of his adventurous Friend.  
Hippolito, a little after he had parted with Aurelian, was got among a knot of Ladies and Cavaliers, who were looking upon a large Gold Cup set with Jewels, in which his Royal Highness had drank to the Prosperity of the new married Couple at Dinner, and which aftewards he presented to his Cousin Donna Catharina. He, among the rest, was very intent, admiring the richness, workmanship and beauty of the Cup, when a Lady came behind him, and pulling him by the Elbow, made a sign she would speak with him; Hippolito, who knew himself an utter Stranger to Florence, and every body in it, immediately guessed she had mistaken him for her acquaintance, as indeed it happened; however he resolved not to discover himself till he should be assured of it; having followed her into a set Window remote from Company, she addressed herself to him in this manner: Signior Don Lorenzo (said she) I am overjoyed to see you are so speedily recovered of your Wounds, which by report were much more dangerous than to have suffered your coming abroad so soon; but I must accuse you of great indiscretion, in appearing in a Habit which so many must needs remember you to have worn upon the like occasion not long ago, I mean at the Marriage of Don Cynthio with your Sister Atalante; I do assure you, you were known by it, both to Juliana and myself who was so far concerned for you, as to desire me to tell you, that her Brother Don Fabritio (who saw you when you came in with another Gentleman) had eyed you very narrowly, and is since gone out of the Room, she knows not upon what design; however she would have you, for your own sake, be advised and circumspect when you depart this place, lest you should be set upon unawares; you know the hatred Don Frabitio has born you ever since you had the fortune to kill his Kinsman in a Duel: Here she paused as if expecting his reply; but Hippolito was so confounded, that he stood mute, and contemplating the hazard he had ignorantly brought himself into, forgot his design of informing the Lady of her mistake. She finding he made her no Answer, went on. I perceive (continued she) you are in some surprise at what I have related, and may be, are doubtful of the Truth; but I thought you had been better acquainted with your Cousin Leonora's Voice, than to have forgot it so soon: Yet in Complaisance to your ill Memory, I will put you past doubt, by showing you my Face; with that she pulled off her Mask, and discovered to Hippolito (now more amazed than ever) the most Angelic Face that he had ever beheld. He was just about to have made her some Answer, when, clapping on her Mask again without giving him time, she happily for him pursued her Discourse. (For 'tis odds but he had made some discovery of himself in the surprise he was in.) Having taken him familiarly by the Hand, now she had made herself known to him, Cousin Lorenzo (added she) you may perhaps have taken it unkindly, that, during the time of your indisposition, by reason of your Wounds, I have not been to visit you; I do assure you it was not for want of any Inclination I had both to see and serve you to my power; but you are well acquainted with the Severity of my Father, whom you know how lately you have disobliged. I am mighty glad that I have met with you here, where I have had an Opportunity to tell you what so much concerns your Safety, which I am afraid you will not find in Florence; considering the great Power Don Fabritio and his Father, the Marquis of Viterbo, have in this City. I have another thing to inform you of, That whereas Don Fabio had interested himself in your Cause, in Opposition to the Marquis of Viterbo, by reason of the long Animosity between them, all hopes of his Countenance and Assistance are defeated: For there has been a Proposal of Reconciliation made to both Houses, and it is said it will be confirmed (as most such ancient Quarrels are at last) by the Marriage of Juliana the Marquess' Daughter, with Aurelian, Son to Don Fabian: to which effect the old Gentleman sent another's Day to Sienna, where Aurelian has been Educated, to hasten his coming to Town; but the Messenger returning this Morning, brought word, That the same day he arrived at Sienna, Aurelian had set out for Florence, in Company with a young Spanish Nobleman, his intimate Friend, so it is believed they are both in Town, and not unlikely in this Room in Masquerade.  
Hippolito could not forbear smiling to himself, at these last words. For ever since the naming of Don Fabio he had been very attentive; but before, his Thoughts were wholly taken up with the Beauty of the Face he had seen, and from the time she had taken him by the Hand, a successive warmth and chillness had played about his Heart, and surprised him with an unusual Transport. He was in a hundred Minds, whether he should make her sensible of her Error or no; but considering he could expect no farther Conference with her after he should discover himself, and that as yet he knew not of her place of abode, he resolved to humour the mistake a little further. Having her still by the Hand, which he squeezed somewhat more eagerly than is usual for Cousins to do, in a low and undistinguishable Voice, he let her know how much he held himself obliged to her, and avoiding as many words as handsomely he could, at the same time, entreated her to give him her Advice, toward the management of himself in this Affair. Leonora, who never from the beginning had entertained the least Scruple of distrust, imagined he spoke faintly, as not being yet perfectly recovered in his strength; and withal considering that the heat of the Room, by reason of the Crowd, might be uneasy to a Person in his Condition; she kindly told him, That if he were as inclinable to dispense with the remainder of that Night's Diversion as she was, and had no other engagement upon him, by her consent, they should both steal out of the Assembly, and go to her House, where they might with more freedom discourse about a business of that importance, and where he might take something to refresh himself if he were (as she conceived him to be) indisposed with his long standing. Judge you whether the Proposal were acceptable to Hippolito or no; he had been ruminating with himself how to bring something like this about, and had almost despaired of it; when of a sudden he found the success of his design had prevented his own endeavours. He told his Cousin in the same key as before, That he was unwilling to be the occasion of her Divorce from so much good Company; but for his own part, he was afraid he had presumed too much upon his recovery in coming abroad so soon, and that he found himself so unwell, he feared he should be quickly forced to retire. Leonora stayed not to make him any other reply, only tipped him upon the Arm, and bid him follow her at a convenient distance to avoid Observation.  
Whoever had seen the Joy that was in Hippolito's Countenance, and the Sprightliness with which he followed his Beautiful Conductress, would scarce have taken him for a Person grieved with uncured Wounds. She led him down a back pair of Stairs, into one of the Palace Gardens which had a Door opening into the Piazza, not far from where Don Mario her Father lived. They had little discourse by the way, which gave Hippolito time to consider of the best way of discovering himself. A thousand things came into his Head in a minute, yet nothing that pleased him: and after so many Contrivances as he had form for the discovery of himself, he found it more rational for him not to reveal himself at all that Night, since he could not foresee what effect the surprise would have, she must needs be in, at the appearance of a Stranger, whom she had never seen before, yet whom she had treated so familiarly. He knew Women were apt to shriek or swoon upon such Occasions, and should she happen to do either, he might be at a loss how to bring himself off. He thought he might easily pretend to be indisposed somewhat more than ordinary, and so make an excuse to go to his own Lodging. It came into his Head too, that under pretence of giving her an account of his Health, he might inquire of her the means how a Letter might be conveyed to her the next morning, wherein he might inform her gently of her mistake, and insinuate something of that Passion he had conceived, which he was sure he could not have opportunity to speak of if he bluntly revealed himself. He had just resolved upon this Method, as they were come to the great Gates of the Court, when Leonora stopping to let him go in before her, he of a sudden fetched his Breath violently, as if some stitch or twinging smart had just then assaulted him. She enquired the matter of him, and advised him to make haste into the House that he might sit down and rest him. He told her he found himself so ill, that he judged it more convenient for him to go home while he was in a condition to move, for he feared if he should once settle himself to rest, he might not be able to stir. She was much troubled, and would have had a Chair made ready and Servants to carry him home; but he made answer, he would not have any of her Father's Servants know of his being abroad, and that just now he had an interval of ease, which he hoped would continue till he made a shift to reach his own Lodgings. Yet if she pleased to inform him how he might give an account of himself the next morning, in a line or two, he would not fail to give her the thanks due to her great kindness; and withal, would let her know something which would not a little surprise her, though now he had not time to acquaint her with it. She showed him a little Window at the corner of the House, where one should wait to receive his Letter, and was just taking her leave of him, when seeing him search hastily in his Pocket, she asked him if he missed any thing; he told her he thought a Wound which was not throughly healed bled a little, and that he had lost his Handkerchief. His design took; for she immediately gave him hers: which indeed accordingly he applied to the only Wound he was then grieved with; which though it went quite through his Heart, yet thank God was not Mortal. He was not a little rejoiced at his good Fortune in getting so early a Favour from his Mistress, and notwithstanding the violence he did himself to personate a sick Man, he could not forbear giving some Symptoms of an extraordinary content; and telling her that he did not doubt to receive a considerable Proportion of ease from the Application of what had so often kissed her fair Hand. Leonora, who did not suspect the Compliment, told him she should be hearty glad if that, or any thing in her power, might contribute to his recovery; and wishing him well home, went into her House, as much troubled for her Cousin as he was joyful for his Mistress.  
Hippolito as soon as she was gone in, began to make his Remarks about the House, walking round the great Court, viewing the Gardens and all the Passages leading to that side of the Piazza. Having sufficiently informed himself, with a Heart full of Love, and a Head full of Stratagem, he walked toward his Lodging, impatient till the arrival of Aurelian, that he might give himself vent. In which interim, let me take the liberty to digress a little, and tell the Reader something which I do not doubt he has apprehended himself long ago, if he be not the dullest Reader in the World; yet only for order sake, let me tell him I say, That a young Gentleman (Cousin to the aforesaid Don Fabritio) happened one night to have some words at a Gaming House with one Lorenzo, which created a Quarrel of fatal Consequence to the former, who was killed upon the Spot, and likely to be so to the latter, who was very desperately wounded.  
Fabritio being much concerned for his Kinsman, vowed Revenge (according to the ancient and laudable Custom of Italy) upon Lorenzo, if he survived; or, in case of his Death, (if it should happen to anticipate that, much more swinging Death which he had in store for him) upon his next of Kin, and so to descend Lineally like an English Estate, to all the Heirs Males of his Family. This same Fabritio had indeed (as Leonora told Hippolito) taken particular notice of him from his first Entrance into the Room, and was so far doubtful as to go out immediately himself, and make enquiry concerning Lorenzo, but was quickly informed of the greatness of his Error, in believing a Man to be abroad, who was so ill of his Wounds, that they now despaired of his Recovery; and thereupon returned to the Ball very well satisfied, but not before Leonora and Hippolito were departed.  
So, Reader, having now discharged my Conscience of a small Discovery which I thought myself obliged to make to thee, I proceed to tell thee, that our Friend Aurelian had by this time danced himself into a Net, which he neither could, nor which is worse, desired to untangle.  
His Soul was charmed to the Movement of her Body; an Air so graceful, so sweet, so easy and so great, he had never seen. She had something of Majesty in her, which appeared to be born with her; and though it struck an Awe into the Beholders, yet was it sweetened with a Familiarity of Behaviour, which rendered it agreeable to every Body. The Grandeur of her Mien was not stiff, but unstudied and unforced, mixed with a simplicity; free, yet not lose nor affected. If the former seemed to condescend, the latter seemed to aspire; and both to unite in the Centre of Perfection. Every turn she gave in Dancing snatched Aurelian into a Rapture, and he had like to have been out two or three times with following his Eyes, which she led about as Slaves to her Heels.  
As soon as they had done dancing, he began to complain of his want of Breath and Lungs, to speak sufficiently in her Commendation: She smilingly told him, he did ill to dance so much then: Yet in Consideration of the pains he had taken more than ordinary upon her account, she would bate him a great deal of Compliment, but with this Proviso, That he was to discover to her who he was. Aurelian was unwilling for the present to own himself to be really the Man he was; when a sudden thought came into his Head to take upon him the Name and Character of Hippolito, who he was sure was not known in Florence. He thereupon, after a little pause, pretended to recall himself in this manner: Madam, it is no small demonstration of the entire Resignation which I have made of my Heart to your Chains, since the secrets of it are no longer in my power. I confess I only took Florence in my way, not designing any longer Residence, than should be requisite to inform the Curiosity of a Traveller, of the rareties of the Place. Whether Happiness or Misery will be the Consequence of that Curiosity, I am yet in fear, and submit to your Determination; but sure I am, not to departed Florence till you have made me the most miserable Man in it, and refuse me the fatal Kindness of Dying at your Feet. I am by Birth a Spaniard, of the City of Toledo; my name Hippolito di Saviolina: I was yesterday a Man free, as Nature made the first; to day I am fallen into a Captivity, which must continue with my Life, and which, it is in your power, to make much dearer to me. Thus in obedience to your Commands, and contrary to my Resolution of remaining unknown in this place, I have informed you, Madam, what I am; what I shall be, I desire to know from you; at least, I hope, the free discovery I have made of myself, will encourage you to trust me with the knowledge of your Person.  
Here a low bow, and a deep sigh, put an end to his Discourse, and signified his Expectation of her Reply, which was to this purpose— (But I had forgot to tell you, That Aurelian kept off his Mask from the time that he told her he was of Spain, till the period of his Relation.) Had I thought (said she) that my Curiosity would have brought me in debt, I should certainly have forborn it; or at least have agreed with you before hand about the rate of your discovery, than I had not brought myself to the Inconveniency of being censured, either of too much easiness or reservedness; but to avoid, as much as I can, the extremity of either, I am resolved but to discover myself in part, and will endeavour to give you as little occasion as I can, either to boast of, or ridicule the Behaviour of the Women of Florence in your Travels.  
Aurelian interrupted her, and swore very solemnly (and the more hearty I believe, because he then indeed spoke truth) that he would make Florence the place of his abode, whatever concerns he had elsewhere. She advised him to be cautious how he swore to his Expressions of Gallantry; and farther told him she now hoped she should make him a return to all the Fine Things he had said, since she gave him his choice whether he would know whom she was, or see her Face.  
Aurelian who was really in Love, and in whom Consideration would have been a Crime, greedily embraced the latter, since she assured him at that time he should not know both. Well, what followed? Why, she pulled off her Mask, and appeared to him at once in the Glory of Beauty. But who can tell the astonishment Aurelian felt? He was for a time senseless; Admiration had suppressed his Speech, and his Eyes were entangled in Light. In short, to be made sensible of his condition, we must conceive some Idea of what he beheld, which is not to be imagined till seen, nor then to be expressed. Now see the impertinence and conceitedness of an Author, who will have a fling at a Description, which he has Prefaced with an impossibility. One might have seen something in her Composition resembling the Formation of Epicurus his World, as if every Atom of Beauty had concurred to unite an excellency. Had that curious Painter lived in her days, he might have avoided his painful search, when he collected from the choicest pieces the most choice Features, and by a due Disposition and Judicious Symmetry of those exquisite parts, made one whole and perfect Venus. Nature seemed here to have played the Plagiary, and to have moulded into Substance the most refined Thoughts of inspired Poets. Her Eyes diffused Rays comfortable as warmth, and piercing as the Light; they would have worked a passage through the straightest Pores, and with a delicious heat, have played about the most obdurate Frozen Heart, until 'twere melted down to Love. Such Majesty and Affability were in her Looks; so alluring, yet commanding was her Presence, that it mingled Awe with Love; kindling a Flame which trembled to aspire. She had danced much, which together with her being close masked, gave her a tincture of Carnation more than ordinary. But Aurelian (from whom I had every tittle of her Description) fancied he saw a little Nest of Cupid's break from the Tresses of her Hair, and every one officiously betake himself to his task. Some fanned with their downy Wings, her glowing Cheeks; while others brushed the balmy Dew from off her Face, leaving alone a heavenly Moisture blubbing on her Lips, on which they drank and revealed for their pains: Nay, so particular were their allotments in her Service, that Aurelian was very positive a young Cupid who was but just Pen-feathered, employed his naked Quills to pick her Teeth. And a thousand other things his transport represented to him, which none but Lovers who have experience of such Visions will believe.  
As soon as he awaked and found his Speech come to him, he employed it to this effect:  
'Tis enough that I have seen a Divinity— Nothing but Mercy can inhabit these Perfections— Their utmost rigour brings a Death preferable to any Life, but what they give— Use me, Madam, as you please; for by your fair self, I cannot think a Bliss beyond what now I feel— You Wound with Pleasure, and if you Kill it must be with Transport— Ah! Yet methinks to live— O Heaven! to have Life pronounced by those Blessed Lips— Did they not inspire where they command, it were an immediate Death of Joy.  
Aurelian was growing a little too loud with his Admiration, had she not just then interrupted him, by clapping on her Masque, and telling him they should be observed, if he proceeded in his Extravagance; and withal, that his Passion was too sudden to be real, and too violent to be lasting. He replied, Indeed it might not be very lasting, (with a submissive mournful Voice) but it would continue during his Life. That it was sudden, he denied, for she had raised it by degrees from his first sight of her, by a continued discovery of Charms, in her Mien and Conversation, till she thought fit to set Fire to the Train she had laid, by the Lightning of her Face; and then he could not help it, if he were blown up.  
He begged her to believe the Sincerity of his Passion, at least to enjoin him something, which might tend to the Convincing of her Incredulity. She said, she should find a time to make some Trials of him; but for the first, she charged him not to follow or observe her, after the Dissolution of the Assembly. He promised to obey, and entreated her to tell him but her Name, that he might have Recourse to that in his Affliction for her Absence, if he were able to survive it. She desired him to live by all means; and if he must have a Name to play with, to call her Incognita, till he were better informed.  
The Company breaking up, she took her leave, and at his earnest Entreaty, gave him a short Vision of her Face; which, then dressed in an obliging smile caused another fit of Transport, which lasted till she was gone out of Sight. Aurelian gathered up his Spirits, and walked slowly towards his Lodging, never remembering that he had lost Hippolito, till upon turning the Corner of a Street, he heard a noise of Fight; and coming near, saw a Man make a vigorous Defence against two, who pressed violently upon him. He then thought of Hippolito, and fancying he saw the glimmering of Diamond Buttons, such as Hippolito had upon the Sleeves of his Habit, immediately drew to his Assistance; and with that Eagerness and Resolution, that the Assailants, finding their unmanly odds defeated, took to their Heels. The Person rescued by the Generous Help of Aurelian, came toward him; but as he would have stopped to have saluted him, dropped, fainting at his feet. Aurelian, now he was so near him, perceived plainly Hippolito's Habit, and stepped hastily to take him up. Just as some of the Guards (who were going the Rounds, apprehensive of such Disorders in an Universal Merriment) came up to him with Lights, and had taken Prisoners the Two Men, whom they met with their Swords drawn; when looking in the Face of the Wounded Man, he found it was not Hippolito, but his Governor Claudio, in the Habit he had worn at the Ball. He was extremely surprised, as were the Prisoners, who confessed their Design to have been upon Lorenzo; grounding their Mistake upon the Habit which was known to have been his. They were Two Men who formerly had been Servants to him, whom Lorenzo had unfortunately slain.  
They made a shift to bring Claudio to himself; and part of the Guard carrying off the Prisoners, whom Aurelian desired they would secure, the rest accompanied him bearing Claudio in their Arms to his Lodging. He had not patience to forbear ask for Hippolito by the Way; whom Claudio assured him, he had left safe in his Chamber, above Two Hours since. That his coming Home so long before the Divertisements were ended, and Undressing himself, had given him the Unhappy Curiosity, to put on his Habit, and go to the Palace; in his Return from whence, he was set upon in the Manner he found him, which if he recovered, he must own his Life indebted to his timely Assistance.  
Being come to the House, they carried him to his Bed, and having sent for Surgeons, Aurelian rewarded and dismissed the Guard. He stayed the dressing of Claudio's Wounds, which were many, though they hoped none Mortal: and leaving him to his Rest, went to give Hippolito an Account of what had happened, whom he found with a Table before him, leaning upon both his Elbows, his Face covered with his Hands, and so motionless, that Aurelian concluded he was asleep; seeing several Papers lie before him, half written and blotted out again, he thought to steal softly to the Table, and discover what he had been employed about. Just as he reached forth his Hand to take up one of the Papers, Hippolito started up so on the sudden, as surprised Aurelian, and made him leap back; Hippolito, on the other hand, not supposing that any Body had been near him, was so disordered with the Appearance of a Man at his Elbow, (whom his Amazement did not permit him to distinguish) that he leaped hastily to his Sword, and in turning him about, overthrew the Stand and Candles. Here were they both left in the Dark, Hippolito groping about with his Sword, and thrusting at every Chair that he felt oppose him. Aurelian was scarce come to himself, when thinking to step back toward the Door that he might inform his Friend of his Mistake, without exposing himself to his blind Fury; Hippolito heard him stir, and made a full thrust with such Violence, that the Hilt of the Sword meeting with Aurelian's Breast beat him down, and Hippolito a top of him, as a Servant alarmed with the noise, came into the Chamber with a Light. The Fellow trembled, and thought they were both Dead, till Hippolito raising himself, to see whom he had got under him, swooned away upon the discovery of his Friend. But such was the extraordinary Care of Providence in directing the Sword, that it only passed under his Arm, giving no Wound to Aurelian, but a little Bruise between his Shoulder and Breast with the Hilt. He got up, scarce recovered of his Fright, and by the help of the Servant, laid Hippolito upon the Bed; who when he was come to himself could hardly be persuaded, that his Friend was before him and alive, till he showed him his Breast, where was nothing of a Wound. Hippolito begged his Pardon a Thousand Times, and cursed himself as often, who was so near to committing the most Execrable Act of Amicide.  
They dismissed the Fellow, and with many Embraces, congratulated their fortunate Delivery from the Mischief which came so near them each blaming himself as the Occasion: Aurelian accusing his own unadvisedness in stealing upon Hippolito; Hippolito blaming his own temerity and weakness, in being so easily frighted to Disorder; and last of all, his blindness, in not knowing his dearest Friend. But there he gave a Sigh, and passionately taking Aurelian by the Hand, cried, Ah! my Friend; Love is indeed blind, when it would not suffer me to see you— There arose another Sigh; a Sympathy seized Aurelian immediately: (For, by the Way, sighing is as catching among Lovers, as yawning among the Vulgar.) Beside hearing the Name of Love, made him fetch such a Sigh, that Hippolito's were but Fly-blows in Comparison, that was answered with all the Might Hippolito had, Aurelian plied him close till they were both out of Breath.  
Thus not a Word passed, though each wondered why the tother sighed, at last concluded it to be only Complaisance to one another.  
Aurelian broke the Silence, by telling him the Misfortune of his Governor. Hippolito rejoiced as at the luckiest Accident which could have befallen him. Aurelian wondered at his unseasonable Mirth, and demanded the Cause of it; he answered, It would necessitate his longer Stay in Florence, and for aught he knew be the Means of bringing a happy Period to his Amour.  
His Friend thought him to be little better than a Madman, when he perceived him of a sudden snatch out of his Bosom a Handkerchief, which having kissed with a great deal of Ardour, he took Aurelian by the Hand, and smiling at the Surprise he saw him in:  
Your Florentine Cupid is certainly (said he) the most Expert in the World. I have since I saw you beheld the most Beautiful of Women. I am fallen desperately in Love with her, and those Papers which you see so blotted and scattered, are but so many Essays which I have made to the Declaration of my Passion. And this Handkerchief which I so zealously Caress, is the Inestimable Token which I have to make myself known to her. O Leonora! (continued he) how hast thou stamped thine Image on my Soul! How much dearer am I to myself, since I have had thy Heavenly Form in keeping! Now, my Aurelian, I am worth thee; my exalted Love has Dignified me, and raised me far above thy poor former Despicable Hippolito.  
Aurelian seeing the Rapture he was in, thought it in vain to expect a settled Relation of the Adventure, so was reaching to the Table for foam of the Papers, but Hippolito told him, If he would have a little patience he would acquaint him with the whole Matter; and thereupon told him Word for Word how he was mistaken for Lorenzo, and his Management of himself. Aurelian commended his Prudence, in not discovering himself; and told him, If he could spare so much time from the Contemplation of his Mistress, he would inform him of an Adventure, though not so Accidental, yet of as great Concern to his own future Happiness. So related all that had happened to him with his Beautiful Incognita.  
Having ended the Story, they began to consisider of the Means they were to use toward a Review of their Mistresses. Aurelian was Confounded at the Difficulty he conceived on his Part. He understood from Hippolito's Adventure, that his Father knew of his being in Town, whom he must unavoidably Disoblige if he yet concealed himself, and Disobey if he came into his Sight; for he had already entertained an Aversion for Juliana, in apprehension of her being Imposed on him. His Incognita was rooted in his Heart, yet could he not Comfort himself with any Hopes when he should see her: He knew not where she lived, and she had made him no Promise of a second Conference. Then did he repent his inconsiderate Choice, in preferring the momentary Vision of her Face, to a certain Intelligence of her Person. Every thought that succeeded distracted him, and all the Hopes he could presume upon, were within compass of the Two Days Merriment yet to come; for which Space he hoped he might excuse his remaining concealed to his Father.  
Hippolito on the other side (though Aurelian thought him in a much better Way) was no less afflicted for himself. The Difficulties which he saw in his Friend's Circumstances, put him upon finding out-a great many more in his own, than really there were. But what terrified him most of all, was his being an utter Stranger to Leonora; she had not the least knowledge of him but through mistake; and consequently could form no Idea of him to his Advantage. He looked upon it as an unlucky thought in Aurelian to take upon him his Name, since possibly the Two Ladies were acquainted; and should they communicate to each other their Adventures, they might both reasonably suffer in their Opinions, and be thought guilty of Falsehood, since it would appear to them as One Person pretending to Two. Aurelian told him, there was but one Remedy for that, which was for Hippolito, in the same Manner that he had done, to make use of his Name, when he writ to Leonora, and use what Arguments he could to persuade her to Secrecy, lest his Father should know of the Reason which kept him concealed in Town. And it was likely, though perhaps she might not immediately entertain his Passion, yet she would out of Generosity conceal, what was hidden only for her sake.  
Well this was concluded on, after a great many other Reasons used on either Side, in favour of the Contrivance; they at last argued themselves into a Belief, that Fortune had befriended them with a better Plot, than their regular Thinking could have contrived. So soon had they convinced themselves, in what they were willing to believe.  
Aurelian laid himself down to rest, that is, upon the Bed; for he was a better Lover than to pretend to sleep that Night, while Hippolito set himself again to frame his Letter designed for Leonora. He writ several, at last pitched upon one, and very probably the worst, as you may guests when you read it in its proper Place.  
It was break of Day when the Servant, who had been employed all the foregoing Day in procuring Accoutrements for the Two Cavaliers, to appear in at the Tilting, came into the Room, and told them all the Young Gentlemen in the Town were trying their Equipage, and preparing to be early in the Lists. They made themselves ready with all Expedition at the Alarm: and Hippolito having made a Visit to his Governor, dispatched a Messenger with the Letter and Directions to Leonora. At the Signal agreed upon the Casement was opened and a String let down, to which the Bearer having fastened the Letter, saw it drawn up, and returned. It were avain attempt to describe Leonora's Surprise, when she read the Superscription.— The Unfortunate Aurelian, to the Beautiful Leonora— After she was a little recovered from her Amaze, she recollected to herself all the Passages between her and her supposed Cousin, and immediately concluded him to be Aurelian. Then several little Circumstances which she thought might have been sufficient to have convinced her, represented themselves to her; and she was in a strange Uneasiness to think of her free Carriage to a Stranger.  
She was once in a Mind to have burned the Letter, or to have stayed for an Opportunity to send it again. But she was a Woman, and her Curiosity opposed itself to all thoughts of that Nature: at length with a firm Resolution, she opened it, and found Word for Word, what is underwritten.  
The LETTER.  
Madam,  
IF your fair Eyes, upon the breaking up of this, meet with somewhat too quick a Surprise, make thence, I beseech you, some reflection upon the Condition I must needs have been in, at the sudden Appearance of that Sun of Beauty, which at once shone so full upon my Soul. I could not immediately disengage myself from that Maze of Charms, to let you know how unworthy a Captive your Eyes had made through mistake. Sure, Madam, you cannot but remember my Disorder, of which your Innocent (Innocent, though perhaps to me Fatal) Error made a Charitable (but wide) Construction. Your Tongue pursued the Victory of your Eyes, and you did not give me time to rally my poor Disordered Senses, so as to make a tolerable Retreat. Pardon, Madam, the Continuation of the Deceit, and call it not so, that I appeared to be other than myself; for Heaven knows I was not then myself, nor am I now my own. You told me something that concerned me nearly, as to a Marriage my Father designed me, and much more nearly in being told by you. For Heaven's sake, disclose not to any Body your Knowledge of me, that I may not be forced to an immediate Act of Disobedience; for if my future Services and inviolate Love, cannot recommend me to your Favour, I shall find more comfort in the cold Embraces of a Grave, than in the Arms of the never so much admired (but by me dreaded) Juliana. Think, Madam, of those severe Cicumstances I lie under; and withal I beg you, think it is in your Power, and only in your Power, to make them happy as my Wishes, or much more miserable than I am able to imagine. That dear, inestimable (though undesigned) Favour which I received from you, shall this Day distinguish me from the Crowd of your Admirers; that which I really applied to my inward bleeding Wound, the welcome Wound which you have made, and which, unless from you, does wish no Cure; then pardon and have pity on, O Adored Leonora, him, who is yours by Creation as he is Heaven's, though never so unworthy. Have pity on  
Your Aurelian.  
She read the Letter over and over, than fling it by, then read it again; the Novelty of the Adventure made her repeat her Curiosity, and take more than ordinary Pains to understand it. At last her Familiarity with the Expressions grew to an Intimacy, and what she at first permitted she now began to like. She thought there was something in it a little more serious, than to be barely Gallantry. She wondered at her own Blindness, and fancied she could remember something of a more becoming Air in the Stranger than was usual to Lorenzo. This thought was parent to another of the same kind, till a long Chain successively had Birth, and every one somewhat more than other, in Favour of the supposed Aurelian. She reflected upon his Discretion, in deferring the Discovery of himself, till a little time had, as it were, weaned her from her persuasion, and by removing her farther from her Mistake, had prepared her for a full and determinate Convincement. She thought his Behaviour, in personating a Sick Man so readily, upon the first hint was not amiss, and smiled to think of his Excuse to procure her Handkerchief; and last of all, his sifting out the Means to write to her, which he had done with that Modesty and Respect, she could not tell how to find fault with it.  
She had proceeded thus far in a maze of Thought, when she started to find herself so lost to her Reason, and would have trod back again that path of deluding Fancy; accusing herself of Fondness, and inconsiderate Easiness, in giving Credit to the Letter of a Person whose Face she never saw, and whose first Acquaintance with her was a Treachery, and he who could so readily deliver his Tongue of a Lie upon a Surprise, was scarce to be trusted when he had sufficient Time allowed him to beget a Fiction, and Means to perfect the Birth.  
How did she know this to be Aurelian, if he were? Nay farther, put it to the Extremity, What if she should upon farther Conversation with him proceed to Love him? What Hopes were there for her? Or how could she consent to Marry a Man already Destined for another Woman? nay, a Woman that was her Friend, whose Marrying with him was to complete the happy Reconciliation of Two Noble Families, and which might prevent the Effusion of much Blood likely to be shed in that Quarrel: Besides, she should incur share of the Gild, which he would draw upon him by Disobedience to his Father, whom she was sure would not be consenting to it.  
'Tis strange now, but all Accounts agree, that just here Leonora, who had run like a violent Stream against Aurelian hitherto, now retorted with as much precipitation in his Favour. I could never get any Body to give me a satisfactory Reason, for her sudden and dextrous Change of Opinion just at that stop; which made me conclude she could not help it; and that Nature boiled over in her at that time when it had so fair an Opportunity to show itself: For Leonora it seems was a Woman Beautiful, and otherwise of an excellent Disposition; but in the Bottom a very Woman. This last Objection, this Opportunity of persuading Man to Disobedience, determined the Matter in Favour of Aurelian, more than all his Excellencies and Qualifications, take him as Aurelian, or Hippolito, or both together.  
Well, the Spirit of Contradiction and of Eve was strong in her; and she was in a fair Way to Love Aurelian, for she liked him already; that it was Aurelian she no longer doubted, for had it been a Villain, who had only taken his Name upon him for any ill Designs, he would never have slipped so favourable an Opportunity as when they were alone, and in the Night coming through the Garden and broad Space before the Piazza. In short, thus much he resolved, at least to conceal the Knowledge she had of him, as he had entreated her in his Letter, and to make particular Remarks of his Behaviour that Day in the Lists, which should it happen to Charm her with an absolute liking of his Person, she resolved to dress herself to the best Advantage, and mustering up all her Graces, out of pure Revenge to kill him down right.  
I would not have the Reader now be impertinent, and look upon this to be force, or a whim of the Author's, that a Woman should proceed so far in her Approbation of a Man whom she never saw, that it is impossible, therefore ridiculous to suppose it. Let me tell such a Critic, that he knows nothing of the Sex, if he does not know that a Woman may be taken with the Character and Description of a Man, when general and extraordinary, that she may be prepossessed with an agreeable Idea of his Person and Conversation; and though she cannot imagine his real Features, or manner of Wit, yet she has a general Notion of what is called a fine Gentleman, and is prepared to like such a one who does not disagree with that Character. Aurelian, as he bore a fair Character, so was he extremely deserving to make it good, which otherways might have been to his prejudice; for oftentimes, through an imprudent Indulgence to our Friend's merit, we give so large a Description of his excellencies, that People make more room in their Expectation, than the Intrinsic worth of the Man will fill, which renders him so much the more despicable as there is emptyness to spare. 'Tis certain, though the Women seldom find that out; for though they do not see so much in a Man as was promised, yet they will be so kind to imagine he has some hidden excellencies which time may discover to them, so are content to allow him a considerable share of their esteem, and take him into Favour upon Tick. Aurelian as he had good Credit, so he had a good Stock to support it, and his Person was a good promising Security for the payment of any Obligation he could lie under to the Fair Sex. Hippolito, who at this time was our Aurelian, did not at all lessen him in appearing for him: So that although Leonora was indeed mistaken, she could not be said to be much in the wrong. I could find in my Heart to beg the Reader's pardon for this Digression, if I thought he would be sensible of the Civility; for I promise him, I do not intent to do it again throughout the Story, though I make never so many, and though he take them never so ill. But because I began this upon a bare Supposition of his Impertinence, which might be somewhat impertinent in me to suppose I do, and hope to make him amends by telling him, that by the time Leonora was dressed, several Ladies of her acquaintance came to accompany her to the place designed for the Tilting, where we will leave them drinking Chocholate till 'tis time for them to go.  
Our Cavaliers had by good Fortune provided themselves of two curious Suits of light Armour, finely enammelled and gilt. Hippolito had sent to Poggio Imperiale for a couple of fine led Horses which he had left there with the rest of his Train at his entrance into Florence. Mounted on these and every way well Equipt, they took their way, attended only by two Lackeys, toward the Church di Santa Croce, before which they were to perform their Exercises of Chivalry. Hippolito wore upon his Helm a large Plume of Crimson Feathers, in the midst of which was artificially placed Leonora's Handkerchief. His Armour was gilded, and enammelled with Green and Crimson. Aurelian was not so happy as to wear any token to recommend him to the notice of his Mistress, so had only a Plume of Sky-colour and White Feathers, suitable to his Armour, which was Silver enammelled with Azure. I shall not describe the Habits of any other Cavaliers, or of the Ladies; let it suffice to tell the Reader they were all very Fine and very Glorious, and let him dress them in what is most agreeable to his own Fancy.  
Our Gallants entered the Lists, and having made their Obeisance to his Highness, turned round to salute and view the Company. The Scaffold was circular, so that there was no end of the Delightful Prospect. It seemed a Glory of Beauty which shone around the admiring Beholders. Our Lovers soon perceived the Stars which were to Rule their Destiny, which sparkled a Lustre beyond all the Inferior Constellations, and seemed like two Suns to distribute Light to all the Planets in that Heavenly Sphere. Leonora knew her Slave by his Badge, and blushed till the Lilies and Roses in her Cheeks had resemblance to the Plume of Crimson and White Handkerchief in Hippolito's Chrest. He made her a low Bow, and reined his Horse back with an extraordinary Grace, into a respectful Retreat. Aurelian saw his Angel, his beautiful Incognita, and had no other way to make himself known to her, but by saluting and bowing to her after the Spanish Mode; she guessed him by it to be her new Servant Hippolito, and signified her Apprehension, by making him a more particular and obliging return, than to any of the Cavaliers who had saluted her before.  
The Exercise that was to be performed was in general a running at the Ring; and afterwards two Cavaliers undertook to defend the Beauty of Donna Catharina, against all who would not allow her Pre-eminence of their Mistresses. This thing was only designed for Show and Form, none presuming that any Body would put so great an Affront upon the Bride and Duke's Kinswoman, as to dispute her Pretensions to the first place in the Court of Venus. But here our Cavaliers were under a Mistake; for seeing a large Shield carried before two Knights, with a Lady painted upon it; not knowing who, but reading the Inscription which was (in large Gold Letters) Above the Insolence of Competition. They thought themselves obliged, especially in the Presence of their Mistresses, to vindicate their Beauty; and were just spurring on to engage the Champions, when a Gentleman stopping them, told them their Mistake, that it was the Picture of Donna Catharina, and a particular Honour done to her by his Highness' Commands, and not to be disputed. Upon this they would have returned to their Post, much concerned for their Mistake; but notice being taken by Don Ferdinand of some Show of Opposition that was made, he would have begged leave of the Duke, to have maintained his Lady's Honour against those Cavaliers; but the Duke would by no means permit it. They were arguing about it when one of them came up, before whom the Shield was born, and demanded his Highness' Permission, to inform those Gentlemen better of their Mistake, by giving them the Foil. By the Intercession of Don Ferdinand, leave was given them; whereupon a Civil Challenge was sent to the two Strangers, informing them of their Error, and withal telling them they must either maintain it by force of Arms, or make a public Acknowledgement by riding Bareheaded before the Picture once round the Lists. The Stranger-Cavaliers remonstrated to the Duke how sensible they were of their Error; and though they would not justify it, yet they could not decline the Combat, being pressed to it beyond an honourable Refusal. To the Bride they sent a Compliment, wherein, having first begged her Pardon for not knowing her Picture, they gave her to understand, that now they were not about to dispute her undoubted Right to the Crown of Beauty, but the Honour of being her Champions was the Prize they sought for, which they thought themselves as able to maintain as any other Pretenders. Wherefore they prayed her, that if Fortune so far befriended their Endeavours as to make them Victors, that they might receive no other Reward, but to be crowned with the Titles of their Adversaries, and be ever after esteemed as her most humble Servants. The Excuse was so handsomely designed, and much better expressed than 'tis here, that it took effect. The Duke, Don Ferdinand and his Lady, were so well satisfied with it as to grant their Request.  
While the running at the Ring lasted, our Cavaliers alternately bore away great share of the Honour. That Sport ended, Marshals were appointed for the Field, and every thing in great Form settled for the Combat. The Cavaliers were all in good earnest, but Orders were given to bring 'em blunted Lances, and to forbid the drawing of a Sword upon pain of his Highness' Displeasure. The Trumpets sounded, and they began their Course. The Lady's Hearts, particularly the Incognita and Leonora's, beat time to the Horses Hoofs, and Hope and Fear made a mock Fight within their tender Breast, each wishing and doubting Success where she liked: But as the generality of their Prayers were for the graceful Strangers, they accordingly succeeded. Aurelian's Adversary was unhorsed in the first Encounter, and Hippolito's lost both his Stirrups and dropped his Lance to save himself. The Honour of the Field was immediately granted to them, and Donna Catherina sent them both Favours, which she prayed them to wear as her Knights. The Crowd breaking up, our Cavaliers made a shift to steal off unmarked, save by the watchful Leonora and Incognita, whose Eyes were never off from their respective Servants. There was enquiry made for them, but to no purpose; for they, to prevent their being discovered, had prepared another House, distant from their Lodging, where a Servant attended to disarm them, and another carried back their Horses to the Villa, while they walked unsuspected to their Lodging; but Incognita had given Command to a Page to dog 'em till the Evening, at a distance, and bring her word where they were latest housed.  
While several Conjectures passed among the Company, who were all gone to Dinner at the Palace, who those Cavaliers should be, Don Fabio thought himself the only Man able to guests; for he knew for certain that his Son and Hippolito were both in Town, as was well enough pleased with his humour of remaining Incognito till the Diversions should be over, believing then that the surprise of his Discovery would add much to the Gallantry he had shown in Masquerade; but hearing the extraordinary liking that every body expressed, and in a particular manner, the great Duke himself, to the Persons and Behaviour of the unknown Cavaliers, the Old Gentleman could not forbear the Vanity to tell his Highness, that he believed he had an interest in one of the Gentlemen, whom he was pleased to honour with so favourable a Character; and told him what reason he had to believe the one to be his Son, and the other a Spanish Nobleman, his Friend.  
This discovery having thus got vent, was diffused like Air; every body sucked it in, and let it out again with their Breath to the next they met withal; and in half an hours time it was talked of in the House where our Adventurers were lodged. Aurelian was stark mad at the News, and knew what search would be immediately made for him. Hippolito, had he not been desperately in Love, would certainly have taken Horse and rid out of Town just then; for he could make no longer doubt of being discovered, and he was afraid of the just Exceptions Leonora might make to a Person who had now deceived her twice. Well, we will leave them both fretting and contriving to no purpose, to look about and see what was done at the Palace, where their doom was determined much quicker than they imagined.  
Dinner ended, the Duke retired with some chosen Friends to a Glass of Wine; among whom were the Marquis of Viterbo and Don Fabio. His Highness was no Stranger to the long Feud that had been between the two Families, and also understood what Overtures of Reconciliation had been lately made, with the Proposals of Marriage between Aurelian and the Marquess' Daughter. Having waited till the Wine had taken the effect proposed, and the Company were raised to an uncommon pitch of Cheerfulness, which he also encouraged by an Example of Freedom and good Humour, he took an Opportunity of rallying the two grave Signiors into an Accommodation: That was seconded with the Praises of the Young Couple, and the whole Company joined in a large Encomium upon the Graces of Aurelian, and the the Beauties of Juliana. The old Fellows were tickled with Delight to hear their Darlings so admired, which the Duke perceiving, out of a Principle of Generosity and Friendship, urged the present Consummation of the Marriage; telling them there was yet one Day of public Rejoicing to come, and how glad he should be to have it improved by so acceptable an Alliance; and what an Honour it would be to have his Cousin's Marriage attended by the Conjunction of so extraordinary a Pair, the performance of which Ceremony would crown the Joy that was then in Agitation, and make the last Day vie for equal Glory and Happiness with the first. In short, by the Complaisant and Persuasive Authority of the Duke, the Dons were wrought into a Compliance, and accordingly embraced and shaken Hands upon the matter. This News was dispersed like the former, and Don Fabio gave Orders for the enquiring out his Son's Lodgings, that the Marquis and he might make him a Visit, as soon as he had acquainted Juliana with his purpose, that she might prepare herself. He found her very cheerful with Donna Catherina, and several other Ladies: Whereupon the Old Gentleman, pretty well warmed with the Duke's good Fellowship, told her aloud, He was come to Crown their Mirth with another Wedding; that his Highness had been pleased to provide a Husband for his Daughter, and he would have her provide herself to receive him to morrow. All the Company at first, as well as Juliana herself, thought he had rallied, till the Duke coming in confirmed the serious part of his Discourse. Juliana was confounded at the Haste that was imposed on her, and desired a little time to consider what she was about. But the Marquis told her, She should have all the rest of her Life to consider in; that Aurelian should come and consider with her in the Morning, if she pleased; but in the mean time, he advised her to go home and call her Maids to Counsel.  
Juliana took her leave of the Company very gravely, as if not much delighted with her Father's Raillery. Leonora happened to be by, and heard all that passed; she was ready to swoon, and found herself seized with a more violent Passion than ever for Aurelian: Now upon her apprehensions of losing him, her active fancy had brought him before her with all the advantages imaginable, and though she had before found great tenderness in her Inclination toward him, yet was she somewhat surprised to find she really loved him. She was so uneasy at what she had heard, that she thought it convenient to steal out of the presence, and retire to her Closet, to bemoan her unhappy helpless Condition.  
Our Two Cavalier-Lovers had racked their Invention till it was quite disabled, and could not make discovery of one Contrivance more for their Relief. Both sat silent, each depending upon his Friend, and still expecting when t'other should speak. Night came upon them while they sat thus thoughtless, or rather drowned in Thought; but a Servant bringing Lights into the Room awakened them: And Hippolito's Speech, ushered by a profound Sigh, broke Silence.  
Well! (said he) what must we do, Aurelian? We must suffer, replied Aurelian faintly. When immediately raising his Voice, he cried out, Oh ye unequal Powers, why do ye urge us to desire what ye doom us to forbear; give us a Will to choose, then kerb us with a Duty to restrain that Choice! Cruel Father, Will nothing else suffice! Am I to be the Sacrifice to expiate your Offences past; past ere I was born? Were I to lose my Life, I'd gladly Seal your Reconcilement with my Blood. But Oh my Soul is free; you have no Title to my Immortal Being, that has Existence independent of your Power; and must I lose my Love, the Extract of that Being, the Joy, Light, Life, and Darling of my Soul? No, I'll own my Flame, and plead my Title too.— But hold, wretched Aurelian, hold, whither does thy Passion hurry thee? Alas! the cruel fair Incognita Loves thee not! She knows not of thy Love! If she did, what Merit hast thou to pretend?— Only Love.— Excess of Love. And all the World has that. All that have seen her. Yet I had only seen her once, and in that once I loved above the World; nay, loved beyond myself, such vigorous Flame, so strong, so quick she darted at my Breast; it must rebound, and by Reflection, warm herself. Ah! welcome Thought, lovely deluding Fancy, hang still upon my Soul, let me but think, that once she Loves, and perish my Despair.  
Here a sudden stop gave a Period also to Hippolito's Expectation, and he hoped now that his Friend had given his Passion so free a vent, he might recollect and bethink himself of what was convenient to be done; but Aurelian, as if he had mustered up all his Spirits purely to acquit himself of that passionate Harangue, stood mute and insensible like an Alarm Clock, that had spent all its force in one violent Emotion. Hippolito shook him by the Arm to rouse him from his Lithargy, when his Lackey coming into the Room, out of Breath, told him there was a Coach just stopped at the Door, but he did not take time to see who came in it. Aurelian, concluded immediately it was his Father in quest of him; and without saying any more to Hippolito, than that he was Ruined if discovered, took his Sword and slipped down a back pair of Stairs into the Garden, from whence he conveyed himself into the Street. Hippolito had not bethought himself what to do, before he perceived a Lady come into the Chamber close veiled, and make toward him. At the first appearance of a Woman, his Imagination flattered him with a Thought of Leonora; but that was quickly over upon nearer Approach to the Lady, who had much the Advantage in Stature of his Mistress. He very civilly accosted her, and asked, if he were the Person to whom the Honour of that Visit was intended. She said, her Business was with Don Hippolito di Saviolina, to whom she had Matter of Concern to import, and which required haste. He had like to have told her, That he was the Man, but by good Chance reflecting upon his Friend's Adventure, who had taken his name, he made Answer, that he believed Don Hippolito not far off, and if she had a Moment's Patience he would inquire for him.  
He went out, leaving the Lady in the Room, and made search all round the House and Garden for Aurelian, but to no purpose. The Lady, impatient of his long stay, took a Pen and Ink and some Paper which she found upon the Table, and had just made an End of her Letter, when hearing a Noise of more than one coming up Stairs, she concluded his Friend had found him, and that her Letter would be to no purpose, so tore it in pieces, which she repent; when turning about, she found her mistake, and beheld Don Fobio and the Marquis of Viterbo just entering at the Door. She gave a Shriek at the Surprise of their Appearance, which much troubled the Old Gentlemen, and made them retire in Confusion▪ for putting a Gentlewoman into such a Fright. The Marquis thinking they had been misinformed, or had mistaken the Lodgings, came forward again, and made an Apology to the Lady for their Error; but she making no reply, walked directly by him down Stairs and went into her Coach, which hurried her away as speedily as the Horses were able to draw.  
The Dons were at a loss what to think, when, Hippolito coming into the Room to give the Lady an Account of his Errand, was no less astonished to find she was departed, and had left Two Old Signiors in her stead. He knew Don Fabio's Face, for Aurelian had shown him his Father at the Tilting; but being confident he was not known to him, he ventured to ask him concerning a Lady whom just now he had left in that Chamber. Don Fabio told him, she was just gone down, and doubted they had been Guilty of a Mistake, in coming to inquire for a Couple of Gentlemen whom they were informed were Lodged in that House; he begged his Pardon if he had any Relation to that Lady, and desired to know if he could give them any Account of the Persons they sought for. Hippolito made answer, He was a Stranger in the Place, and only a Servant to that Lady whom they had disturbed, and whom he must go and seek out. And in this Perplexity he left them going again in search of Aurelian, to inform him of what had passed.  
The Old Gentlemen at last meeting with a Servant of the House, were directed to Signior Claudio's Chamber, where they were no sooner entered, but Aurelian came into the House. A Servant who had skulked for him by Hippolito's Order, followed him up into the Chamber, and told him who was with Claudio then making Enquiry for him. He thought that to be no Place for him, since Claudio must needs discover all the Truth to his Father; wherefore he left Directions with the Servant, where Hippolito should meet him in the Morning. As he was going out of the Room he espied a torn Paper, which the Lady had thrown upon the Floor: The first piece he took up had Incognita written upon it; the sight of which so Alarmed him, he scarce knew what he was about; but hearing a Noise of a Door opening over Head, with as much Care as was consistent with the haste he was then in, he gathered up the scattered pieces of Paper, and betook himself to a Ramble.  
Coming by a Light which hung at the Corner of a Street, he joined the torn Papers and collected thus much, that his Incognita had Written the Note, and earnestly desired him (if there were any reality in what he pretended to her) to meet her at Twelve a Clock that Night at a Convent Gate; but unluckily the Bit of Paper which should have mentioned what Convent, was broken off and lost.  
Here was a large Subject for Aurelian's Passion, which he did not spare to pour forth in Abundance of Curses on his Stars. So earnest was he in the Contemplation of his Misfortunes, that he walked on unwittingly; till at length a Silence (and such as was only to be found in that part of the Town, whither his unguided Steps had carried him) surprised his Attention. I say, a profound Silence roused him from his Thought; and a clap of Thunder could have done no more.  
Now because it is possible this at some time or other may happen to be read by some Malicious or Ignorant Person, (no Reflection upon the present Reader) who will not admit, or does not understand that Silence should make a Man start; and have the same Effect, in provoking his Attention, with its opposite Noise; I will illustrate this Matter, to such a diminutive Critic, by a Parallel instance of Light; which though it does chief entertain the Eyes, and is indeed the prime Object of the Sight, yet should it immediately cease, to have a Man left in the Dark by a sudden deficiency of it, would make him stare with his Eyes, and though he could not see, endeavour to look about him. Why just thus did it far with our Adventurer; who seeming to have wandered both into the Dominions of Silence and of Night, began to have some tender for his own Safety, and would willingly have groped his Way back again; when he heard a Voice, as from a Person whose Breath had been stopped by some forcible Oppression, and just then, by a violent Effort, was broke through the Restraint.— Yet— Yet— (again replied the Voice, still struggling for Air,) Forbear— and I'll forgive what's past— I have done nothing yet that needs a Pardon, (says another) and what is to come, will admit of none.  
Here the Person who seemed to be Oppressed, made several Attempts to speak, but they were only inarticulate Sounds, being all interrupted and choked in their Passage.  
Aurelian was sufficiently astonished, an● would have crept nearer to the Place whence he guessed the Voice to come; but he was got among the Ruins of an Old Monastery, and could not stir so silently; but some lose Stones he met with made a rumbling. The Noise alarmed both Parties; and as it gave Comfort to the one, it so Terrified the tother, that he could not hinder the Oppressed from calling for help. Aurelian fancied it was a Woman's Voice, and immediately drawing his Sword demanded what was the Matter; he was answered with the Appearance of a Man, who had opened a Dark Lantern which he had by him, and came toward him with a Pistol in his Hand ready cocked.  
Aurelian seeing the  advantage his Adversary had over him, would fain have retired; and, by the greatest Providence in the World, going backwards fell down over some lose Stones that lay in his Way, just in that Instant of Time when the Villain fired his Pistol, who seeing him fall, concluded he had Shot him. The Cries of the afflicted Person were redoubled at the Tragical Sight, which made the Murderer, drawing a Poniard, to threaten him, that the next Murmur should be his last. Aurelian, who was scarce assured that he was unhurt, got softly up; and coming near enough to perceive the Violence that was used to stop the Injured Man's Mouth; (for now he saw plainly it was a Man) cried out,— Turn, Villain, and look upon thy Death— The Fellow amazed at the Voice, turned about to have snatched up the Lantern from the Ground either to have given Light only to himself, or to have put out the Candle, that he might have made his Escape; but which of the Two he designed, no Body could tell but himself: And if the Reader have a Curiosity to know, he must blame Aurelian; who thinking there could be no foul Play offered to such a Villain, ran him immediately through the Heart, so that he dropped down Dead at his Feet, without speaking a Word. He would have seen who the Person was he had thus happily delivered, but the Dead Body had fallen upon the Lantern, which put out the Candle: However, coming up toward him, he asked him how he did, and bid him be of good Heart; he was answered with nothing but Prayers, Blessings and Thanks, called a Thousand Deliverers, good Genius's and Guardian Angels. And the Rescued would certainly have gone upon his Knees to have worshipped him, had he not been bound Hand and Foot; which Aurelian understanding, groped for the Knots, and either untied them or cut them asunder; but 'tis more probable the latter, because more expeditious.  
They took little heed what became of the Body which they left behind them, and Aurelian was conducted from out the Ruins by the Hand of him he had delivered. By a faint light issuing from the just rising Moon, he could discern that it was a Youth; but coming into a more frequented part of the Town, where several Lights were hung out, he was amazed at the extreme Beauty which appeared in his Face, though a little pale and disordered with his late fright. Aurelian longed to hear the Story of so odd an adventure, and entreated his Charge to tell it him by the way; but he desired him to forbear till they were come into some House or other, where he might rest and recover his tired Spirits, for yet he was so faint he was unable to look up. Aurelian thought these last words were delivered in a Voice, whose accent was not new to him. That thought made him look earnestly in the Youth's Face, which he now was sure he had somewhere seen before, and thereupon asked him if he had never been at Sienna! That Question made the young Gentleman look up, and something of a Joy appeared in his Countenance, which yet he endeavoured to smother; so praying Aurelian to conduct him to his Lodging, he promised him that as soon as they should come thither, he would acquaint him with any thing he desired to know. Aurelian would rather have gone any where else than to his own Lodging; but being so very late, he was at a loss, and so forced to be contented.  
As soon as they were come into his Chamber, and that Lights were brought them, and the Servant dismissed, the paleness which so visibly before had usurped the sweet Countenance of the afflicted Youth vanished, and gave place to a more lively Flood of Crimson, which with a modest heat glowed freshly on his Cheeks. Aurelian waited with a pleasing Admiration the discovery promised him, when the Youth still struggling with his Resolution, with a timorous haste, pulled off a Peruke which had concealed the most beautiful abundance of Hair that ever graced-one Female Head; those dishevelled spreading Tresses, as at first they made a discovery of, so at last they served for a veil to the modest lovely blushes of the fair Incognita; for she it was and none other. But Oh! the inexpressible, inconceivable joy and amazement of Aurelian! As soon as he durst venture to think, he concluded it to be all Vision, and never doubted so much of any thing in his Life as if his being then awake. But she taking him by the Hand, and desiring him to sit down by her, partly convinced him of the reality of her presence.  
This is the second time, Don Hippolito, (said she to him) that I have been here this Night. What the occasion was of my seeking you out, and how by miracle you preserved me, would add too much to the surprise I perceive you to be already in should I tell you: Nor will I make any further discovery, till I know what censure you pass upon the confidence which I have put in you, and the strange Circumstances in which you find me at this time. I am sensible they are such, that I shall not blame your severest Conjectures; but I hope to convince you, when you shall hear what I have to say in justification of my Virtue.  
Justification! (cried Aurelian) what Infidel dares doubt it!— Then kneeling down, and taking her Hand, Ah Madam (says he) would Heaven would not other ways look upon, than I behold your Perfections— Wrong not your Creature with a Thought, he can be guilty of that horrid Impiety as once to doubt your Virtue.— Heaven! (cried he, starting up) am I so really blessed to see you once again! May I trust my Sight?— Or does my fancy now only more strongly work?— For still I did preserve your Image in my Heart, and you were ever present to my dearest Thoughts.—  
Enough Hippolito, enough of Rapture (said she) you cannot much accuse me of Ingratitude; for you see I have not been unmindful of you; but moderate your Joy till I have told you my Condition, and if for my sake you are raised to this Delight, it is not of a long continuance.—  
At that (as Aurelian tells the Story) a Sigh diffused a mournful sweetness through the Air, and liquid grief fell gently from her Eyes, triumphant sadness sat upon her Brow, and even sorrow seemed delighted with the Conquest he had made. See what a change Aurelian felt! His heart bled Tears, and trembled in his Breast; Sighs struggling for a vent had choacked each others passage up: His Floods of Joys were all suppressed; cold doubts and fears had chilled 'em with a sudden Frost, and he was troubled to excess; yet knew not why. Well, the Learned say it was Sympathy; and I am always of the Opinion with the Learned, if they speak first.  
After a World of Condoleance had passed between them, he prevailed with her to tell him her Story. So having put all her Sighs into one great Sighs, she discharged herself of 'em all at once, and form the Relation you are just about to Read.  
Having been in my Infancy Contracted to a Man I could never endure, and now by my Parents being likely to be forced to Marry him, is in short, the great occasion of my grief. I fansyed (continued she) something so Generous in your Countenance, and uncommon in your Behaviour, while you were diverting yourself, and rallying me with Expressions of Gallantry, at the Ball as induced me to hold Conference with you. I now freely confessed to you, out of design, That if things should happen as I then feared, and as now they are come to pass, I might rely upon your Assistance in a matter of Concern; and in which I would sooner choose to depend upon a generous Stranger, than any Acquaintance I have. What Mirth and Freedom I then put on, were, I can assure you, far distant from my Heart; but I did violence to myself out of Complaisance to your Temper.— I knew you at the Tilting, and wished you might come off as you did; though I do not doubt, but you would have had as good Success had it been opposite to my Inclinations.— Not to detain you by too tedious a Relation, every day my Friends urged me to the Match they had agreed upon for me, before I was capable of Consenting; at last their importunities grew to that degree, that I found I must either consent, which would make me miserable, or be miserable by perpetually enduring to be baited by my Father, Brother, and other Relations. I resolved yesterday, on a sudden, to give firm Faith to the Opinion I had conceived of you; and accordingly came in the Evening to request your assistance, in delivering me from my Tormentors, by a safe and private conveyance of me to a Monastery about four Leagues hence, where I have an Aunt who will receive me, and is the only Relation I have averse to the Match. I was surprised at the appearance of some Company I did not expect at your Lodgings; which made me in haste tear a Paper which I had written to you with Directions where to find me, and get speedily away in my Coach to an old Servant's House, whom I acquainted with my purpose: By my Order she provided me of this Habit which I now wear; I ventured to trust myself with her Brother, and resolved to go under his Conduct to the Monastery; he proved to be a Villain, and pretending to take me a short and private way to the place where he was to take up a Hackney Coach (for that which I came in was broke somewhere or other, with the haste it made to carry me from your Lodging) led me into an old ruined Monastery, where it pleased Heaven, by what Accident I know not, to direct you. I need not tell you how you saved my Life and my Honour by revenging me with the Death of my  Guide. This is the sum of my present Condition, bating the apprehensions I am in of being taken by some of my Relations, and forced to a thing so quite contrary to my Inclinations.  
Aurelian was confounded at the Relation she had made, and began to fear his own Estate to be more desperate than ever he had imagined. He made her a very Passionate and Eloquent Speech in behalf of himself (much better than I intent to insert here) and expressed a mighty concern that she should look upon his ardent Affection to be only Raillery or Gallantry. He was very free of his Oaths to confirm the Truth of what he pretended, nor I believe did she doubt it, or at least was unwilling so to do: For I would Caution the the Reader by the buy, nor to believe every word which she told him, not that admirable sorrow which she counterfeited to be accurately true. It was indeed truth so cunningly intermingled with Fiction, that it required no less Wit and Presence of Mind than she was endowed with so to acquit herself on the sudden. She had entrusted herself indeed with a Fellow who proved a Villain, to conduct her to a Monastery; but one which was in the Town, and where she intended only to lie concealed for his sake; as the Reader shall understand ere long: For we have another Discovery to make to him, if he have not found it out of himself already.  
After Aurelian had said what he was able upon the Subject in hand, with a mournful tone and dejected look, he demanded his Doom. She asked him if he would endeavour to convey her to the Monastery she had told him of; Your commands, Madam, (replied he) are Sacred to me; and were they to lay down my Life I would obey them. With that he would have gone out of the Room, to have given order for his Horses to be got ready immediately; but with a Countenance so full of sorrow as moved Compassion in the tender hearted Incognita. Stay a little Don Hippolito (said she) I fear I shall not be able to undergo the Fatigue of a Journey, this Night.— Stay and give me your Advice how I shall conceal myself if I continue to morrow in this Town. Aurelian could have satisfied her she was not then in a place to avoid discovery: But he must also have told her then the reason of it, viz. whom he was, and who were in quest of him, which he did not think convenient to declare till necessity should urge him; for he feared least her knowledge of those-designs which were in agitation between him and Juliana, might deter her more from giving her consent. At last he resolved to try his utmost persuasions to gain her, and told her accordingly, he was afraid she would be disturbed there in the Morning, and he knew no other way (if she had not as great an aversion for him as the Man whom she now endeavoured to avoid) than by making him happy to make herself secure. He demonstrated to her, that the disobligation to her Parents would be greater by going to a Monastery, since it was only to avoid a choice which they had made for her, and which she could not have so just a pretence to do till she had made one for herself.  
A World of other Arguments he used, which she contradicted as long as she was able, or at least willing. At last she told him, she would consult her Pillow, and in the Morning conclude what was fit to be done. He thought it convenient to leave her to her rest, and having locked her up in his Room, went himself to repose upon a  by Signior Claudio.  
In the mean time, it may be convenient to inquire what became of Hippolito. He had wandered much in pursuit of Aurelian, though Leonora equally took up his Thoughts; He was reflecting upon the oddness and extravagance of his Circumstances, the Continuation of which had doubtless created in him a great uneasiness, when it was interrupted with the noise of opening the Gates of the Convent of St. Laurence, whither he was arrived sooner than he thought for, being the place Aurelian had appointed by the Lackey to meet him in. He wondered to see the Gates opened at so unseasonable an hour, and went to inquire the reason of it from them who were employed; but they proved to be Novices, and made him signs to go in, where he might meet with some body allowed to answer him. He found the Religious Men all up, and Tapers lighting every where: at last he followed a Friar who was going into the Garden, and ask him the cause of these Preparations, he was answered, That they were entreated to pray for the Soul of a Cavalier, who was just departing or departed this Life, and whom upon farther talk with him, he found to be the same Lorenzo so often mentioned. Don Mario, it seems Uncle to Lorenzo and Father to Leonora, had a private Door out of the Garden, belonging to his House into that of the Convent, which Door this Father was now a going to open, that he and his Family might come and offer up their Orisons for the Soul of their Kinsman. Hippolito having informed himself of as much as he could ask without suspicion, took his leave of the Friar, not a little joyful at the Hopes he had by such unexpected Means, of seeing his Beautiful Leonora: As soon as he was got at convenient Distance from the Friar, (who 'tis like thought he had returned into the Convent to his Devotion) he returned back through a close Walk which led him with a little Compass, to the same private Door, where just before he had left the Friar, who now he saw was gone, and the Door open.  
He went into Don Mario's Garden, and walked round with much Caution and Circumspection; for the Moon was then about to rise, and had already diffused a glimmering Light, sufficient to distinguish a Man from a Tree. By Computation now (which is a very remarkable Circumstance) Hippolito entered this Garden near upon the same Instant, when Aurelian wandered into the Old Monastery and found his Incognita in Distress. He was pretty well acquainted with the Platform, and Sight of the Garden; for he had formerly surveyed the Outside, and knew what part to make to if he should be surprised and driven to a precipitate Escape. He took his Stand behind a well-grown Bush of Myrtle, which, should the Moon shine brighter than was required, had the Advantage to be shaded by the Indulgent Boughs of an ancient Bay-Tree. He was delighted with the Choice he had made, for he found a Hallow in the Myrtle, as if purposely contrived for the Reception of one Person, who might undiscovered perceive all about him. He looked upon it as a good Omen, that the Tree Consecrated to Venus was so propitious to him in his Amorous Distress. The Consideration of that, together with the Obligation he lay under to the Muses, for sheltering him also with so large a Crown of Bays, had like to have set him a Rhyming.  
He was, to tell the Truth, naturally addicted to Madrigal, and we should undoubtedly have had a small desert of Numbers to have picked and Criticised upon, had he not been interrupted just upon his Delivery; nay, after the Preliminary Sigh had made Way for his Utterance. But so was his Fortune, Don Mario was coming towards the Door at that very nick of Time, where he met with a Priest just out of Breath, who told him that Lorenzo was just breathing his last, and desired to know if he would come and take his final Leave before they were to administer the Extreme Unction. Don Mario, who had been at some Difference with his Nephew, now thought it his Duty to be Reconciled to him; so calling to Leonora, who was coming after him, he bid her go to her Devotions in the Chapel, and told her where he was going.  
He went on with the Priest, while Hippolito saw Leonora come forward, only accompanied by her Woman. She was in an undress, and by reason of a Melancholy visible in her Face, more Careless than usual in her Attire, which he thought added as much as was possible to the abundance of her Charms. He had not much Time to Contemplate this Beauteous Vision, for she soon passed into the Garden of the Convent, leaving him Confounded with Love, Admiration, Joy, Hope, Fear, and all the Train of Passions, which seize upon Men in his Condition, all at once. He was so teazed with this Variety of Torment, that he never miss the Two Hours that had slipped away during his Automachy and Intestine Conflict. Leonora's Return settled his Spirits, at least united them, and he had now no other Thought but how he should present himself before her. When she calling her Woman, bid her bolt the Garden Door on the Inside, that she might not be Surprised by her Father, if he returned through the Convent; which done, she ordered her to bring down her Lute, and leave her to herself in the Garden.  
All this Hippolito saw and heard to his inexpressible Content, yet had he much to do to smother his Joy, and hinder it from taking a Vent, which would have ruined the only Opportunity of his Life. Leonora withdrew into an Arbour so near him, that he could distinctly hear her if she Played or Sung: Having tuned her Lute, with a Voice soft as the Breath of Angels, she sung to it this following Air:  

I.  
Ah! Whither, whither shall I fly,  
A poor unhappy Maid;  
To hopeless Love and Misery  
By my own Heart betrayed?  
Not by Alexis Eyes undone,  
Nor by his Charming Faithless Tongue,  
Or any Practised Art;  
Such real Ills may hope a Cure,  
But the sad Pains which I endure  
Proceed from fancied Smart.   

II.  
'Twas Fancy gave Alexis Charms,  
Ere I beheld his Face:  
Kind Fancy (then) could fold our Arms,  
And form a soft Embrace.  
But since I've seen the real Swain,  
And tried to fancy him again,  
I'm by my Fancy taught,  
Though 'tis a Bliss no Tongue can tell,  
To have Alexis, yet 'tis Hell  
To have him but in Thought.   
The Song ended grieved Hippolito that it was so soon ended; and in the Ecstacy he was then rapt, I believe he would have been satisfied to have expired with it. He could not help Flattering himself, (though at the same Time he checked his own Vanity) that he was the Person meant in the Song. While he was indulging which thought, to his happy Astonishment, he heard it encouraged by these Words:  
Unhappy Leonora (said she) how is thy poor unwary Heart misled? Whither am I come? The false deluding Lights of an imaginary Flame have led me, a poor benighted Victim, to a real Fire. I burn and am consumed with hopeless Love; those Beams, in whose soft temperate Warmth I wantoned heretofore, now flash Destruction to my Soul; my treacherous greedy Eyes have sucked the glaring Light, they have united all its Rays, and, like a Burning-glass, conveyed the pointed Meteor to my Heart— Ah! Aurelian how quickly hast thou conquered, and how quickly must thou forsake.— Oh happy (to me unfortunately Happy) Juliana!— I am to be the Subject of thy Triumph— To thee Aurelian comes laden with the Tribute of my Heart, and glories in the Oblation of his broken Vows.— What then, is Aurelian False!— False! alas, I know not what I say: How can he be False, or True, or any thing to me? What Promises did he  make or I receive? Sure I dream, or I am mad, and fancy it to be Love: Foolish Girl, recall thy banished Reason. Ah! would it were no more, would I could rave, sure that would give me Ease, and rob me of the Sense of Pain; at least, among my wand'ring Thoughts, I should at some time light upon Aurelian, and fancy him to be mine; kind Madness would flatter my poor feeble Wishes, and sometimes tell me Aurelian is not lost— not irrecoverably— nor for ever lost.  
Hippolito could hear no more, he had not room for half his Transport. When Leonora perceived a Man coming toward her, she fell a trembling, and could not speak. Hippolito approached with Reverence, as to a Sacred Shrine; when coming near enough to see her Consternation, he fell upon his Knees.  
Behold, O Adored Leonora (said he) your ravished Aurelian, behold at your Feet the happiest of Men; be not disturbed at my Appearance, but think that Heaven conducted me to hear my Bliss pronounced by that dear Mouth alone, whose Breath could fill me with new Life.  
Here he would have come nearer, but Leonora (scarce come to herself) was getting up in haste to have gone away: he catched her hand, and with all the Endearments of Love and Transport pressed her stay; she was a long time in great Confusion, at last, with many Blushes, she entreated him to let her go where she might hid her Head, and not Expose her Shame before his Eyes, since his Ears had been sufficient Witnesses of her Crime. He begged Pardon for his Treachery in overhearing, and confessed it to be a Crime he had now repeated. With a thousand Submissions, Entreaties, Prayers, Praises, Blessings, and passionate Expressions, he wrought upon her to stay and hear him. Here Hippolito made use of his Rhetoric, and it proved prevailing. 'Twere tedious to tell the many ingenious Arguments he used, with all her Nice Distinctions and Objections. In short, he convinced her of his Passion, represented to her the necessity they were under, of being speedy in their Resolves: That his Father (for still he was Aurelian) would undoubtedly find him in the Morning, and then it would be too late to repent. She, on the other Hand, knew it was in vain to deny a Passion, which he had heard her so frankly own; (and no doubt was very glad 'twas past and done;) besides apprehending the Danger of Delay, and having some little Jealousies and Fears of what Effect might be produced between the Commands of the Father, and the Beauties of Juliana; after some decent Denials, she consented to be conducted by him through the Garden into the Convent, where she would prevail with her Confessor to Marry them. He was a scrupulous Old Father whom they had to deal withal, insomuch that ere they had persuaded him, Don Mario was returned by the way of his own House, where missing his Daughter, and her Woman not being able to give any farther Account of her, than that she left her in the Garden, he concluded she was gone again to her Devotions; and indeed he found her in the Chapel upon her Knees with Hippolito in her Hand, receiving the Father's Benediction upon Conclusion of the Ceremony.  
It would have asked a very skilful Hand, to have depicted to the Life, the Faces of these Three Persons, at Don Mario's Appearance. He that has seen some admirable Piece of Transmutation by a Gorgon's Head, may form to himself the most probable Idea of the Prototype. The Old Gentleman was himself in a sort of a Wood, to find his Daughter with a Young Fellow and a Priest, but as yet he did not know the worst, till Hippolito and Leonora came, and kneeling at his Feet, begged his Forgiveness and Blessing as his Son and Daughter. Don Mario, instead of that, fell into a most violent Passion, and would undoubtedly have committed some extravagant Action, had he not been restrained, more by the Sanctity of the Place, than the Persuasions of all the Religious, who were now come about him. Leonora stirred not off her Knees all this time, but continued begging of him that he would hear her.  
Ah! Ungrateful and Undutiful Wretch, (cried he) how hast thou requited all my Care and Tenderness of thee? Now when I might have expected some return of Comfort, to throw thyself away upon an unknown Person, and, for aught I know, a Villain; to me I'm sure he is a Villain, who has robbed me of my Treasure, my Darling Joy, and all the Future Happiness of my Life prevented. Go— go, thou now-to-be-forgotten Leonora, go and enjoy thy unprosperous Choice; you who wanted not a Father's Counsel, cannot need, or else will slight his Blessing.  
These last Words were spoken with so much Passion and fatal Concern, that Leonora, moved with Excess of Grief, fainted at his Feet, just as she had caught hold to embrace his Knees. The Old Man would have shaken her off, but Compassion and Fatherly Affection came upon him in the midst of his Resolve, and melted him into Tears; he Embraced his Daughter in his Arms, and wept over her, while they endeavoured to restore her Senses.  
Hippolito was in such Concern he could not speak, but was busily employed in rubbing and chafing her Temples; when she opening her Eyes laid hold of his Arm, and cried out— Oh my Aurelian— how unhappy have you made me! With that she had again like to have fainted away, but he shook her in his Arms, and begged Don Mario to have some pity on his Daughter, since by his Severity she was reduced to that Condition. The Old Man hearing his Daughter name Aurelian, was a little revived, and began to hope Things were in a pretty good Condition, he was persuaded to comfort her; and having brought her wholly to herself, was content to hear her Excuse, and in a little time was so far wrought upon as to beg Hippolito's Pardon for the Ill Opinion he had conceived of him, and not long after gave his Consent.  
The Night was spent this Conflict, and it was now clear Day, when Don Mario Conducting his new Son and Daughter through the Garden, was met by some Servants of the Marquis of Viterbo, who had been enquiring for Donna Leonora, to know if Juliana had lately been with her; for that she was missing from her Father's House, and no conjectures could be made of what might become of her. Don Mario and Leonora were surprised at the News, for he knew well enough of the Match that was designed for Juliana; and having enquired where the Marquis was, it was told him, That he was gone with Don Fabio and Fabritio toward Aurelian's Lodgings. Don Mario having assured the Servants that Juliana had not been there, dismissed them, and advised with his Son and Daughter how they should undeceive the Marquis and Don Fabio in their Expectations of Aurelian. Hippolito could oftentimes scarce forbear smiling at the old Man's Contrivances who was most deceived himself; he at length advised them to go all down together to his Lodging, where he would present himself before his Father, and ingeniously confess to him the truth, and he did not question his approving of his Choice.  
This was agreed to, and the Coach made ready. While they were upon their way, Hippolito prayed hearty that his Friend Aurelian might be at the Lodging, to satisfy Don Mario and Leonora of his Circumstances and Quality, when he should be obliged to discover himself. His Petitions were granted; for Don Fabio had beset the House long before his Son was up or Incognita awake.  
Upon the arrival of Don Mario and Hippolito, they heard a great Noise and Hubbub above Stairs, which Don Mario concluded was occasioned by their not finding Aurelian, whom he thought he could give the best account of: So that it was not in Hippolito's power to dissuade him from going up before to prepare his Father to receive and forgive him. While Hippolito and Leonora were left in the Coach at the Door, he made himself known to her, and begged her pardon a thousand times for continuing the deceit. She was under some concern at first to find she was still mistaken; but his Behaviour, and the Reasons he gave, soon reconciled him to her; his Person was altogether as agreeable, his Estate and Quality not at all inferior to Aurelians; in the mean time, the true Aurelian who had seen his Father, begged leave of him to withdraw for a moment; in which time he went into the Chamber where his Incognita was dressing herself, by his design, in a Woman's Apparel, while he was consulting with her how they should break the matter to his Father; it happened that Don Mario came up Stairs where the Marquis and Don Fabio were; they undoubtedly concluded him Mad, to hear him making Apologies and Excuses for Aurelian, whom he told them if they would promise to forgive he would present before them immediately. The Marquis asked him if his Daughter had lain with Leonora that Night; he answered him with another question in behalf of Aurelian. In short, they could not understand one another, but each thought another's beside himself. Don Mario was so concerned that they would not believe him, that he ran down Stairs and came to the Door out of Breath, desiring Hippolito that he would come into the House quickly, for that he could not persuade his Father but that he had already seen and spoke to him. Hippolito by that understood that Aurelian was in the House; so taking Leonora by the Hand, he followed Don Mario, who led him up into the Dining-Room, where they found Aurelian upon his Knees, begging his Father to forgive him, that he could not agree to the Choice he had made for him, since he had already disposed of himself, and that before he understood the designs he had for him, which was the reason that he had hitherto concealed himself. Don Fabio knew not how to answer him, but looked upon the Marquis, and the Marquis upon him, as if the Cement had been cooled which was to have united their Families.  
All was silent, and Don Mario for his part took it to be all Conjuration; he was coming forward to present Hippolito to them, when Aurelian spying his Friend, started from his Knees and ran to embrace him— My dear Hippolito (said he) what happpy chance has brought you hither, just at my Necessity? Hippolito pointed to Don Mario and Leonora, and told him upon what terms he came. Don Mario was ready to run mad, hearing him called Hippolito, and went again to examine his Daughter. While she was informing him of the truth, the Marquess' Servants returned with the melancholy News that his Daughter was not where to be found. While the Marquis and Don Fabritio were wondering at, and lamenting the Misfortune of her loss, Hippolito came towards Don Fabio and interceded for his Son, since the Lady perhaps had withdrawn herself out of an Aversion to the Match. Don Fabio, though very much incensed, yet forgot not the Respect due to Hippolito's Quality; and by his Persuasion spoke to Aurelian, though with a stern Look and angry Voice, and asked him where he had disposed the cause of his Disobedience, if he were worthy to see her or no; Aurelian made answer, That he desired no more than for him to see her; and he did not doubt a Consequence of his Approbation and Forgiveness.— Well (said Don Fabio) you are very conceited of your own Discretion, let us see this Rarety. While Aurelian was gone in for Incognita, the Marquis of Viterbo and Don Fabritio were taking their leaves in great disorder for their loss and disappointment; but Don Fabio entreated their stay a moment longer till the return of his Son. Aurelian led Incognita into the Room veiled, who seeing some Company there which he had not told her of, would have gone back again. But Don Fabio came bluntly forwards, and ere she was ware, lifted up her Veil, and beheld the Fair Incognita, differing nothing from Juliana, but in her Name. This discovery was so extremely surprising and welcome, that either Joy or Amazement had tied up the Tongues of the whole Company. Aurelian here was most at a loss, for he knew not of his Happiness; and that which all along prevented Juliana's confessing herself to him, was her knowing Hippolito (for whom she took him) to be Aurelian's Friend, and she feared if he had known her, that he would never have consented to have deprived him of her. Juliana was the first that spoke, falling upon her Knees to her Father, who was not enough himself to take her up. Don Fabio ran to her, and awakend the Marquis, who then embraced her, but could not yet speak. Fabritio and Leonora strove who should first take her in their Arms; for Aurelian he was out of his wits for Joy, and Juliana was not much behind him, to see how happily their Loves and Duties were reconciled. Don Fabio embraced his Son and forgave him. The Marquis and Fabritio gave Juliana into his hands, he received the Blessing upon his Knees; all were overjoyed, and Don Mario not a little proud at the discovery of his Son-in-Law, whom Aurelian did not fail to set forth with all the ardent Zeal and Eloquence of Friendship. Juliana and Leonora had pleasant Discourse about their unknown and mistaken Rivalship, and it was the Subject of a great deal of Mirth to hear Juliana relate the several Contrivances which she had to avoid Aurelian for the sake of Hippolito.  
Having diverted themselves with many Remarks upon the pleasing surprise, they all thought it proper to attend upon the Great Duke that Morning at the Palace, and to acquaint him with the Novelty of what had passed; while, by the way, the two Young Couple entertained the Company with the Relation of several Particulars of their Three Days Adventures.  
FINIS.   

THE PILGRIM. A Pleasant Piece of GALLANTRY.  
Written in French By M. S. BREMOND.  
Translated into English By P. BELON, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for R. Wellington, at the Dolphin and Crown in St. Paul's Churchyard: And E. Rumball, at the Posthouse, Covent-Garden, 1700.   

THE PILGRIM. A NOVEL.  
SINCE that the Spirit of Devotion has seized on the Knights-Errants of this Age, there is scarce any thing else seen in the World. Of truth their Equipage is somewhat different from that which their Predecessors formerly had; for in lieu of a Lance and a Helmet, which they did wear in those days, now they have a Palmer's Staff, a Hat trimmed with Cockelshells, and I know not what kind of Rocket, instead of a Back and Breast, which indeed are not Iron and Led proof; but then they do not fatigate so much their Bearer, as those enchanted Armours formerly did. That which they have retained of their ancient Custom, which devotion itself could not persuade them to alter, is a little Miss, which still sticks close to them, and for whose sake, sometime the Palmer's staff does wag, as the Lance did formerly. In short, what difference soever there is betwixt that kind of Life, which they lead now adays in their Foot Travels, and that formerly when they were continually bestriding their Palfreys, all things well considered, it may be said that each condition hath its agreements and its Troubles, its sweets as well as its labours. For when all is said, it was no small Toil to have so many Lances to break, and so many Enchantments to put to an end. You doubtless may have read, how that when they were to pass over a Bridge, or to get into a Castle, there still was some Giant or other to Combat, or some Monster to overcome; but in these times, as things are now ordered, all this is done with a Song.  
No Maid, though near so stout, these latter years,  
But becomes tame, when Palmer-staff appears:  
Nor Buxom Hostess, but will wish and long,  
When once she hears a jolly Pilgrim's Song.  
Adventure for Adventure, it is certain that these new Knight's condition is well worth that of the Knights in former times. At least wise, it was made Choice of, by a Person of a very good gusto, whom the leanness of the Purse, or the excess of Devotion did not oblige to ramble up and down the World under that Figure. This poor Pilgrim had but fifty or sixty thousand Livers yearly Revenue; but here is the real cause of his Vocation.  
Rome, formerly so renowned, has not degenerated of late so much in persons of Wit, as in many other respects. It cannot be denied, but that the ways they now have taken unto, tend somewhat more towards evil than formerly, and though it still is the place in which the sanctity of the earth does reside, it is no less a source of debauchery.  
There has always been found in it divers Academies of great Wits, but in our time none has made so much noise as that which was called of the Libertines; not only by reason of those bold discourses which were held in it; but for those terrible Satyrs which it sent forth against all persons without exception. The Holy Father, to whose feet the first complaints against it were humbly laid down, by those persons that were concerned in those Truths which those accademics did publish, was obliged to send forth divers Thundering Excommunications against this Society. But they being but little daunted at the Vaticans Arms, did but laugh and scoff at the Pope's just indignation; bringing him, and the Cardinals also, into play, which is the only Crime, that is not to be forgiven in Rome. Therefore it was no longer Saint Peter, that armed himself with Thunderbolts for their destruction, but Saint Paul, who with the Sword in hand, made a pursuit after those impious persons. There never was seen so many sorts of persons combined together, as there was then, to destroy those Libertines: Sergeants, Watchmen, Guards, Soldiers, Monks, Prelates, both on foot and on Horseback, all were under Arms, and one would really have taken it for a Crusado.  
There were but few persons in Rome that had not some share in their Satyrs, and half the City was already providing Faggots for them, so that it was high time to sound the Retreat: Every one got away as well as he could, some disguised after one manner, and some after another. Our Hero, who was one of the most eminent amongst them, hide himself under the Habit of a Pilgrim; with which, having got, without any Retinue, to Civita Vecchia, he took a Felouqua, that carried him to Genova.  
His design was for France; but the opportunity of a Galley, which was going to put off for Barcelona, where it was carrying a Spanish Lord, General Master de Camp, of the Cavalry of the State of Milan, having made him change his resolution, he embarked to make the same Voyage upon it.  
There was a great number of Passengers on that Galley; and our Pilgrim, who, besides the trouble of the Crowd, was not willing to be known, being yet so near Italy, did accost the Captain, and with a Compliment of few words, he slid into his hand a Role of Pistols, to make him understand by his Liberality, and his good Mien, that he was no common Pilgrim. The Captain therefore treated him according as his Compliment and his good Mien did deserve: for he gave him his own Cabin, which was joining to that of the Spanish Don, and caused him to be served by two Slaves during the whole Voyage.  
The Wind was as favourable as could be, and they had not so soon hoist Sails, but they lost the sight of Genova. Prudence would not yet allow our Pilgrim to be much seen, though they were already well off at Sea. He therefore resolved not to stir forth out of his Chamber, till he were arrived at Barcelona, and to divert himself in the mean time in reading of Books. This was an agreeable employment to him, but it lasted not long; for the very next day, his reading was interrupted by the charming Voice of a Woman that was in the General's Chamber. He lent an Ear, and understood that she sung some Italian Airs. His Curiosity did each moment increase, and being Charmed with the sweetness of the Voice, he would willingly have seen that Person. He visited and searched the Partition of the Cabin from one end to the other, to find out some Chink, but the Board's were so well jointed, that it was labour in vain. In fine, at night when the Captain, who used to eat with him, was come to see him, and to sup; he set him on a Discourse concerning the Spanish Don, and having particularly made inquiry concerning his Retinue and Family, he learned that it was the Marquis of L. lately married at Milan, where he had espoused the Daughter of the Count N. one of the most charming Persons in all Italy, of whom he was so jealous, that there was but two old Women that served her, that had the liberty of entering her Chamber; neither would he have her to be seen by any of his own servants. Camille, so was the Pilgrim named, did on a sudden fall into a profound silence, seriously reflecting on what the Captain did tell him, not doubting but that the Voice that had charmed him did belong to the beautiful Marchioness. This made him more earnest than ever to see her, and he was already almost fallen in Love; he did eat little or nothing, during that meal, and dying with impatiency to have the Captain gone, that he might, when alone, make a new search after some means to pry into that Chamber. The very Idea which he did frame to himself of that beautiful Lady, upon the Captain's words, did inflame him with love, and the Jealousy of the Husband, which did detain her in that Captivity, did already inspire him with such designs, as did flatter him with some hopes of a good fortune. The Captain being at last gone, he shuts the Cabin door, and with the Candle in his hand, searches and examines every board one after another, above, beneath, on the right, on the left, all over, but no hopes. He Torments himself, sweats, sighs, and almost in despair, he would endeavour to make some hole, with an Iron he had found, when fortune guided his eyes upon a knot in a board, which did answer just upon the Lady's Bed, and that could be got out without much difficulty. Never was joy comparable to his, he presently peeps through the hole, and sees the most beautiful woman that ever was in the World, in a most manificent Undress, who was at her Toylet undressing herself for bed. He could not see her but of one side, and the hole being but small, he could but imperfectly discern such Features, as were of power to have enchanted a Man much less prepossessed than he was; but he did see enough to accomplish his bondage, and yet think himself the happiest Man in all the World. Nothing on earth could have drawn him from thence; and he used no other Caution than the putting out of his Candle, for fear of being discovered, and was preparing himself for a most charming pleasure at her going in bed, when fickle Fortune, who had been so favourable to him, did presently fill his heart with darkness; for the Marquis being entered the Chamber to go to bed, went and hung his Cloak (an Ornament which the Spanish Gravity will not allow to be quitted but rarely) upon that very place, where was the little peephole; a most sorrowful Veil unto the Amorous Camille, which caused a sad Eclipse betwixt his heart, and that most charming object. His sorrow is easy to be imagined, yet he left not his post, but making use of his Ears, where his Eyes could not reach, he heard certain discourses, which did not please him less than what he had seen: They were little Jars between the Husband and the Wife, which did speak the ill understanding that there was between them; The Lady's complaints against the rigorous proceed of her Lord; and his reproaches on her Humour of Courtship. Our Pilgrim building on this bottom greater and fairer hopes than ever, he did pass the best part of the night, in framing to himself such Ideas, as afforded him as much content as would to others, every charming reality: at last he must go to bed, for there had not been any noise heard in the Chamber of two hours; but how can a person sleep, that has his mind filled with what he had beheld that day? and what he did hope to see the next morning, if fortune would have it, that the Jealous Husband should rise before the Lady, and take the envious Cloak along with him? that which troubled him most, was the wind, which still continuing favourable would not let him long enjoy this Happiness: For it was probable that with such a wind they would arrive the next day at Barcelona; which would put an end to his adventure, except love, who is pleased with extraordinary things, should favour him with some turn of fortune, of which he durst not much flatter himself. The best part of the night he spent in thoughts, and yet in his opinion passed it well, though he had had no sleep. So soon as he did see day appear, he arose, but it was somewhat too early yet for persons that had no such disquiet as he had in his mind. He fitted the knot to its hole, and had the patience to wait a great while, incessantly harkening with a strange anguish of mind, whether the Marquis was not stirring, which unfortunately to him did not rise so soon that day, as he used to do; and when up, he walked in his Chamber till he was advertised that they were in sight of Palamos. Then out he went in his Spanish Decorum to behold that City. His Lady who was yet in bed, and who had the same Curiosity, got out of it in a pretty kind of disorder, to run to the Window. Then it was that our good Pilgrim had that happy sight which he had so much desired, for in that haste in which the Lady had risen, she showed him such things as were able to inchant the Gods. He was not contented with this, but transported with ardour and love, he also went to his Chamber window, which was very near unto that in which the Marchioness was; and but half showing himself, lest any one should see him, he made her a Reverence much more amorous than profound, looking on her with eyes that did speak some part of those things which he felt in his Soul. The beautiful Marchioness (who according to the genius of the Italian Ladies, was very expert in that Language) was at first surprised to see so near her a Man with so good a mien; but after she had looked about, to see if any body did observe her, she did very obligingly answer his Salute. Our amorous Pilgrim would gladly have had this Language of the Eyes changed into an entertainment of the mouth, but it was too much to be feared, that they would have been heard. And the Lady who did fear to be surprised by her Guardians, or Husband, durst not make any longer stay at the Window. Camille, who did follow her every where with his Eyes and Heart, did retire presently also to his former Port, where he did behold the Marchioness, who was got to bed again, who not imagining, to be observed, lay in such a posture, by reason of the great heat of the Season, as was capable to kill a man with Love. Neck, Breast, Arms, Feet, Legs; in fine, all the most Beatiful and Charming things in the World, were exposed at the mercy of our Pilgrim's Eyes, who at this sight did quickly lose the rest of his liberty.  
Presently after, her Women came in to dress her, and Camille, who had received as much as he wanted, ritired, for Fear that amongst so many Eyes, there might be some that may light accidentally upon his Peephole, which would spoil all. Imagining also, that in so great a Bustle of Women he should have but an imperfect View of the Lady.  
Never any Man so pleased as he, if his good Fortune had lasted but some time longer; but they still approached nearer Barcelona, and consequently of that moment, which was to part 'em, and that would peradventure make him lose for ever the sight of what he so passionately loved: Good Gods! would he frequently cry out sighing, some Blasts of a contrary Wind! His Prayers were not heard; Time pressed upon them, and finally there must be a resolution taken to speak out some way, whereby he might be understood; he found some Paper, Pen and Ink, and without further Delay, he wrote some Italian Verses to this purpose.  
When by a too Rigorous Fate,  
Most Beauteous Lady, your cursed Mate  
Shall force you, through his jealous Rage,  
To free yourself; I dare engage,  
By a certain Amorous Art,  
When just you're ready to departed,  
To have a Pilgrim wait at hand,  
In Obedience t' your Command.  
Having finished his Verses, he waited till he saw no body in the Lady's Chamber, and having rolled up the Paper, he put it through the hole, which being just in the Lady's sight, could not fail of drawing her Eyes upon it. She was at first surprised at the Novelty thereof, which caused her to blush extremely, not doubting but it was exposed there by that Cavalier which she had seen at the Window, and whose good Mien had raised in her a great Curiosity to know what he was: But when she reflected on those advantages, which he might have made use of by means of that hole, during the freedom which she had taken all the time she had been in that Cabin, it wanted but little, that an Anger mixed with Bashfulness, did not produce some kind of Hatred against a Man, of whom she had so little Knowledge. She was strangely busied in her Thoughts, and knew not what to resolve; mean time the Paper which she saw to wag continually, giving her an extreme desire to see what it might be, and fearing on the other hand that somebody would come into the Cabin, her Anger and Scruples were forced to give place her Curiosity; she approached, took the Note, looked through the hole, and did see a Pilgrim, whose good Mien did somewhat appease her; she presently withdrew, and having seated herself again upon her Bed, she unfolded the Paper with a Mind strangely taken up with this Adventure. In such a Condition as she was at that time, evil-intreated by an Husband, which she had never loved, and who prepared himself to make her suffer new Afflictions in a Country, where Women are yet greater Slaves than in that, from whence she came, nothing could be offered, that could bring her more Content, than that which the Pilgrim did write. Till than she had not been a moment without wishing, that the Vessel might split upon the Coast, or that it might fall into the Hands of the Turk, rather than arrive in Spain; and never ceased her Tears, since she had seen Land. And yet when the Heavens grant her her desires in a more favourable manner than she had required, and when she despaired of making Shipwreck, or falling into the Pirate's Hands, being almost at the Gates of Barcelona, she tremblingly looks upon the Succour which is offered her, she staggers in her Resolution, she loses her Courage, and fears to employ a Man, that hath nothing in his Person, but what assures, and gives her to understand, that he is a gallant Person. Of truth she was not long in those Irresolutions, having cast her sight upon Spain, and made some reflections upon the unhappy Life which she was going to lead there, she presently resolved to give herself up to the Conduct of a Person, that seemed to be sent to her by Heaven for that purpose. She would willingly have signified so much to him; but it was long since all that belonged to writing was forbid her, and one of her Women being come into her Cabin, neither could she come near unto the little Hole, in which seeing the generous Pilgrim's Eye to glitter; she contented herself in giving him to understand, with such signs as the Italians are very expert in, that she did very much like and approve of the Tender of his Services, and that he should not be unhappy, if he could take her out of that deplorable Condition, to which she was reduced. At last Camille, who stood most attentively, examining even the very least twinkling of an Eye, did interpret it after this manner; and it may be imagined, that the Pilgrim's apprehension might very well reach as far, as the Ladies dumb Discourse. Never was Lover so pleased with himself as he. He would not have changed his Fortune for a Monarch's Diadem, no, not for the Pope's Triple Crown. The lest Look, a kind Gesture, or some favourable Sign, did afford him more Content, than the whole Empire of the World would give unto the most ambitious of Kings.  
This pretty sport lasted till they were ready to enter into the Port of Barcelona, when the Lady being left a moment alone drew near unto him, and told him, in a low Voice, that she had apprehended what he had writ, that she believed him a Man of honourable Principles, and even something more than what he appeared to be under that Pilgrim's Habit; and that if he could deliver her from the Tyranny of a Jealous Husband, and were a person that would receive some recompense for so great a service, she did assure him, that he should have cause to be satisfied, for having performed so generous an Action. And not giving him time to reply, fearing incessantly to be surprised, she desired him to find out some means, by which she might write or speak to him, when arrived at Barcelona, and ending with these words, she put through the hole one of her Fingers, on which she had a very fair Diamond, with which she would have presented him; but Camille having kissed a thousand times that delicate Finger, did not think of taking the Ring: so that she let it fall expressly. But the Pilgrim was so transported with Love and Pleasure, that he took no notice of it: And the Marquis being just come in to tell his wife, that it was time to prepare herself to Land, she withdrew, to Camille's great sorrow, who some moments after went out of his Chamber, to behold the beautiful Marchioness, and to be seen by her.  
Our Pilgrim, who had not appeared during all the Voyage, and had embarked himself in the Night time, did surprise every body at his appearance upon the Deck; every one guessing by his Air, his Gate, and those Accoutrements which he had under his Pilgrim's Weeds, that he was nothing less than what he appeared to be. The Marquis and his Lady, who came forth of their Cabin a moment after, found him upon the Deck leaning on his Staff, holding his Hat with Shells under his Arm, in a certain Posture as did presently draw their Eyes upon him, though with different Thoughts. The Marchioness had a Manto upon her Head after the Spanish Fashion, which did cover her whole Face; so that Camille had but the Pleasure of admiring her fine Shape, and the charming Air of her whole Composure, and that too by stealth, for fear of creating new Jealousies in the Husband, who had his Eyes incessantly fixed upon him, beholding him, as a Bird of evil Presage; for he was of Opinion, that the whole World had a Mind to his Wife. At last he came near unto him, and made him some Questions, to find if he were not deceived in his Distrust. As they were discoursing together, and that the Spanish Don's fears did still increase more and more, to hear a Pilgrim reason with so much wit as this did appear to have; the Captain of the Vessel came up to Camille, and with a Reverence that did out-pass what was due to an ordinary Pilgrim, he asked him if he had not lost a Ring, showing him at the same time, that which the Marchioness had let fall from her finger, and told him that he had just then found it in his Chamber; Camille, who had not the least thought of the favour, which the Marchioness had intended him, answered him no, and that it did not belong unto him; but the Marquis having presently known it, did most terribly blush, and God knows with what fury his Soul was instantly possessed! yet he dissembled all, and chose rather to lose the Ring, than to divulge his shame, in owning it to be his Wives. He left the unfortunate Pilgrim, for presently his first suspicions had fallen on him again, and retiring into his Chamber, caused the Marchioness to be called, with such a cold Air, as did disguise the rage and violence of divers passions, which then possessed him; he inquired of her, what she had done with her Diamond. The poor distressed Lady, more pale than Death, fearing that she had been betrayed by the Pilgrim, answered him in a stammering voice, that she believed she had lost it. Then did the Jealous Husband, giving a full vent unto his fury, let himself be carried away to such violent actions as were very unworthy a person of his quality. Camille who knew not the reason, why the Marquis and his Lady were retired, strangely surprised at the noise he heard, run to his  to learn what might be the occasion; there he beheld the lovely Marchioness leaning upon her bed, and her unworthy Husband, in a great fury, walking in the Room, and giving her all manner of ill Language. Nothing could more grieve his Soul, than that sad Spectacle: he was a thousand times in a resolution to go in to them, to revenge such Tears as did rend his heart in pieces, the which to prevent he would have given his life. Nothing but the consideration of the loss of the Marchioness, which he foresaw would be infallible, if he should proceed so far in his resentments, did prevent him. He would gladly have known the cause of this Quarrel, not believing that he had given any such occasion to the Marquis, who being somewhat more cool, was going to inform him of all things, by those reproaches that he had begun to make to his Wife; when he had notice given him, that the Governor of Barcelona, who was his near Kinsman, was coming in person to receive him, and that his Skiff was already got near to the Vessel; upon which, laying aside the rest of his anger against some other time, he left his Wife in the , that she might have some time to recollect herself, and went forth to meet the Governor. The desolate Marchioness in this Affliction, greater than can be expressed, for having been thus villainously betrayed by a person, for whom she had at first sight conceived a great esteem, was framing within herself most strong resolutions, never more to confide so lightly in persons that she did not know, and as she was going forth she espied the Pilgrim looking through the hole. Ah! Traitor, said she to him, did I present you with that Diamond, but to ruin me by it? Go, I shall be revenged if I can; and without staying for an answer, she followed her Husband. Camille, who was afflicted even to death, to be called Traitor, by that person that he would have least betrayed of all the world, was a while like a man possessed with sorrow, despair and amazement. Traitor! Traitor! did he repeat twice or thrice over, what Treason can I have committed against her? I that have not known her but one day, and that would sacrifice a thousand lives to do her service. With this he let himself drop upon a Bench, and reflecting on that which the Marchioness had reproached him concerning a Diamond, and then on the Ring which the Captain would have given him before the Marquis, believing that it was his; it came in his mind, that he had seen such a one on the Marchioness finger, and thus little by little unravelling this cruel Mystery, he easily did perceive that he was the only cause of all that evil. In what despair did he fall on the sudden? but not to lose time in superfluous exclamations, he went to the Captain, and did engage him to return him that Ring; then presently running to the other end of the Ship, he found that the Governor was newly arrived, and that he was embracing with the Marquis. He takes the opportunity of those Ceremonies, to restore to the Marchioness her Ring, but as he approaches her, she flies, and thus they both went round the Deck. Camille, who perceived this her disdain, was forced at last to show her the Diamond, to let her know it was to restore it, that he would approach her. But the Marchioness did understand it otherwise, and believing that this Pilgrim was of intelligence with her Husband, who doubtless had given him that Ring as a reward of his Treachery, she imagained that he sought how to bring her into further trouble: She was also cruelly vexed that he had the confidence to show it her, as glorying in it; and raising her Manto a little, she looked upon him with the eyes of a Woman that was infinitely angry at his insolency. At which our unhappy Lover apprehending that she would not receive it, stood still looking upon her, with a sad and afflicted Countenance, which was the only thing capable of justifying him at that present. But when the heart is prepossessed with any thing, the impression of it is not so soon wiped off. The Marchioness could not see any thing in this business, but what did accuse the Pilgrim of a most palpable Treason, or at least of an indiscretion, of which a person, as he seemed to be in her eyes, was not capable of: yet she could not but feel something within herself, which seemed to speak him less guilty than he appeared; and yet knew not why, and she was troubled, that so accomplished a person, and who did appear to her so worthy, could submit to do so base an action.  
These Civilities at last being ended, which on such occasions are commonly somewhat long among the Spaniards, the Marquis and his Lady entered into the governor's Boat to go to Shore. And Camille in that of the Captains, which he gave him, and which he made to follow close that of the governor's. They arrived almost at the same time upon the Mole, where they met with the governor's Lady, accompanied with divers Ladies and Gentlemen of the Country, who waited for the Marchioness to Compliment her: Camille would gladly have found out some means to speak a word to her in the Crowd, before he should be wholly deprived of the sight of her; but there was no likelihood of approaching her in the Dress he was in, especially in such a Concourse. He did see her take Coach with the other Ladies, and having followed them to the Palace, where the Marquis was to reside with the Governor, he went to seek out some Lodgings for himself.  
He passed the whole Night in Sighs and Regrets, the ordinary Comfort of desolate Lovers, seeking within his Mind after something that might make his innocency appear to the Object of his love, and justify himself of a Crime which he would not have committed against the last of Women. He durst not hope for so much Happiness as to speak to her, imagining that in the opinion she had of him, she would not make one step towards it; but he did not believe it wholly impossible, that by contriving intrigues upon intrigues, he might get a Letter safely delivered to her. He knew that in those kind of things, the surest way was to act Personally, and not trust to others. Therefore he tried whether with a little good management of his own, and without any other assistance, he could compass this business. In Spain, as in Italy, the Churches are the chiefest Places where Lovers repair to seek their Mistresses: and thus abusing of those things, which are most holy, they go to commit great Crimes in Places that are appointed where to ask Pardon for committing them. Camille, who was not ignorant of the Spanish Bigotry, did imagine that the Marquis would not fail to go with his Wife that Morning to hear Mass, to give God thanks for their happy Voyage, and that it would be a fit Place to deliver her a Note, if Fortune or Love would never so little Favour his design. This resolution being taken, he entreated his Host, who was an Italian, to get him conducted by some Person to the Chapel of the Palace, if there was any, or to that Church, which the Governor was used to frequent: he was served as he desired, and brought to the Palace, where he did see a most sumptuous Chapel, and in it the governor's Wife, who was hearing Mass, and who seeing him enter, was much surprised with his good Mien, such as was not very ordinarily found in Pilgrims: But the Marquis and his Lady had passed the Night too ill to rise so early. There had been nothing but reproaches, complaints, menances, and quarrels between them, which having lasted almost till Day, were followed on both sides with Hatred, and Heart-burnings, which had kept them long from sleep. The Marquis, and reason good, would be satisfied how his Wife had conveyed that Diamond into that Chamber where the Captain had found it, and what she intended by it: Whether it was not for that Pilgrim, who she doubtless did know, and who did follow her under that disguise. The Lady finding that he was no better informed of the business, took Courage, stood upon her own defence, cried out, spoke, and threatened, as loud as her Husband. The only regret she had was for having treated so severely that Pilgrim, whom she believed was not so guilty as she had thought him, and who had expressed a design to serve her in a handsome manner; not that she did wholly excuse his imprudence in letting that Ring be seen by her Husband, but she did believe that there might be some ill fortune in it, but no ill design; and thereupon did chide herself for having so soon condemned a Person who had so generously offered himself to free her from that miserable condition she lived in, not thinking ever to find again so fair an occasion; for she hardly had any hopes of ever seeing him more, after such a piece of Injustice as she had done him.  
The Night being passed in this manner, they did not rise, but just to sit at table; where the Governor and his Lady did wait for them to dine: The Company had scarce begun to eat, when Donna Barbara d' Ayamonte, so was named the governor's Wife, did begin a Discourse of a young Pilgrim which she had seen at Mass, there being no quality in his Person that she had not taken special notice of, and did not praise extremely; further saying, being of a more free humour than the Custom of the Country did commonly allow, that she had very much wished he had approached nearer her, that she might have asked him of what Country he was, not doubting but that there were some considerable Adventure in that kind of life, that a Man so well made as he was, did lead about the World, under the Notion of a Pilgrim. The Viceroy, who was very gallant, and who having not the Disease incident to Spanish Husbands, had always given a modest Liberty unto his Wife, who began not to be altogether so young, and had never been over-handsom, did play upon her very much about the Pilgrim, and set all the Company in a good Humour, except the Marquis, who at the very Name of Pilgrim had taken upon him a Melancholy Mien; and not doubting but it was the very Blade who had been to seek after his Wife in that Chapel. He was almost stark mad to see his Wife well pleased with what the Governor did say, and he looked upon her as if he would devour her with his Eyes: The Marchioness, who did observe all those Grimaces, did not much concern herself with them; on the contrary, she did laugh at 'em more and more, being certain that what Donna Barbara said to that Pilgrim's advantage, did give the Marquis as much of Trouble, as it afforded her of Pleasure.  
Camille was at the Chapel the next Morning again, but as unsuccessful as the first time, not finding there what he sought after. Donna Barbara, who had extremely desired to see him once more, did no sooner cast her Eyes upon him, but she showed him unto the Governor, who had so much Complaisance for his Wife, as to have him called so soon as Mass was ended. The Governor made him divers Questions, to which he answered with so good a Grace, and so much Wit, that he was much taken with him as well as his Wife. He bid him come and see him, and that in the Condition he was, if he wanted any thing he might have recourse unto him. After the Pilgrim had given him to understand he was above Want, he thanked him for the favour he did him in giving him leave to wait upon him, of which he would make use; after this he retired, giving them sufficiently to understand by all that he had said, as well as by his Carriage, and the fine Air of his Person, that he understood Courtship, even after the best manner. The Governor was much pleased at it, and did no sooner see the Marquis and his Lady, but he mentioned his Wife's Pilgrim unto them, for so he called him, and promised likewise that they should see him. The Marquis, who had not yet taken any notice that he knew him, did imagine that it would be needless to conceal his knowledge of him any longer, and almost dead for fear this Traitor should come to the Palace, if he used not some Stratagem to put it off; he drew aside the Governor, and told him that he knew not of what Pilgrim he did speak, but that if it was a certain Rascal who was come in the same Vessel with him from Genova, and concealed himself all the time that he had been at Sea, he did declare to him, that he was the most dangerous and most wicked Person in all Italy; that he had known him upon the Vessel, and had spoken to him; that he was a Bandit of Genova, who had been above a Year Prisoner in the Castle of Milan, whence at last he had made his escape, after he had been convinced of having been employed as a Spy by the Enemies of that State: That doubtless he came into Spain upon some such like designs, and that for his part, if he were in a place where he had any Authority, he would certainly secure him, and detain him in a Dungeon, till he had confessed what he came for into Spain under that disguise, or that at the least he would send him back to Italy. All this he spoke to him as an Advice of great consequence which he ought not to despise. The Governor did hearken to him with a great amazement, not being able to quit very easily the good Opinion which he had conceived, for the Pilgrim, who appeared to him nothing less than what the Marquis would make him to be. Might you not, my Lord, said he twice unto him, mistake yourself? And do you knom him well? For he qualifies himself a Roman, and I can assure you that he has not the accent of Genova, and that a Man who had so much Wit as this seems to have, had not need to take upon him the Employ of a Spy. If he is so as you represent him, said the Marquis, it cannot be the same Person; and I advise you once more, continued he, raising of his Voice, that you take good notice of him; for I know what he hath done in more than one place; and upon that, to make good what he had said before, he invented two or three stories, such as his Jealous humour did suggest unto him; unto which the Governor had much to do to give Credit. Mean time, as he could not give a guess at the Interest which did make the Marquis speak this; he did believe it part of the Duty of his Office, not wholly to neglect his advice, and after he had expressed how much he was obliged to him for it, he told him, that he believed that this Pilgrim would come to see him that Day, that he would examine him, and then he should know what he had to do.  
Camille who knew nothing of those good Services which were rendered him at the Palace, was transported with joy to have advanced his business so far with the Governor, as to be invited by him to give him a Visit, which would give him the most favourable access in the World at his Palace, whereby he might have the opportunity to see, perhaps to speak, or at least to write unto the beauteous Marchioness. He already dies with Impatiency, that the fit hour to render that Visit in, is not come yet. At last he goes to the Palace, where the Governor made him a no less gracious reception than he had done in the morning at the Chapel. He examines, he questions, and entertains him on divers things, and finds not the least sign in him of what he was accused; on the contrary, a great Fond of Honour, the judgement of a Person of Quality, and his Conversation so charming, that he was amazed how the Marquis could entertain such a thought of him, if this was that Person which he had seen, and had entained in discourse on the Ship. Mean time, the Duty of his Charge, requiring that he should proceed further; after he had spoken, during some time, of things in general, he came to particulars, and asked him by way of raillery, if it were a Spirit of Devotion, or some secret Design which he might have in Spain, that had made him undertake to travel thither under that Pilgrim's Habit: Camille answered him smileingly, That there was more of a Caprichio than of a Design in his disguise; but that knowing the Charity that the Spaniards had for all those that did vow themselves to S. Jaques, he had taken in hand a Palmer's staff to serve him as a Pass. The Governor replied, That he knew well he had no occasion of any such aid, and then, putting on a more serious Countenance, he added, that there had been very ill Reports made of him, which he could not attribute but to his disguise, that therefore he did advise him to take an Apparel more suitable to a Person of Quality, as he did believe he was, and that if he had no business in Barcelona, that he should quit that City so soon as he could: That he would allow him three Days to end his business in, during which time he would do well not to let himself be seen, and less about the Palace than in any other Place: That he would have him believe it was with an extreme regret that he acted thus; and that if he could have given credit but to part of those things which had been spoken against him, he had been obliged to treat him with much more severity than he did: That if he wanted money, or any thing else, to retire himself from thence, he should but name it, and he should be furnished with all things necessary, but that absolutely he could not dispense from giving him that order. Camille, amazed and confounded at once with the governor's Bounties, and with so cruel and unexpected a blow, after he had told the Governor that he was the most unhappy of all Men to have given an occasion for such evil impressions, which he could attribute but to his ill Fortune; he did return him thanks for all those Favous which he had received from him, assuring him, that since he was pleased to give him three Days time longer before his departure from Barcelona, he would employ them to such a use as should not give to any Person the least cause of complaint, or of any suspicion as to his conduct; and in this manner he took leave of the Governor.  
No Man more disconsolate than Camille, to find himself on such a sudden fallen from all those amorous hopes which he had too soon conceived, and what was worst of all, to be obliged to quit the City within three Days; a short time for a Lover; at least if he could but once have spoken or Writ to the Marchioness, and taken her off of those so disadvantageous resentments which she had for him, and that he might but hope to take his leave of her; but he is banished from the Palace without daring to approach it: That was too severe: a Lover may promise such things, but it is to be feared that he will not observe them. It is rare to betray one's self; and it was not to be expected that Camille, who loved more than all the Men in the World, should be in this point more exact than others; so that after he had a long time afflicted himself on this unhappy condition of the affairs of his Heart, a despair seized him; he resolves to die rather than departed after that manner. An Adventure so happily begun, was not to be concluded after such a manner, and it came in his Head that peradventure he should not be so unhappy as he did imagine.  
He did not know what Reason the Governor might have to use him thus, at the very time that he did overcome him with such Honour and Bounty as outpassed what such a Figure as he represented might expect: There was great likelihood that all this came from the Marquis, who upon the Jealousy which he had conceived of him on the account of the Ring, would not be wanting in employing all his Interest with the Governor to make him quit the City. But he did not know whether the Governor himself was not tainted with that Disease, by reason that his Wife had showed him so much kindness before him that Morning in the Chapel; so that he had been concerned at it himself, and the Governor had looked upon her twice or thrice earnestly, so as to let her understand that so much eagerness did not very well please him. That which did the more confirm him in that Opinion, was the forbidding of him to approach near the Palace; so that he held it already for certain, that the Reasons of State and Policy which that Lord had made use of to be rid of him, were but the mere Effects of a jealous Temper: He was fully resolved to give him satisfaction in that Point without any trouble to himself; for besides that he was already prepossessed with a too beautiful Object, too have the least Thought on any other Woman, Donna Barbara was not the most charming of the World in his Eyes, and the Governor had not hazarded much in trusting her with him.  
Part of the Night having been employed in making all those Reflections, without being able to decide positively, if his Unhappiness did proceed from the governor's or the Marquis' Jealousy; he did pass the remnant of it on the means to write to the Marchioness, because that the time pressed if he were obliged to obey the governor's Orders. He knew that in Spain the Friars are the ordinary Confidents of the gallant Intrigues, by reason of their free access into all Houses, as a Privilege annexed unto all Persons of their Character. He thought that if he could make an Acquaintance with him that officiated in the governor's Chappel, he could not doubt of a good Success in his Design; for, as to the gaining of him, that was a thing that did not much trouble him. He had learned in Italy, that those Friars who resist the Devil would be tempted with Money; he mentioned, this in the Morning to his Host, who told him, That he did very well know that worthy Chaplain, and that he would bring him to dine with him, if he desired it. To begin that way with a Monk is to hold the right course; the Match is concluded, the Dinner's ready, and the Reverend Father comes with a fresh-coloured face, like a good Jacobin as he was. In Spain those Persons do not set forth the Poverty of the Country; abundance of Beads, but little Penitence serves their turn: They sit at Table, they eat and drink a little better than in the Refectory: Monsieur, the Pilgrim, plays his part, and the Reverend Father much better his. Friendship from the one to the other, Healths and Compliments, assurances of Services and the finest tenderness in the World flew about; Drink but once with those Reverend Fathers, and it is an established Acquaintance even to the next World; and if you have no need of their Service, at least you shall have a share in their Prayers whether you will or not. Camille did not yet much trouble himself to have Prayers said for his Soul; he having occasion to make use of Father Andrew, thus was he named, more as to this World then for the next; at the end of the Dinner they fell into a Discourse concerning the governor's Court. He found that the Father was perfectly well instructed in all things; that he lodged in the Palace; that he had as great a Power there as any Chaplain could have, and that finally he could better than any Person in the World, render him that piece of Service which he desired; he gave a true bias to the business, takes the good Father aside, and tells him, that having taken that Habit which he did see him wear through a Vow, which he had made to S. Jago; he knew that he was obliged to make some charitable deeds, to cause Prayers to be said in his behalf, and that he did not believe that he could put his charity into better Hands than his; whereupon he drew out of his Pocket a Purse of Pistols, of which he gave fifty unto the Reverend Father, who returned him Courtesy upon Courtesy, mumbling a quantity of words one upon another by way of Thanksgiving and Prayers, of which he scarce did understand the sense, so much did the Rapture that he was in by this magnificent charity transport him beyond himself.  
This step being made, which was the most essential in the whole business. Now Father, said Camille, might I obtain a Favour of you? Alas, Sir, replied Father Andrew with much earnestness, what would not any one do for you. I do believe you, continued the Pilgrim, to be an honest and a good Man, and therefore I hope, that in declaring this to you in way of Confession, I run no hazard, and that you will serve me therein if it lies in your Power. You know, continued he, that within these two or three Days there is come into the Palace a certain Lady from Italy, who is called the Marchioness of C. I have some business with her, and cannot get to speak to her, because of her Husband who is very jealous. Jealous, replied Father Andrew, yea more than any Man in the World. So that I would willingly have a Letter delivered unto her, continued Camille, and I believe that there is no hurt in that. Alas, not in the least, replied the scrupulous Father, and you need do no more than to give it me. I do promise you, upon the faith of a good Religious, as I am, that you shall have an Answer before you go to Bed. If it prove so, said Camille, there are fifty Pistols more for Charities. I tell you, replied zealous Father Andrew, that you shall have it, for you are too charitable, and too honest a Man not to have your Prayers and Vows granted in Heaven. This Agreement being made, and there being no further occasion of Requests or Promises between them, they altered their Discourse; and Father Andrew, who was as earnest to go earn the other fifty Pistols, as Camille was to see the Answer which the Marchioness would make him, ended here his Visit, and having the Letter, he went to labour to bring about so pious a design.  
The business was not so easy as he imagined, for the Marquis, who understood such things better than any Friar of them all, and who had no great Faith in their Girdle, was continually present during the Visit that this came to give to his Wife; so that the good Father Andrew did begin to despair of getting the other fifty Pistols that Night, when by good Fortune the Governor came in, towards whom the Marquis advancing to receive him, he gave an occasion to this new Mercury to accomplish his Message, in sliding very dextrously the Letter into the Marchioness' hand, who looking upon him, did understand by some signs he made, that it was something of great moment to her, and which it was not requisite that her Husband should see. She withdrew herself into another Chamber, as if she would give a free liberty to these gentlemen's Entertainments, and having opened the Letter, she found it thus.  
IN that Despair, Madam, in which those unjust Distrusts which you have had of me, has plunged me, I defer not to seek all the means in the World to Write to you, to offer you once again my Services. You tax of Treachery a Man which would rather perish a thousand times than have so much as the least Thought of displeasing you. When you will know me better, you will learn that I am not of so mean a Rank as to commit any Unworthiness. I know what is due to Ladies; but more than that I know what I feel for you within my Bosom, and there is no fear of falling in that Duty which is supported by Love. If your Ring has caused some Disorders, at the worst you may attribute it to some Misfortune, but not to any Fault of mine. It fell from your fair Hand without my Knowledge, and the Captain of the Galley who did find it, thinking it was mine, did bring it to me before the Marquis. This is the Truth, Madam, of that Adventure: If you are satisfied with this justifying of myself, as it appears to me you should, and that you continue still in the same Resolutions you once had, make use of a Person who offers you not his Life and Fortunes only, but who dies with Love for you. It is time to think on it, for I have but three Days to stay in this City, the Governor having given me Orders, I know not for what Reasons, to be gone after that time. I could however find out some means to continue longer here, if you did desire it. What will not a Lover do for the Object of his Love? I wait your Orders on this. The Religious, who shall deliver you this Letter, is a Person I have wholly engaged in my Concerns, and in whom you may confide: Be confident, Madam, that nothing shall be forgotten to render me worthy of your Esteem, and that there is no Person that is with more Respect and Passion, than I am, wholly yours.  
Camille of V.  
The Marchioness, who when opening the Letter, had had some thoughts that it might come from her Pilgrim, was ravished with joy at the reading of it, and finding that she had not deceived herself, and in learning the whole story of the Ring. But that which charmed her most, were those tender and passionate Sentiments which he expressed for her, judging well by the manner of his writing, as also by the Air of his Person, that he must be some person of Quality. All that esteem which she had for him at first sight, did now redouble; he had offered himself unto her with so good a Grace; he had given her to understand in so ingenious a manner the design which he had to serve her, that that alone was capable to seize the heart of a beautiful young Woman, that sought after that which was offered to her in so gallant a manner. It is true, that her first distrusts had somewhat cooled her desires; but besides that she could condemn him never wholly in her thoughts, she had at last in some measure better informed herself, by what she had heard from her Husband, and the wrong which she conceived she had done the Pilgrim on that account, had served but to render him the more worthy of her esteem: In fine, all things else, besides the Governor and his Lady, having contributed in making her a thousand times regret the not having made better use of the good intentions of so worthy a person. This Letter in bringing he● the joy that she received by hearing from him, did wholly dispose her to entertain such thoughts of him as he was worthy of. She would gladly have made him an Answer, but as it has been said before, the use of writing was not only forbid her as a Capital Crime, but wholly out of her Power. Mean time, as Love is extreme ingenious, and that it appears more in such occasions than in any others, she bethought herself to write with a Bodkin, upon an Orange which she had these words, Bethis' night at Eleven of the Clock under my Window, and you shall have my Answer; after which she returned into the Chamber, where was the Governor with the Marquis, and Father Andrew, who would not be gone from thence without some Answer to his Letter, after he had performed the most difficult part, which was the delivery of it. The Marchioness did look upon him, and showing him the Orange which she set upon the Window, she made him signs to take it, and that it was all that she had to give him. Father Andrew, who was a most intelligent Friar, gently takes it up, and lifting up his Cowl, he made a most humble Reverence unto those Gentlemen, and so retired, to the Marquis his great satisfaction, who was not contented in mind till he did see him out of his Apartment.  
Our devout Postilion, but half pleased with his Message, for receiving an Orange for his Answer, was returning musing to the Pilgrim, who stayed for him at his Lodgings in great perplexity; he did believe that the good Father had failed of his design, seeing him coming with a somewhat mortified Countenance. Well Father, said he, the Marchioness is no more visible to you than she is to others, and doubtless that you have not spoken to her. I not speak to her! replied Father Andrew, as if angry at the wrong was offered him, and who dares refuse that to a Director of twenty years standing, Confessor to the Lady Governess, and Chaplain to my Lord Governor, and a worthy Son of St. Dominick. Good God add he, raising his voice, and where would you have us to be, in Barbary? No, no Sir Pilgrim, continued he, while Camille was endeavouring to make his Excuses with Postures and Grimaces, I have seen, I have spoken, I have delivered your Letter, it has been read, but for an Answer, I have but this Orange to deliver to you, which he drew out of his Sleeve, and truly you must needs be very unhappy to have no better success in this business, for I always go through with all that I undertake, to the great satisfaction of those that employ me. After that Camille had let him know that he was extremely satisfied with what he had done, he took the Orange, examined it a little better than Father Andrew had done, whose concern was not so great, and presently he discovered the whole Mystery, after which taking no further notice, he put it in his Pocket, in the room of fifty Pistols which he took from thence, which the good Father was scrupulous to take, saying, that in Conscience he could not, and that at the most he would have but half, because he had done but half what he had promised. Yet at last, to oblige so generous a Pilgrim, he was persuaded to take the whole, desiring him not to spare him in any thing that he should have occasion for him, and upon that he went his way.  
Camille, more full of joy than would be a Lover that had received an effectual rendezvous, did wait with strange impatiency the hour of that Assignation which was appointed him: Prudence would not let him approach the Palace in his Pilgrim's Habit, after what the Governor had said to him, but the fear that he had lest the Marchioness should not know him from her Window in another dress, or that she durst not trust to another, he being by that better distinguished from all other persons, he resolved not to change his Apparel; so that being gone out at a fit hour, he found hlmself just at eleven before the Palace. Father Andrew had pretty well informed him on which side was the Marchionesses Apartment, and that her Windows did answer upon the Sea; so that he could not mistake. He gets under them, and perceiving some light in them, he goes behind a Pillar till the Marchioness should appear and make him some sign. In such businesses time seems long, every moment lengthens; and it seemed to Camille, who had his Eyes fastened to those Windows, that he had already waited a long time, when at last he did see a Lady appear, and as he imagined, it could be none but the Marchioness: He immediately steps out of his lurking place and showed himself. He was presently known by the Shells and other gaudy things which Pilgrims usually wear on their Hats, which glittered in those bright Nights that are common in those Countries in the Summer Season; and soon after the Window was shut again. He thought that it was not yet time, but a quarter of an hour after he saw a little door opened, whence there came forth an ancient Duenna, who called him, and made him go in, saying, in a low Voice, that all that day they had been concerned for him, that he had been sought for all over the Town, and that they had but just espied him from the Window; he was advised to be discreet and wise, and that he should be the happiest of all Men. And hereupon taking him by the hand, she led him without light through an obscure way till they were come into a low room very like that of some old waiting Woman, in a corner of which there was a Lamp burning, there being nothing else in it but a Bed, and that none of the best, two Flag-Chairs, and a Trunk, which it is probable did serve for a Wardrobe. She busily told him that he should stay a little, and that when all things should be ready to receive him, she would fetch him. Happy Camille, not daring to make the least noise, all transported with joy and acknowledgements, did only kiss twice or thrice her hand, making her signs that she might be gone, and that he would stay there till she came again: upon this the Duenna, who knew with what impatiency she was expected back, that the result of her Commission might be known, did get up a Ladder which was in the Room, and went into the Chamber over it through a Trap-door, to give an accout of what she had done.  
To conceive well the condition that the Amorous Camille was in at that time, one should Love as much as he did. He was sensible that the Marchioness did show him more favour than ever he could have hoped for, and that when he thought his business desperate, on the sudden he did find himself upon the very moment of being the happiest of all men. These reflections raised his Thoughts and Ideas, representing to himself the beauteous Marchioness, some time after one manner, sometime after another, who told him this, to which he answered; that thus relishing beforehand such charming pleasures, that nothing but the reality of what he did imagine could afford him greater; so long as the heat of his Amorous rave could afford him any matter of entertainment, time did not seem long to him; and setting aside some little impatiences which from time to time did seize on him, he did spend passably well some moments in that dull Chamber; but when it began to be long before the old Woman did return, and that he had begun to fear some back stroke of Fortune or of Love, his Fancy representing to him every moment some misfortune or other, he felt no longer any thing of the former sweets. He had almost been two hours dancing Attendance, and had already gone above a thousand times about the Chamber, which he had visited, to divert himself from one end to the other, there not being a Rag, or Clout, Shell of red, Pot of Pomatum, with which that Trunk was filled, which had not passed through his hands, and wherein he had not thrust his Nose. He already did no longer hope for any thing of what he had promised to himself, and was very fearful of passing the Night upon that Trunk; for as to the Bed, he feared too much the smell and Society of it, when at last he did see the Trap-door lifted up, and the Duenna to appear, who made him signs to come up; Presently he reassumes his joy, and in two or three steps flies up to the Trap-door; he beholds a magnificent Chamber, enlightened but with one single Flambeau, which was placed upon the Table. The Duenna made him a sign that he should go to the Wall-side of the Bed, he advances with redoubling joys of Love which he could hardly contain in his heart, and drawing near to the Bed where lay the Lady with the Curtains drawn, he cast himself upon his Knees before her, who received him with no less passion. At the first onset there was nothing but Trasports and Tendernesses on both parts, sighs on this part, sighs on the other. Ah Madam, cried out Camille twice or thrice in a languishing accent, what Graces, what Favours do I receive at present from you? He was not able to say any more in the joy he had. Mean time the old Duenna, who had no more business there, went out of the Chamber to keep Sentry for fear of a surprisal. The Lady, who had seen sufficiently this languishing Lover, kneeling, being impatient that he should rise to an higher degree of Fortune, having no time to lose, desired him with a sigh to arise and sit down by her; that the Governor was playing with the Marquis, and that it would not be long before he would be coming. Camille, surprised with this discourse, and to hear so good Spanish spoken by a Lady of his Country who was not likely to understand it so well, opens his Eyes, discerns through the Curtains some other Features than those of the Marchioness, and in lieu of her he finds the Governors' Wife, whose Cornets, Ribbons, Curls, and all the other Adjustments with which she had bedecked herself as a new Bride, had at first sight deceived him through the aid of the small light that came into the Bed; what a change did this mistake produce in him? His Joy and Transports are presently changed into a dull silence, he looks up towards Heaven as if it had been the Author of his mishap, and at the same time turning his Head another way, in lieu of rising, as the Lady did bid him, he lets himself drop upon the Bed, with his Head leaning on his Arms, as if he would hid the Confusion that he was in through that piece of Treachery which Love had lately played him. The Lady, much troubled to see him in this posture, after such a Tender and Passionate beginning, inquires what he aileth, and whether he finds himself ill? He makes no Answer, she takes him by the Arm, draws him towards her, and finds him to be grown cold and indifferent, which surprises and frets her. Never were persons more puzzled; she repeats her Caresses, and entreats him to tell her what he has found in her that should on the sudden disgust him. She sees that he sighs, but it is for sorrow, and not out of Love. At last he rises and entreats of her that he may retire. Retire! replied she, with trembling a Voice, and can you leave me in this manner? Ah! how unhappy am I? continued she, holding an Handkerchief before her Eyes to hid the Confusion that she was in, and to receive some Tears which she could not retain. What, added she, must I see myself thus slighted by a person to whom I have abandoned my Life and Honour! And finding that neither her Tears, nor any thing else that she could say to him, of most tender, did move him, and that he still did persist in the design of retiring, Ungrateful man, said she to him with a sorrow mixed with fury, carry not thy cruelty so far, for thou wouldst abandon me to all that rage can make a Person of my Quality and Courage do, when she finds herself treated as thou usest me. Speak, draw near, and at least tell me something that may allay the effects of thy contempt. The Governor is not far from hence, and if thou obligest me to make some noise thou art lost.  
Who ever else had been in Camille's room, had peradventure more Complaisance for a Lady, who though none of the handsomest, might well deserve somewhat less of Rigour to be shown to her, that doth never become a young Man; but yet again when one is prepossessed with such a strong Passion as he was, and that in lieu of a charming Beauty which has been long expected and thought to be in possession, an Object is met with which was not sought after, it becomes the more hateful, and the Heart being grieved at such a Deceit, it takes up quite contrary Thoughts to the former, and it is very difficult to reclaim it. However Camille, who looked upon himself as a Prisoner in the Power of a transported Woman who could really ruin him, did at last make use of his Prudence; he did not drive her to the extremity, and thinking on some more handsome put off than that of a Disgust, he was preparing himself to make her some Excuses upon a Faintness of Heart which had seized on him, when the Duenna came in great haste to tell them, that the Game was at an end, and the Governor coming; so that all that Donna Barbara could do, was to embrace once more that insensible Lover, which in that very moment did force some Expressions of Kindness to comfort her a little, seeing himself upon the point of being rid of her. If you will not, said she, put into Despair a Person that has so much Passion as I have for you, render yourself to morrow at the same Hour where I did see you this Night. She had no time to say more to him, because that she heard the Governor coming; so that the Duenna had but just time sufficient to open the Trap-door, and go out with Camille, and that with such precipitation, that her Coats being between as she let it down again, and the Ladder which was not very fast, having slid from under them by their hasty motion in getting off, the Pilgrim fell with his Breech to the Ground, and the old Woman remained hung in the Air by her Coats, which was the pleasantest sight that could be. She durst not make any noise, for fear of being heard by the Governor; and she was making sign to the Pilgrim to help her to get lose; but notwithstanding the cross adventure which he had so lately had, and that in which she had sheared with the Duenna, he did break out into such a laughter at the dangling of her Legs, that he was a long time not being able to rise. He would gladly have left her in that posture to be revenged of the cruel message which she had lately delivered to him, by which he had lost the Rendezvous which he had from the Marchioness, and perhaps the opportunity of ever having another; but having occasion for this old Woman to convey him from thence, he was obliged much against his will to assist her; yet it was not without considering of her very exactly, before and behind, and laughing hearty at her, which made the Duenna storm at him, and promise him to revenge herself if ever he came again. Camille did not trouble himself at her Threats, being very sorry to have been catched once there. Being led out, he passed once again before the Windows of the Marchionesses Chamber, but could see no more light there, and small hopes of having any till day; yet he walked under them for some time, sighing, thinking and complaing of Love, and of that hard fate which had so untowardly thrown him into the Arms of an homely Woman; yet in the midst of all these regrets, the pleasant Reflections which he did make upon his mistake on the transports of the Governess, and on the Duenna's Adventure, did somewhat divert him. But it was time to go to Bed, not to sleep; for that's not for Lovers, but to think what he should do to repair that Night's miscarriage.  
So soon as it was Day he sent too seek after the most dear Father Andrew, from whom he kept secret what had befallen him with the governor's Wife; it not becoming a well-bred Man to divulge such things; he only told him that he was the most unfortunate of all Men, and that if he did not take pity of him, his despair would not let him live twenty four hours. The obliging Father Andrew, impatient to learn in what he could serve him, imagining that it would not be unrewarded, did conjure him not to despair, but to be persuaded, that if his happiness did depend on him only, he would make him the most happy Person in the World. After this sincere and true protestation, Camille told him, that if he would have him obliged to him of his life, which was much more than of his good Fortune, he must that day deliver a Letter to the Marchioness, and endeavour by all means possible to bring him an Answer: That he would acknowledge his kindness so as that he should have cause to be contented, and not repine at the little pains he should take for him. Alas, fie, Sir, pray have no such thought, said the Father, smilingly interrupting him. You know that we are in this World but to serve one another, and I do not believe there is any one that taketh more delight in obliging Persons than I do. Give me that Letter, added he, and only pray to God that I may find the Marchioness alone, and I promise to return you such an Answer as you would desire; but be the Marquis there or not, I will not return without bringing you news from the Marchioness, and deliver your Letter unto her; and without more Words, he takes leave of him, and goes to set the Irons in the Fire.  
The Marchioness had been all Night in no less trouble than Camille; she had in the Evening feigned herself somewhat ill, that she might stay in her Chamber, and not lose the opportunity of the Appointment which she had made to the Pilgrim, but that pretended Indisposition had not had the effect which she expected; for the Governor and his Lady, being come to keep her Company, did pass the greatest part of the Night with her, the Governor at play with the Marquis, and Donna Barbara in Discourse with her; so that she never durst draw near to the Window, for fear of giving them any Distrust in case the Pilgrim should appear and be seen; as indeed it happened unto the governor's Wife, which had presently known him, and made use of the occasion as has been related. And the Marchioness was no sooner quit of the Lady, but she went also to the Window, but there was no Pilgrim there, she looked every way, and waited for him with the the greatest Impatiency and Trouble imaginable, fearing that he might have been weary with waiting so long. The Game being ended at last, and the jealous Marquis, who had twice or thrice observed with what assiduity his sick Wife did stay at the Window, had played with a very distracted mind, every moment turning his head towards her, as if he feared some Gallant should get up that way; so that the Governor was no sooner got out of the Chamber, but that he went himself to see what was the matter, he looked out, and after he had been some time there, not seeing any thing, he shut the Window with a great deal of caution.  
The beautiful Marchioness was in such a melancholy for having failed the Pilgrim, that she could have no rest all that night. Her Husband who did not always sleep, when he seemed so to do, and who had fancied that certainly his Wife had had some evil design that Evening, was more than ever confirmed in that Opinion, when he heard her from time to time to vent most violent sighs. There needed no great matter to puzzle his Brains; and this wicked Pilgrim did so run in his mind since the Adventure of the Diamond, that he had no other Dreams every Night but of Palmer staves, Cockle shell Hats, and the like, which made him be in a continual fear; he would come every day at Mass in the Palace-Chappel where he had no business; he did insinuate himself into the governor's Favour, to render him a Visit; wherefore all this, thought he, if it were not on my Wife's account? who, as indisposed as she was, did watch two or three hours at the Window to see him pass by. Thus did he reason within himself; if by laying his hand on her left side he could have made her declare in her sleep all that she had in her Heart; Oh, what a Triumph that had been for him! but he had already a thousand times made trial of that secret without advantage. After this he lay reproaching of himself for having continued so long at play, while he should have been minding his business; for, said he to himself, with a Sex so perfidious as that is, let a poor Man forget himself but one moment, and he is liable to receive during that time the greatest Affront that can ever happen to him. Having passed the best part of the Night in tormenting himself after this manner, he got up in the Morning, his Head so filled with the thoughts of this Pilgrim, that he fancied to see him in every Person that came into the Chamber. Father Andrew, who was one of the first that came to visit him, though he dissembled never so much, approaching him in a Saintlike posture, with a wry Neck, his hands in his great Sleeves, and a down look, he was received by the Marquis rather worse than the Day before. For after he had showed him a Mien cold enough to freeze the fiery heat of the most Zealot of all Intrigues, he heard him speak during more than an hour that they walked together in the Hall, without affording him any other answer than yea or nay, with which Father Andrew grew at last weary, and finding that he could not get him by any means to enter into a Conversation, he took the liberty to ask him how the Lady Marchioness did, and whether he should not have the honour to give her the good morrow. No, Father, replied the Marquis, very coldly, she is not very well, and you will excuse her for this time. Heaven! how sorry am I at it? replied the good Father, it is at such times, as when we are visited, that we stand in most need of a wise Directors Consolations; and with your liking, my Lord, added he, seeing that Heaven hath sent me as it were on purpose, I will have her asked, if without disturbing I could not speak some Words of Consolation unto her. You will certainly disquiet her, Father, did he reply. But if she had occasion to confess herself, continued the ghostly Director. She is not yet so ill, answered the Marquis, and it is not eight Days since she was at Confession. It is no matter, went on the Father, going towards the Marchionesses Chamber, one knows not what may happen. She sleeps, said the other, detaining him, and this is not fit time. How? does she so? said the zealous Father, than I will wait till she awakens, and you— Father, without any more ado, said the Jealous Lord, interrupting of him somewhat roughly, his patience being at an end, I tell you, that here is no need of you, and that you will oblige me, not to come here again till you are sent for. Sir, it is not usual to treat a Man of my Orders in such a manner, replied Father Andrew, without being daunted, in speaking to me so roughly, you offend a whole Order, that might— I should offend the Pope, and the whole Church, said the angry Marquis interrupting him, with a longing desire to break the Friars bald Pate, if the Pope and the Church would see my Wife against my Will: and saying this he left his Reverence, and withdrew himself into his Wife's Chamber, and shut the Door after him.  
The poor Father Andrew extremely confused and vexed at the Marquis his Bruitishness, retired very pensive, but fully resolved to find some way of Revenge; thinking himself unworthy of his Monkish Character, if he did not make him wear a pair of Fair ones. He returned to the Pilgrim with a most sorrowful Countenance, and in giving him an account of the manner that that Brute had used him (for so he qualified the Marquis) he did sufficiently express his Resentments, protesting, that were it not for the Habit he wore, he would have made him that which he feared so much to be. That excess of Choler made Camille to laugh, maugre all the Discontent he was in at his Embassy's ill Success. He entreated the Father to rely on him as to the point Revenge, only desiring his Assistance to bring it about. That I fully resolve, answered Father Andrew, and though it should cost me the Hundred Pistols that I have received from you, I must and will speak to the Marchioness this very day, and give you an account of this Letter. Camille, who was not ignorant of those Confraters Subtleties, very much rejoicing to see him take such a Resolution, told him, to animate him the more, that in case those Hundred Pistols were employed in his Service, he should meet with another hundred at his return, and more too, if he had occasion for them. Liberality is one of the most advantageous and surest Qualities of a Lover. Most commonly it stands in the place of Merit, and persuades much better▪ That which Love cannot do in a long time, Money will perform some time in a moment. Father Andrew, in whom a covetous humour did predominate above all other things, did find himself engaged by so powerful an Interest to serve so brave a Pilgrim as not to omit, setting on work all that he knew of subtlety and intrigue. Vengeance and hope of a new Present were too strongly joined together to fail; upon such good security he would have undertaken the most difficult things in the World. He goes to Donna Barbara, whose Confessor he was, as we have already said, so that he knew the very Soul of her; he counterfeits a troubled Mind, that he might be asked what it was that disquieted him. The Lady falls in his Trap, she entreats and presses him divers times to tell her what was the matter; and at last he informs her, that the Marquis is jealous of the Governor; and that having been in his apartment to visit the Marchioness, who he had heard was fallen ill, he had used him not as a Confessor, or his Excellency's Chaplain; but as a Messenger concerned in the Governors' Amours, not giving him the liberty to see her. Signora Donna Barbara, according to the usual custom of Women, who will be themselves jealous of their Husbands, but will not suffer others to be so, did take in great disdain the Marquis his distrusts, not thinking her selfless worthy than his Wife. Thus being carried away with those first transports, she did speak with so much scorn of the Husband's extravagancy, and the Wife's want of Merit, that she gave occasion to Father Andrew to descant upon that Theme also, and say to her, all that could incense her and make her of his Party. Nay, since it is so, said Donna Barbara, and that this Lord is so apt to see Visions, only because my Husband is more civil, and better understands what is due to Ladies than he, he shall be made jealous in good earnest, and we will make ourselves some sport with him. If you will serve me in it, Father Andrew, added she, smiling, we shall both revenge ourselves most pleasantly. Father Andrew, who desired nothing more, made answer that he was ready to obey her, in all that she would be pleased to command him; and upon that she told him that she would think on it, and did bid him come again to her towards the Evening a little before Supper, of which he failed not, and Donna Barbara found him in her Chamber waiting for her; she laughed so soon as she saw him, and asked him, if he could act very well a Gallants part; for he should see that Night the Marchioness in such a Garb; at this, Father Andrew, taking upon him to assume a good Mien, was willing to let the Lady see, that he had not quite forgot what he had formerly been, and what he yet could be upon occasion: At which postures Donna Barbara laughing outright, she sent him to one of her Husbands Valet de Chambre, to whom she had before given order to fit him Cap-a-pe, like a Gentleman, and she told Father Andrew, that when he should be ready, he should go into the Garden, and keep himself in the Grotto of the Naiads, where she should meet him with the Marchioness. Father Andrew o'erjoyed with a design so favourable to his desires, did shout with joy at so pretty a design, and did much applaud the Lady's ingenuity. Go and prepare yourself to act your part well, said the Marchioness; for now that the Governor is not here, doubtless the Marquis will accompany us into the Garden, which will furnish us no doubt with some further divertisement, and you with a fit occasion of revenge. But Madam, replied Father Andrew, who had no mind that the conclusion of the Play should light on him, I would not have this Lord to mistake himself; for I know how furious he is, and you can testify, Madam, that I have no hand in this, further than to obey your commands: Go, replied she, and fear not any thing where I shall be.  
Upon this Father Andrew goes to the Valet de Chambre, who did take care to accommodate him; and Donna Barbara having supped, she went as she used to do every Evening, to walk in the Garden with the Marchioness, where the Marquis did not fail to accompany them. But because the Governor was not there, the Spanish Custom not permitting him to entertain the Ladies, for fear of giving Jealousy, he went to walk in another place of the Garden, however still having his Eyes on them, for fear of some surprise. Madam, said Donna Barbara to the Marchioness, so soon as they were by themselves, to show you that I am a Woman of the most frank Nature in the World, I must tell you that it is twenty years since I first knew a Man, for whom I have a very great esteem, and whom I cannot forbear seeing once a Day, and in a Word, from whom I reserve no secrets, so that I intrust him with my greatest as well as smallest Concerns; yet this Man does not so soon desire to see you, but that without weighing mine own interests, I offer to be his assistant, I must confess, replied the Marchioness, that the example is not common; and that such an action from any one but you, Madam, would very much surprise me, but one endowed with such charming qualities as you have, may hazard something more than ordinary, especially being near such a mean beauty as mine is. Madam, I do not tell you this, replied the governor's Lady, to invite you to flatter me, or to contend of beauty with you; on the contrary you see the sacrifice which I make you, of a Man whose Heart you deserve to possess much more than I do, and unto whose vows I humbly entreat you to hearken: And I, Madam, replied the Marchioness, who shall ev●● yield unto you in all things, except in complaisance and generosity of Heart, I conjure you not to speak to me in the least of that Person, and to dispense with me from seeing him: That cannot be, replied Donna Barbara, for I have engaged it should be otherwise, and we are too near him to get off again. As she ended these Words, and not above two or three steps from the Grotto of the Naiads, they saw come forth a Cavalier in a magnificent dress, which did as much surprise the Marchioness, as all that Donna Barbara ha● newly said unto her. She would presently have retired, fearing it was some trick put upon her; but the Governors' Lady stopped her. Good Madam, said the Marchioness, permit me to retire I beseech you, or I shall have cause to complain of you. But Donna Barbara had no sooner seen Father Andrew's Figure, but she burst out into such a laughter as would not give her leave to answer her. At which the Marchioness strangely confounded, believing that she was certainly played upon, would by all means be gone, not intending to be an object to the divertisement of the Governor's Lady. On the other hand Father Andrew did make most ridiculous postures in imitation of a Gallant Air, and did speak such pleasant things to the Marchioness to undeceive her, and oblige her to stay, that Donna Barbara was even spent with laughing, and the Marchioness began to be angry in good earnest, not designing to answer, or so much as turn her Eyes towards the Cavalier; who seeing that Donna Barbara could detain her no longer, was at last constrained to ask her if she knew no longer Father Andrew. Never was a confusion equal to that of the Marchioness, who at the Name of Father Andrew having cast her Eyes upon him, did presently know him, and was for sometime so disordered within herself, that she knew not what to say, not knowing to what purpose Donna Barbara had brought her that Friar, without he had entrusted her with what had passed between her and the Pilgrim: but she was presently undeceived as to that; for the Governors' Lady, who thought that she had sufficiently laughed at the Marchioness' cost, not willing to let her remain any longer in the disorder that she seemed to be in, did relate unto her how that all this Comedy had been invented merely to revenge herself of her Husband's jealousy, who would not allow that any one should see her: And as she was thus speaking, Father Andrew, who was upon the watch, and who not without cause was more in fear than any body else, did a far off espy the Marquis, who was advancing towards them with a round pace: Upon which he was alarmed, and would fain have been a going; but Donna Barbara did embolden him again, and advised them both to go into the Grotto, while she would go meet the Marquis, to undeceive him; but that the opportunity was too fair not to throughly revenge herself by it. The Marchioness, who would willingly have given half her life to speak with Father Andrew, was so surprised with joy, at the opportunity which Donna Barbara gave her of it, that she thought of nothing but to make good use of that happy moment.  
The Marquis had all along kept the Avenue, having walked before the Garden-gate to observe those that should go in or out; when having cast his eyes on that side that the Ladies were, he had seen certain feathers appear, which had most terribly affrighted him; and quite out of breath at the sight of that Vision, he was running as fast as he could that way, to see what it was, and know whether his eyes deceived him or not: But Donna Barbara meeting him, did detain him, and enquired whether he went so fast: Leave me, Madam, said he, with so great a perplexity that he could scarce speak, for Heaven's sake let me go, for I have seen all, and your company is too dangerous for my Wife. Why? replied she, what is't you fear? She is with my Husband, who we have found hid in the Grotto of the Nyades. How? She is with your Husband, replied the Marquis more astonished than ever, and you can have the patience, Madam, to leave them alone thus? What, replied she, you'd have me be there as a Property? That is not my humour; and if Monsieur the Governor, who as you know has ever been wanton enough, will play me foul play, I shall sooner forgive him for making choice of so pretty a Lady as is the Marchioness, than if he should make use of some other less deserving: And I find, replied the Marquis in a fury, that what you now say, is the most terrible thing in the World, and that an honest Woman ought to give Poison to a Husband that should have the least thought of such a thing. In speaking thus, he was so distracted, that he knew not what to do: He would go two or three steps forwards, and then as many back, draging Donna Barbara after him, who still had hold of him, and had much to do to follow him: Will you not then, said she to him, go and see what they do, seeing you are resistless. No, Madam, answered he roughly, retiring back, for I have seen but too much already; and since that the Rights of Hospitality are violated here, and that under the pretence of Parentage a Man of my Quality is dishonoured, I must have a recourse to those that can do me Justice in this case, and I will perish rather than not be righted. He did speak those Words with such a transport, and so loud, that Father Andrew, who was not far from thence, having heard him, thought that he was just upon him, which made him gallop away as fast as he could to the Backdoor, of which Donna Barbara had given him the Key.  
The Marquis was going back to the Palace wholly transported with fury, revolving a thousand designs of vengeance in his Mind against this treacherous Kinsman the Governor: When he was scarce got to the first Gallery which answered into the Garden, where he met him with some Officers. How great his surprise was, is easy to be imagined; and seeing him come up to him with a cheerful smiling countenance, he stood looking on him without saying one Word. The Governor more surprised, than he himself, at his behaviour, and to see him so pale and wan, did ask him what he ailed: What, my Lord, said the Marquis, did I not see you but even now in the Garden speaking to my Wife, near the Grotto of the Naiads? No assuredly, replied the Governor, for I have been ever since morning in the Arcenal, to hasten the fitting out of some Vessels for Sicily, and I am but just come in. The jealous Marquis had no sooner heard this, but that the fumes of his passion confounding his senses more than ever, he returned into the Garden almost distracted, where the Governor, who did see him so transported, did follow him, pressing him several times to declare what he ailed, and where he was going, without being able to get one Word from him, till they had found the Ladies that were walking and laughing still at the Adventure, against whom he vented part of his rage, running down his Wife with such ill language, in which Donna Barbara's Honour was not a little concerned. The Governor did hear all that without one Word speaking, being in an extreme impatiency to learn the cause of all those transports: But the Ladies, who continued laughing at the Marquis' fury, did increase it much at the Governors' amazement, unto whom, when the jealous Man was retired, they gave an account of all that had passed.  
Mean time the furious Marquis was extremely perplexed, to guests who that Cavalier should be that he had seen with his Wife in the Garden, there being no likelihood that it should be the Governor: So that after he had sufficiently tormented himself on that Theme, he having always his imagination filled with the Pilgrim, and that he could think of no other Person on whom he might more certainly lay his Conjectures, he concluded that it was he, and that Sennora Donna Barbara, who had always taken that Traitor's part, had had him secretly conveyed into the Garden, there to entertain his Wife. There was but little Ground for all that, and it was very unlikely that a Lady, as was the Governors' Wife, should stoop so low: But of what strange Ideas is not a jealous Man's fancy capable? He did confirm himself so well in that Opinion, through a thousand false reasonings which he made upon it, that he no longer doubted it so, that he took the resolution to rid himself of a Man so fatal to his quiet as was that Person: Yet some checks of Conscience, (for Spaniards have it very tender,) making him to reflect with some scruples on an act in which a Christian Soul was concerned, he did conclude to examine the business a little better first: And thereupon he was framing a design most infallible, to inform himself of the whole truth; which was, to disguise himself like a Pilgrim, as he might easily do in a Country where there are Shops full of such Garments to sell, and then to walk under his own Chamber-window, where his Wife would not fail to appear, as she had done the Night before, and so be trepanned: This being resolved upon, as has been said, and perceiving the Night to draw near, so that he had no time to lose, if he would get all things ready before the Marchioness should be returned from her walk, he sent one of his Servants to fetch him a Pilgrim's Habit; and having placed two other of his Servants over against his Chamber to keep Sentry, if occasion were, and to give him an account of all things, he withdrew himself, expecting the return of his Servant.  
Father Andrew, who through the impatiency he was in to carry those good news to the Pilgrim, which he had to tell him, together with the fear that the Marquis had put him in, had not had time to go and shift himself, but was running as fast as he could towards his most Dear's Lodgings with that Hat loaden with Feathers, which sometimes flapt of one side of his Head, and sometimes hung on the other: Besides the Peruque which did infinitely annoy him, and made him sweat more than ever had done two Cowls made of Serge; but above all, the Belt, which was so long, that the Sword dragged on the ground, being forced to carry it in one hand, and to hold his Hat with the other. He did cross in this dress the best part of the City, not without frequently looking behind him, to see if some body did follow him, still fearing the Marquis his anger, though he was far enough: At last he came to the Pilgrim's Lodging, who unfortunately was not at home. This makes him mad, he must find him out; that which he has to say to him is of too great a consequence to be omitted; it cannot be deferred, and there is not a moment to be lost: He runs to and fro, here and there, knowing that his steps would be very well rewarded, and that thereby his zeal would the more appear, but no Pilgrim to be found. He had been seeking of him two hours, and was ready to return the second time to his Lodgings, but first he would go round the Palace, not being far from thence, to see if he might not be stayed there; when passing under the Windows of the Marquis his Apartment, he saw a Pilgrim walking, and that seemed to come towards him. It was somewhat dark, and he believed that he should hardly know him; therefore running towards him to embrace him, You have given me, said he, a great deal of trouble this day; you see in what an Equipage I am still, but you shall never know in what dangers I have hazarded my life for your sake. In a word, continued he in a low voice, the beauteous Marchioness is yours, and this very Night, if you can get a Ladder of Ropes, she will follow you wheresoever you shall please to lead her: I have a Letter of hers to give you, in which you will see more; but let us from hence. As Father Andrew was talking after this manner, he perceived a certain piece of Iron to glitter, with which the Pilgrim was going to reward him after an ill manner for his good services, if he had not happily escaped the blow, by suddenly recollecting himself, seeing his error, and running away; yet not so quickly, but that he left the Hat, Feathers, and Peruque in the others hands, who thought to hold him fast by them: Ah! thou Villain, cried he, is it thus that thou performest thy Religious Vows? Thou infamous Hypocrite, Hast thou taken upon thee a Religious Habit, but for the more secure debauching another man's Wife? Father Andrew, who had not been so surprised at the shining of the Dagger, as he was at the hearing of the Marquis his voice, did set all his strength in his heels, and little minding the Sermon which was preached to him, he left not running till he was come to the Pilgrim's House. The Marquis, who was not so good a Footman, left running after him, being well satisfied with having found out the bottom of the Plot, especially the Marchionesses good intentions. He was only vexed that had been too hasty, else he might have had the Letter also, which had been the way to have convinced her so home, that she should have had nothing to say for herself: Yet he did not wholly despair of performing it, in continuing to act the Pilgrim's part, and walking under the Windows of her Apartment: He was scarce returned thither, but the Duenna of Donna Barbara, who had ever since morning prepared as severe a Revenge for Camille as could be imagined, failed not to let fall upon the Marquis his Head, from a third story, a whole deluge of filth, with which he was covered all over. Oh Heavens! must I receive this affront too, said he, lifting up his Head, to see from whence that Present came, to fill up my measure of misfortunes? And without staying to make needless complaints, and not being able to endure the horrible stink with which he was perfumed, he went back to the Palace to shift himself, and in the same time gave such Orders, so that the Conspiracy should not take effect; but as he was going into that Chamber in which he was to leave all his Equipage, the Governor, who with his Wife was accompanying the Marchioness, did espy him; and having judged by his countenance that it was some body that would hid himself, he did ask of him who carred the Flambeau, who it was; who made him Answer, that he thought it was the Marquis: At which they all fell to laugh; and Donna Barbara, who sought by all means to make him stark mad, did oblige his Lady, who was very indifferent, and the Governor, who out of complaisance did follow them, to go with her into that Chamber where they found him, having still the Hat and Peruque of that most wicked Father Andrew in one hand, and the Palmer's staff in the other; but their presence was to him the most grievous of all afflictions, not thinking that they had seen him. They ail gazed upon him with such an amazement, as at first hindered them from speaking, not only by reason of his disguise, which was sufficient to surprise them, but to see in what a pickle he had been laid, from head to foot, which did oblige them all to hold their Noses, no body daring to ask him the reason of all that, seeing him to be in no humour of satisfying their curiosity. But at last great shouts of laughter having succeeded all on a sudden, to their surprisal and silence, the Governor, who was a very civil Gentleman, did desire his Wife and the Marchioness to retire, that they night not augment his Confusion, or rather the rage that the Marquis was in, and give their people occasion to laugh at him. So he only remained with him, and looking on him with compassion, My Lord, said he, what would you have the World to think of you? Let it think what it will; but still 'tis my opinion, that it is permitted every body to mind their own business; and, if possibly, to prevent being betrayed: Betrayed, replied the Governor, and where then are these Traitors? Where they are! replied the Marquis in his turn, over all the Earth, and with you, more than in any place of the World. In a word, your Wife, and your Apostate Chaplain, who is the most wicked of all Traitors: But do you not see, replied the Governor, that all is but in jest, to make mirth; and that my Wife, and that good Father— How? a sport to laugh at, said the Marquis in a fury, interrupting him, when my Honour and Life are concerned in it? Yes, my Life, I say, for one cannot take the one from me without the other; when Letters are carried, and that my Wife is to be stolen away: But who, replied the Governor, who is to take her away? Who? replied the other, your honest Pilgrim, with that precious Father Andrew, through the assistance, I will not say of whom, for I myself am ashamed of it. Heavens! is it possible, said the Governor, that you should abuse yourself in this manner? Yea, yea, I do abuse myself, replied he in a scornful tone, and this Hat and Peruque were not part of Father Andrew 's Equipage, who has been this night to speak with my Wife through the assistance of yours: That which you now say, is true, replied the Governor, Father Andrew has been so idle as to please my Wife, in disguising himself like a Cavalier, and she made him go into the Garden to laugh at him, with the Marchioness; you should have laughed also, and not fumed at is as you have done: Yea, I must confess, I am mightily in the wrong, replied the Marquis in the same tone still, and I was to have laughed at it; or rather, if you please, I should have been my Wife's Confident to have carried the Letters which she writ to the Pilgrim, and have saved the good Father Andrew that labour▪ These are your counsels, Monsieur the Governor, and I thank you most kindly for them. But— the Governor would have answered him; But, said he presently again, interrupting of him, I beseech you to leave me in quiet, and let every one govern himself according to his own maxims; it suffices that I am obliged to you, and to my Lady Governess, for all that could happen to me in this world of most cruel.  
While they were thus entertaining one another, the Marquis had rid himself of the Pilgrim's Weeds, he immediately did run to his Apartment, confiding no more in Donna Barbara, than in Father Andrew, and presently he set his head to the Window, to see if the Ladder was not yet ready. The Governor, who would not leave him till he had informed him better, was endeavouring with the best reasons that he could find, to reclaim him: Believe me, said he to him, my dear Cousin, that Pilgrim, of whom you speak, has no share in this Evenings Raillery; and I am very certain, that Father Andrew, does not so much as know him. Good God replied the Marquis, crying out as if possessed, Father Andrew, that Villain, from whom I have just now learned all, who is carrying of a Letter from my Wife to that Pilgrim, and who is to give him notice that he need but bring a Ladder this night to get to her out at the Window, and that she will follow him wheresoever he pleases, does not know that Traitor? All this did seem so ridiculous unto the Governor, and to Donna Barbara, that in lieu of adding Faith unto it, they did believe that he was crack-brained; and they were consulting between them, what they should do to prevent this distemper from growing worse. As for the Marchioness, she was retired into a Closet, so soon as she had seen the Marquis come, under pretence of not exposing herself unto the rage of a jealous Madman; but the truth was, because she was so strangely perplexed, not knowing what had happened unto Father Andrew, whose Hat and Peruque she had seen in her Husband's Hands; above all things, fearing that some mishap was come to her Letter. The Governor did think, that if he should cause the Pilgrim to be secured, so that the Marquis should have nothing further to fear from him, that that might compose his Brains. Donna Barbara did highly approve of this Proposition; and her advice was, as every body thinks most on their own Interest, that it would not be amiss to detain him Prisoner in one of the Towers of the Palace, that the Marquis might rest the more secure; and that on the other hand, this poor Pilgrim, whom they thought not guilty, should be the better treated. This being so concluded, it was proposed to the Marquis, who was already gathering his people together, to be on the defence, in case of an Escalade, and who protested that there should be Night and Day a Guard in his Chamber, and that his Wife should not stir forth of it till this cursed Pilgrim were seized, and that he had seen him have Irons at his Feet. They promised him, that things should be performed according to his Desires: And the Governor sent immediately to fetch a Lieutenant of the Guard, to whom he gave Orders before the Marquis, to instantly go with twelve Musqueteers, and seek all about the City after an Italian Pilgrim, which he described unto him; that he should not return without him but should confine him in the Red Tower of the Palace. Mean time Father Andrew was come to Camille so out of Breath, that he was a considerable time before he could say any thing to him, more than by Signs and Grimaces, which did as much amaze the Pilgrim, as the Equipage that he was in did make him laugh; Good God Sir, said Father Andrew to him, with his Eyes staring, what hazards have I run through this day for your sake? I have seen myself at the last moment of living, and it was well for me that I had a quick eye, and a nimble foot, I had been a dead Man else, and killed, past all redemption, by the enraged Marquis his hand. Camille having enquired how, after he had taken a little Breath, he related all that had happened to him that Evening, in such passionate terms, and such pleasant gestures, especially at the Adventure of the Dagger, which was doubtless the most pleasant passage of all the Relation, that Camille, as vexed as he was at his giddy mistake, whose evil consequences he did very well foresee, could not forbear laughing, seeing him imitate at once both the Marquesses and his own part, how he had lifted the Dagger up against him, and how he had shunned the blow, still concluding that his business had been done, if he had not made quick use both of his Eyes and Legs. Camille, who was much more impatient to see the Marchionesses Letter, than to hear every particular of that story, having asked for it, he opened it, and read these words.  
APpearances have deceived me, Sir, and you must blame them for my over hasty condemning of you. I can further say, that in despite of them, I have rendered you more Justice than I could reasonably have done; and that at the very instant that I called you Traitor, there was something which whispered unto me, it could not be possible, that a Person who appeared so Worthy, and so Generous, could be capable of committing so base an Action. I was beginning to renounce that injustice which I thought I did you, when I received your Letter; and I am not more obliged to you for those generous offers, which you continue to make me, than in having wholly confirmed me in the opinion that I had of you: For proof whereof, I declare to you, that besides the manner that you seem to be concerned at my ill Fortune, which would ever oblige me to have a great esteem for you, I have found such qualities in you, as usually make the tenders of some persons services more acceptably received, than those of some others; and that it will not be difficult for me to wholly confide in you. Let us make good use of time and opportunity, for I know not whether I shall ever have it so fair again; and if you can provide this very night a Ladder to get me down with from the Window, I shall be ready to follow you. Farewell: Do you act so, as to get Fortune of your side, and I'll engage to you on the account of Love.  
The March. of L. C.  
While Camille was reading this Letter with transports of joy and love, he did tremble on the other side, when he did think on the hazards that it had run of falling into the Marquis his Hands, which would have been the absolute ruin of the Marchioness: He did shrewdly guests, though Father Andrew had not told him, that his imprudence had made him discover something of the secret; that after such a fatal Encounter there was nothing to be hoped for in their late design; and that the jealous Lord would certainly be upon his guard: He was distracted at it, which yet he durst not wholly express to the Father, for fear of putting him out of humour, perceiving very well, that which way soever the business should go, he should still have occasion for him. As they were reasoning together on the ways they should take, to know if there were any hopes of executing their Enterprise, without danger of being discovered or known, they saw an Officer come into the Chamber, who, followed by six Musqueteers, gave the Pilgrim to understand, that he had an Order from the Governor to secure him, and did in a civil way desire him to surrender himself, because that besides his having of six Musqueteers more at Hand, it had been expressly commanded him to use him civilly; and that he should be very sorry to be obliged to use violent Hands. All those kind expressions did not hinder our Hero, who believed himself lost, and who was not a Person to be tamely taken, to set himself in a Posture of Defence, with a Dagger in his Hand, the only Weapon that he had then near him; so that maugre their great number, he sold them his liberty at a dear rate, having wounded three or four of the Soldiers; who having spared him at first, were at last so nettled at the sight of their blood, that they were making at him, without any further regard unto the Governors' Orders of favouring him. Father Andrew, who had never been in such a Fray, whether being animated thereunto by the example of the Pilgrims generous resistance, or that the Cavaliers dress he was in, of which he had lost nothing but the Hat and Peruque, did infuse courage in him; he played the Devil amongst them; and did so well second the Valiant Camille, that the Lieutenant had occasion for the other six Soldiers, which he called to his assistance. They were forced at last to yield to the greater number: Father Andrew was the first taken, and the most ill treated, having not been spared, as had been the Pilgrim; there had reigned upon his back and head, which was naked, a whole deluge of blows of Garabines, and flats of Swords; he crying out as one that was sufficiently beaten; Ah! you Villains, is it thus that you treat poor Father Andrew, the Governors' Chaplain, and Religious Priest of the Order of S. Dominick? Ye are all Excommunicated, and I Excommunicate▪ you for ever if you do not hold. At the name of Father Andrew, rather than at the noise of the Excommunication, there was a Truce of blows; and at the same time the Pilgrim having been seized, they were both had to the Palace, though there was Orders but for Camille, because of the resistance that Father Andrew had made, upon whom the Soldiers had been more severe, as it did very well appear, they having discharged the greatest part of their anger upon him, so that he could but difficultly move. He was thus very well rewarded for all his Messages: Fortune does not always favour us in all Places; and her ordinary vicissitudes are in making cross Events to succeed the fairest beginnings.  
The Pilgrim was lodged in the Red Tower, and his Companion was had before the Governor, to know what should be done with him. Father Andrew would have willingly redeemed himself from so shameful a Scene, with the hundred Pistols which he had received: And for certain, how great soever the Governors' surprise was to see him in so strange a dress, and to lean that he was found with the Pilgrim, he could not forbear laughing, in spite of the serious countenance which he had took upon him, to see him in so sad a pickle with that new garment, which had been extremely disordered in the Battle. Donna Barbara, who was gone to Bed, and could not persuade herself that it was her Ghostly Father, did rise to see him, and was yet more supris'd than had been the Governor, but did not laugh, having a greater interest in it than her Husband, not doubting after this, but that all which the Marquis had said concerning the Intrigues between the Marchioness and the Pilgrim were real truths. All her anger was presently turned against Father Andrew, not only for his serving her Rival, but because he had made her a party, having caused her to act a part very unworthy of her, and most cruel to her Heart. She took no notice of it before her Husband, but was resolved to treat him the next morning as he deserved. The Governor, who thought the Friar had been sufficiently punished for all his follies, caused him to be released, and presently sent Word to the Marquis, that the Pilgrim was secured: This was a great satisfaction to him: yet he did not sleep the better for it, but had all night long Visions of Palmer Staves, Hats with Shells, and such like things, against which his Mind could not yet be well settled, though the cause of all those Terrors of his was in Prison.  
The unfortunate Camille, overwhelmed with Vexations and Despair in that Prison, was much troubled about the Cause that should move the Governor to have him thus apprehended in the Nighttime, and after such Kindnesses which he had showed him: the time which he had allowed him in Barcelona was not yet expired, and on the Marquis his account he did not believe there was any reason to use that extremity towards him; and it was much more probable, as he could not doubt it, that the Governor had dived into his Wife's Folly; and that the same Reasons which obliged him to forbid him the Court, and not to remain above three Days in the City, had incited him also to cast him into Prison. These Considerations made him exclaim against his too rigorous Fate, that thus did load him with Troubles, through the Love of a Woman whom he could not fancy, when he was just upon the point of being the most happy of all Men with her that he adored. This Thought, with the little Inclinanation he had for the governor's Wife, did not not a little contribute to make him absolutely hate her.  
Donna Barbara had not that Night her Mind less filled with Sorrow and Care for her Lover: She had scarce seen him, but she had loved him with so violent a Passion, which did every moment increase, and the sole Idea of that Pilgrim did so transport her, that there was not any thing which she would not perform to gain his Affections. Mean time she learns that he loves another, and concludes that the Repulses, or at least the Indifferency that he had shown to her the Night before, did all proceed from thence; and that when he came to her, it was with an Intention to have met with the Marchioness, as it had afterwards appeared by his Surprise. These were cruel Reflections for a Woman that loves with such a Passion as she did the Pilgrim, and yet they were not powerful enough to cure her; and in the midst of all the Sorrow she had, to find her Affections run so far in favour of an ungrateful Person, which would triumph over them before her Rival, she did sigh and earnestly wish that Day were come, that she might find out some way of seeing him. Father Andrew was now the only Object of her Anger, as if he had been the Cause of all her Misfortunes: She wished that he would guests the Concerns which she had for the Pilgrim; and that in lieu of serving him towards the Marchioness, he would discover to her all that which had passed between those two Lovers, that she might break all their Measures; that is, she desired that which was impossible. This is commonly the odd Composure of Mind of such Persons as are possessed with so violent a Passion: Mean time she was preparing very severe Mortifications for the good Father, the least of which was to send him back to his Monastery.  
The Morning, which affords Counsel on the things which have been concluded in the Night, and frequently with Advantage, did cause the Governess to go quite another way to work than what she had designed: She sent to seek after Father Father Andrew so soon as she was up; but the good Father who had not rested well that Night, though not tormented with Love as she had been, was yet in Bed, and caused his Excuses to be made to Madam the Governess, that through some Defluxions which had that Night troubled him, and from which he was not yet quite free, he could not come so soon to wait upon her. Donna Barbara, to whom Love would afford no rest, being impatient to see and speak with the Father, went herself unto his Chamber, under the Veil of an Act of Charity, and to learn what was her Father Confessor's Distemper: Father Andrew, who expected not this Honour, was much surprised at the sight of her; and after some Questions which she made him on the Condition of his Distemper, the true Cause of which he would never tell her, the Lady taking upon her a more serious Air, began to make him a Fraternal Remonstrancy, that with so little regard to his Religious Decorum, he was become the Confident of a mean Pilgrim, and had made her also instrumental in the Intrigue, and the Fop of a Woman, that would take no small advantage of it; adding, that the Governor had resented it very much, and would have sent him back to his Convent, had she not opposed it, and endeavoured to excuse him. Father Andrew, most humble and contrite, at those Lessons which Donna Barbara made him, did return her Thanks for all the good Offices which she had rendered him towards the Governor, protesting that he had not acted any thing in all that, but what was in pure Zeal of serving his Neighbour, not imagining there was any evil in it, that otherwise for certain he had not done it; and that for his part, he had rather die, than entertain the least Thought of displeasing her. The passionate Lady, who designed to make her advantage from the Father's Faults, would not be satisfied with his excuses, seeming very unwilling to pardon him without he endeavoured to gain her Favour by some other means: She would first learn from him all that had passed between those two Lovers; the Father, who had not entered very far into Camille's concerns, did endeavour to satisfy her as well as he could, in giving her a sincere and faithful Account of that little which he knew of their Amours. But she was not satisfied with that neither; and she made him divers other questions, to which he answered according to his Memoirs, which did not extend very far. You do not believe then, said the Governess to him, after she had been some time silent, that it is long since this Pilgrim has been acquainted with the Marchioness, nor that he is much in love with her? As to Love, Madam, answered he, not knowing what interest the Lady had in all these inquiries, I cannot say but that he does very much love her, but I know that their acquaintance is but new; that they have scarce had one opportunity to discourse one another; and finally, that all their intelligence has yet gone no further than to a design of delivering the Marchioness out of her Husbands tyrannical jealousy. Donna Barbara took a little courage at Father Andrew's Relation, and as an unresolved Person, who had a thousand designs in her Head that perplexed her, frequently beginning divers discourses, and suddenly breaking them off, without finishing of any, she at last told him, that she was concerned for that young Man, whom the Marquis was resolved to ruin; and that the Governor would hardly have power to save him. Father Andrew, who had a real affection for the Pilgrim, was much concerned at the News, and began to intercede for him to Donna Barbara, telling her, that he was the most honest, civil, and generous Pilgrim in the whole World, that it were a thousand pityes to take away his life, and that his death would draw some mischief upon her Family, because it had never heard, that any Man that had once Vowed himself to S. Jago, had ever been hanged. Donna Barbara being somewhat persuaded with the good Father's reasons, did promise to concern herself further for him, but yet that she would have the Pilgrim to entreat her to it himself, that he might know to whom he were obliged; so that she would have him go to the Pilgrim, and give him an account of his affairs. That he should be sure to represent the danger he was yet in greater than it was, and that he should insensibly give him to understand, that there was no Person, but she that could save him.  
Father Andrew having been further instructed in all things, and yet not able to dive into the business, was very well pleased however to see her so well disposed to serve his dear Pilgrim, knowing well what power she had over the Governors' Spirit, he returned her thanks before hand for the kindness that she showed in the behalf of a Stranger, who she would find, when she should know him, worthy of her care. Donna Barbara, who valued not his Compliment, did press him to make haste, telling him, that she would stay for his Answer in her Chamber; and he promised her to be within a moment at the Prison: There he found the Pilgrim much dejected and cast down, and embracing him with a great tenderness; Courage, Sir, said he, I hope that you shall not die: That I shall not die, said Camille, am I then so near being condemned? No, but I fear, replied Father Andrew, that you may be so if you have not some Body to solicit for you; for the Marquis does not only accuse you of having endeavoured forcibly to take away his Wife from him, but that you would have murdered him also: And what proof is there of all this? replied Camille. I know not, said the Father, but I believe that you will be condemned, whatever the proofs may be, if you do not apply yourself to the protection of some Person of sufficient power to save you. Camille, who pitied him to hear him reason so simply, did only tell him, that if he had no body but the Marquis to fear, he did not believe that he stood in want of any Persons protection. Father Andrew having once again endeavoured to represent the danger greater to him than he did imagine it, the Pilgrim asked him, Where he had learned all that: To which he answered, From a Lady that had a great power at Court, and good intentions towards him: In a Word, that he had it from the Governors' Lady. From the Governors' Lady! replied Camille; well Father, I have so little inclination to be her Debtor, that I had rather die than be obliged to her for my life: And carry her back that answer, continued he, if it is she that has sent you here on that Errand; tell her beside, that death will never come so soon as I desire it. Father Andrew astonished at this high Spirit, did endeavour to reclaim him a little, and enquired of him, what reason he had to refuse, in the sad condition he was, such marks of affection, as would have filled with honour and joy any other Person than he? I have nothing further to say to you on that account, said he, and peradventure I have more cause of complaint of the governor's Wife, than of returning her thanks; But that is not the business: Go back to her, Father, and tell her, that if I must die, I am resolved, but no lowness on my part. Father Andrew, who had not comprehended any thing of the Governesses design, could yet less unravel what reasons the Pilgrim had to slight so much her obliging offers, as to choose to die, rather than so much as entreat her. He could not conceive that there was any particular acquaintance between them; and yet he did believe, that the odd way, after which they both acted, was not without some kind of Mystery, which did speak something more, than from such Persons as did not know one another. His Brains not diving further into this mystery, he left no time to unravel all that Intrigue, and returned unto Donna Barbara, to whom he gave an account of the Commission which she had given him; and if he did not relate to her wholly with what scorn the Pilgrim had received the offers of her protection, he however told her enough to make her understand the small esteem he had of her: What? he will die then, said she, with an Emotion which she had much to do to conceal: Yes, Madam, replied the Father, rather than be obliged to any one for his life: Perhaps, Madam, because he does not believe that he deserves death: Ah! cruel! she then cried out, not being able to suppress her sighs any longer, it is not that which makes him answer after this manner, but the extreme passion which he has for the Marchioness, and the aversion which he feels for all other Women: It is not with you, Father, that I must constrain myself any longer, continued she blushing; and seeing that you already know all the weaknesses of my Soul, therefore it would be useless to conceal this from you: This Pilgrim has some secret Art to Charm Women with: Since the first day that I saw him, and that he cast his eyes on me, I have felt for him such things as are not naturally felt for ordinary Persons; and whatsoever I have opposed against it, to remove him from my mind, I have been daily more and more possessed with it; I know that I do ill, but I have no power to resist him, and find that the more my passion should be opposed, the more it would break forth: I will try what time can do; mean time, Father, if you have any consideration for me, you will have pity of the condition I am in, and will endeavour to qualify in some measure the torment that I endure, for none can do it better than you. Father Andrew overjoyed at this her confiding in him, which gave him so fair a return upon Donna Barbara, did make her also a gentle and short Remonstrancy, as in Duty bound, and did represent to her the consequences of those kind of Engagements, the sorrow that they are commonly accompanied with, and the public shame when once they broke forth: all this was delivered very mildly, and still with store of Howevers, which did sweeten the bitterness of the Remonstrancy, which was none of the severest. And at last finding that there was no hopes of dissuading her that way, (neither had he much mind to do it) he shifted into another discourse, as an Indulgent Director should do, and told her in a languishing and devout tone, That seeing the Spiritual Remedies had no power over her, she was to make use of those that were Natural, and of two Evils eat the worst, which was the scandal, in which she must of necessity have fallen, if the Heavens had not inspired her to address herself to a Person so discreet as he was, she knowing what zeal he had for her Service. Do but repose yourself on my cares, Madam, continued he, and since that the chiefest business is to make you to be beloved, know that I have some secrets as powerful in that point as are the Pilgrims; and that before he sleeps, he shall sigh for you. That last word made Donna Barbara sigh, who languishingly looking upon the Father Consolator; How much you promise me in a short time, Father, said she to him, to do this, he must first forget an Object with which he is too much possessed, and for which he hath doubtless left his Country, and be moved with the like thought for me: So great a change, continued she, is not done in one Day: No, no! do but make him lose all hopes of ever seeing the Marchioness, and in the pressing danger of his Life, as you may represent it to him, make him see how much better it would be for him to turn his affections towards me; for he already knows I love him, and that it is his own fault if he is not happy. Father Andrew having been sufficiently instructed in all things, to acquit himself of that Employ, as a zealous and expert Trustee, he promised Donna Barbara not to forget any thing: And so parting each with his particular Ideas, they both went to labour to bring about their design.  
The Marquis and the Marchioness had passed the Night as a Husband and Wife could do, when they are of so bad Intelligence as those two were. The Governor had engaged the jealous Marquis, before they had parted, to sacrifice to his Request all the Resentments that he might have against his Wife; and had had a Promise from the Marchioness, never to have any Design against her Husband's Honour and Interests. Thus a certain kind of Reconciliation having been made upon this, he had left them both in a passable good Resolution of living Friendly together. All this was good in the outward Appearance, but the inward Parts are not so soon cured; and as the Marquis could but very hardly forgive his Wife the treasonable Trick she would have played him, his Wife did not despair of finding out some other Pilgrims, if this should fail her. Here were two Persons very strangely intentioned, and that might lie long enough together, and yet have no true Peace between them. Neither was there any thing else all Night, but Maundring on the Husband's side, and Sighs on that of the Wife, which lasted till Morning. A pitiful Society! A sad Alliance, which is but too often met withal in this wicked Age! It is not without Cause therefore, that the Mode of Unmarrying has been found out of late.  
The governor's Wife, who was impatient to speak with the Marquis, had ordered a Page to wait all the Morning at his Chamber-door, to tell him, when he was up, that she had something to impart to him. It was very late before he came to her, with a sad and melancholy Countenance, partly through the ill Night which he had passed, and the little reason that he had to be satisfied with Donna Barbara's Proceed; as for her part, expecting no better, she was not surprised at it, and without further minding of it, she told him, that she knew the Cause, which he thought he had to be angry with her, but that she protested to him, that she did not know any thing of Father Andrew's late Design, in which her Honour had not been as much concerned as his, she not being of Quality nor Honour to serve any one in such amorous Intrigues; that she did not only intent to have that insolent Monk punished for it, but that she expected that the Marchioness should also make her some acknowledgement thereupon; and driving her Resentments further yet, she added, That it was a thing very unworthy a Person of Quality, that had married a Marquis, who had been honoured with so many brave Employs, and descended of one of the prime Families of that Kingdom, to abandon herself in that manner to the Love of a Pilgrim, of a Beggar, which she had rather follow than her own Husband. Finally, she set herself up in so fine a Mode of Invectives, that the Marquis, who did believe her to be angry in earnest, had much to do to appease her. He did ask her a thousand times Pardon for his Wife, acknowledging that she did not deserve to be allied to a Person of such Honour and Quality as she was; that it was his Misfortune, and he the more to be pitied: The Conclusion of all this was, That Donna Barbara did advise the Marquis to convey his Wife to some solitary place, and learn her to be wise: But the Marquis, who was tainted with that Weakness incident to all Jealous Husbands, that cannot part with their Wives, though never so many Reasons to incite them to it, was not at first of her Opinion, and thought it more reasonable to remove the principal Cause of all those Disorders, the Pilgrim, which the Governor could do no less than banish him out of the Kingdom, if he would not condemn him to die; as such Attempts, as that wicked Persons were, did deserve. Donna Barbara, who was concerned in all this, did as little approve of the Marquess' Designs, showing him, that besides those Forms that were to be observed in doing Justice, which would not permit the Governor to banish a Man without being first examined, it were more proper to leave him for some time in Prison, to punish him for his Insolency; and that there were besides certain Reasons as to the Decency and Policy of the business, which required some other kind of Usage, because that this Banishment would seem less Punishment, than a Pretence, whereby to be rid of a Person which he feared, and of whom he were jealous; and that however it would be an easy matter for this Pilgrim to go into the Kingdom of Valencia, or in that of Arragon, and there cause him the same Troubles, as he had done in Catalonia.  
The Marquis, who was not one of the best Headpieces in the World, was yielding to Donna Barbara's Reasons; who added this besides, that when the Marchioness should be informed of the Pilgrim's Liberty, she would not despair to see him again, and that the surest way to cure her of that Fancy, was to take from her all possible Hopes of ever seeing him more, by removing her from him so soon as possible he could, so that she might never more hear him mentioned. The Marquis being now wholly convinced, did resolve to be gone the very next Day, and in order to it, he went to seek the Governor, to inform him of his resolution, who did endeavour to dissuade him from it, but all in vain, for he did not confide much in him neither, by reason of his Indulgency towards the Pilgrim.  
Donna Barbara was of opinion, that she had very much advanced her business, in having persuaded this jealous Man to leave Barcelona, flattering herself with the thoughts that the Marchioness, whom she did look upon as the sole Obstacle to her desires, being once distanced from her Lover, she would find it no longer so difficult to be beloved by him. To wholly deceive her in that Opinion, there needed no more but Father Andrew, who after he had but very fruitlessly discoursed the Pilgrim on these Instructions, that the Lady had given him, would not quite put her into despair, in informing her of the little esteem that this Lover had for her; for than he would himself have lost those advantages which he did hope to gain by his cares, as also the honour of continuing longer in the Office of the Governesses Confident. He therefore gave her hopes that the Pilgrim would not always prove insensible towards her, that he had found him much altered since those fine things which he had told him concerning her, and that if she would be patiented but a little, she should find him, if not quite so passionate as she deserved, yet at the least very penitent for having slighted her favours, and sufficiently softened to give her satisfaction.  
As there is nothing that more easily makes impressions in our Minds than those things which please us, and which we desire, Father Andrew did not say one Word to that Passionate Lady which did not give her infinite content, though under doubtful appearances; the good Father, who did discern it in her Eyes, did continually add some new thing unto the amorous Narrative. So that Donna Barbara, being impatient to see the effects of Father Andrew's rare secrets, did resolve to go in a Disguise to the Prison, to be a Witness unto their Discourses, and to relish the whole Pleasure of them.  
This proposition did startle the Reverend Father, well knowing that she should hear nothing there, but what would be contrary to those hopes which he had given her. He opposed himself as much as he could to that Design, setting before her the evident danger unto which she should expose herself; which besides would not have a good effect on the Pilgrim's Mind, of which she was to manage well the value, if she would be beloved of him in good earnest; but all those Reasons, and many more which he told her to draw himself out of the Briars, were not of force to remove her from that design. They were of no value with a Woman, whose Soul was filled with fiery transports. Father, I know, said she, not giving ear to half what he said, all that you can say to me, and I should know what I had to do in this Case, if, in the condition I am, I were capable of some Reflections or Reasons. But when one loves, as I do, nothing but the desires of the Heart are harkened unto; and it would be fruitless to endeavour the dissuading me from it; for I can follow no other Counsel; and without any further reasoning on the case, since it is my business, and that you are willing to serve me in it, I desire you to get me in readiness against Night, one of your Novices Garments, and not to trouble yourself any farther in the business, for though I should but see this Pilgrim, I shall be extremely recompensed for the pains I shall have taken. Father Andrew seeing that there was no hopes of making her change her resolution, did promise to perform whatsoever she should desire, though he foresaw the danger that there was for them both in it. But Friars in all businesses have always a back door open to get out at. He went to his Convent, where he soon fitted himself with a Novices Habit, about the Lady's stature, which he had conveyed into the Palace. When the hour was come, Donna Barbara failed not to go to his Chamber, to prepare herself for the Masquerade, with as much earnestness as Father Andrew was backwards; but he was forced to resolve upon it, and for that time to officiate to the Lady, who was not very well acquainted with that Jacobin Equipage in the Place of a Valet de Chambre; during his Employ he had here and there some little pleasures, and his new Office, giving him somewhat more of Liberty than that of a Spiritual Director would afford him, he made good use of it; for it is customary with Monks to make an advantage of all things, and this, who was a most perfect one, did make pretty good use of his Rights, in putting that Gown and Frock on the Sennora Barbara, of whom he made the prittyest little Friar that ever was in the Novitiat; if all this was without Temptaion I shall not tell. Finally, all being ready, they went out of the Chamber, and marched on without noise or light towards the red Tower, and with so good fortune as to meet with no Person in the Palace that did speak to them. Camille's restraint being not so extraordinary strict, Father Andrew had leave, through Donna Barbara's Order, to see him at what hour he pleased; so that it was not difficult for them to get in; they found the Pilgrim lying on his Bed, reading in a Book, a kind of Consolation in his Afflictions. Well, Father, said he to the Confessor, so soon as he saw him appear, have you no better News for me, than those which you have brought me hitherto? and shall I have Justice done me, or must I die in this Prison? I have already told you, Sir, replied he, making him sign that there was a Novice after him, of whom they should be wary, it lies in you to go out of it, and to be the happiest of all Men. Happy! After what manner? (replied Camille, who thought there was no great danger in speaking before a young Brother) in imploring the assistance of a Person that is peradventure the sole cause of all my Evil? Of a Woman— Yea! but of such a Woman, interrupted the Father, still making sign, that has a great esteem and affection for you, that knows your worth, and that doubtless deserves that you should consider her not as your Enemy, or the cause of your misfortune, towards which she has never contributed, but as a Lady that concerns herself in your affairs, and that would inform you what an interest she has in them. I know more on that subject, Father, replied the Pilgrim, who did not comprehend to what purpose those signs were made, than you can tell me, and in a word, if you would oblige me, never speak more of her to me. To which Father Andrew, who was in a violent sweat to hear him speak in that manner, replied, But this Morning, Sir, you were not in this Mind, and I found you in my Opinion, more full of acknowledgements towards a Person, that you cannot hate without ingratitude. You deceive you self, Father, replied Camille, who was wondering at the Father's Discourse, as much as at his signs, I am no Changeling, and what I tell you now, I did both think and say in the Morning; you know that I love, and tho' my Heart should be capable of Perfidiousness, it— there he made a stop, perceiving that the little Novice, that was drawn nearer them, did look steadfastly in his Face, with a Countenance that did amaze him. Go on thou cruel one, said the little Brother to him, and declare that I should deserve nothing, though I should act all that can be imagined for thee. Camille, who would never have known Donna Barbara under such a Dress, did fall into the greatest amazement in the World, when he heard her voice. He could scarce believe his own Eyes, examining her from Head to Foot. Yes, look, said she, and see what Love makes me do for thee, maugre all thy scorns? what I have done hitherto is very inconsiderable, but I come now to conclude my ruin for the most ungrateful of all Men. Alas, Madam, replied Camille, it is me that you ruin, and that you render miserable. How miserable? speak, replied she, canst thou complain but of being too much beloved? is there any Person of worth in the World that would say so much of the meanest of Women? thou troublest thyself about my cares, thou thinkest that it would be a shame to thee to be obliged to me for thy life, and preferrest thy Prison to Liberty, only because that it is offered thee by me. The passionate and winning manner that the amorous Donna Barbara did use in her reproaches to her Pilgrim, certainly there was no Heart but what would be somewhat moved at it, and Camille, whose Heart was not wholly insensible, was touched with compassion, and did endeavour to excuse himself, on the respect which he owed to the Governor, to whom he would not for the World, have given so great a cause of complaint, after the great Civilities which he had received from him. The Governor? (replied Donna Barbara,) pitiful considerations, and seeing that I pass them by, thou shouldst not scruple to do the same: But rather say, and never seek after specious pretences, that to my grief thou cam'st into these parts, with a Heart filled with another Object: That it is the Marchioness that renders useless, and even odious to thee, all my Cares, my Kindnesses, and all things else, that I would do for thee. When thou dost own it to me, I shall do thy Heart justice; but then add to it, that I might have been agreeable to thee, if thou hadst seen me first; and that when ever thou shalt lose all hopes of possessing her, thou wilt remember with what a Passion I love thee, and give thyself wholly to me. Other Women would not be contented with this small request; there are but few that would love thee at that rate: But I will make thee sensible, how far the excess of a real Passion will extend. Camille, had never found himself in so great a confusion: He could not refuse some complaisances, at least, to a Lady so transported with Love, as she was for him; and he had need to qualify his disdain, to give her some answer suitable to her passionate Discourses; yet nothing did more contribute to those kindnesses which he expressed to her, as the desire which he had to be rid of her, incessantly fearing that she should be suprized with him in that disguise, and that this visit should come to the governor's knowledge, which would make an end of ruining him, he could not forbear expressing his sense of it to the Lady, entreating her to have patience, till he had recovered his liberty, and that then there would be less danger for either of them, and they might have the satisfaction of seeing one another the longer. But she being incapable of any reason, did reproach him all his fears; which she, being wholly taken up with her passion, could not entertain. Yet at last to let him see that she did love him to that excess, as to deprive herself of what was most pleasing to her, which was to see him, she left him, and at her going, she did force from him some kindnesses, which either real, or fictitious, did however extremely consolate her.  
Father Andrew, who had seen this visit concluded far better than he expected, did receive by it, almost as much of satisfaction as Donna Barbara had, and did much glory in it, and did congratulate her of her happy Success; to which he thought he had not a little contributed. They both went out of the Tower, entertaining themselves with the merits and fine Qualities of this Pilgrim, which were thought to be such extraordinary ones, that she would needs have him to be some Prince in a disguise; seeing nothing but what was great and extraordinary in all his Actions. The good Father, who knew how much it would please her to extend himself upon the Pilgrim's praises, did ever outdo her at that sport, and the earnestness they were both in, did so transport them, that without considering they were in the Enemy's Territories, they did speak so loud, that any body might hear them: So that being come near to some steps, which were to be acsended, Donna Barbara, who knew not so well the way in the dark, as Father Andrew did, did bid him lend her his Hand to help her up the steps. The Father, who went first, turned back; but when he would have taken her by the hand, he found it already seized on, and that somebody else did do her that Office. Upon this, such a fear did seize on him, as it would have done on many others; that without speaking one word, he stole away into his Chamber, as fast, and with as little noise, as he could: Where I believe he Barricadoed himself up, and, I believe, had but an ill Night of it. Donna Barbara hearing some body walk so near them, did softly ask of the Father, who she thought she had by the hand, what that was. But this Father would make no answer, it being the Marquis, who returning from giving the last orders for his departure, was waiting there for his Flambeau, that was blown out, and which was gone, to be lighted again. Donna Barbara presaging no good from that silence, did inquire of the pretended Father the reason of it; and was thinking to retire, fearing some surprisal, just as the Flambeau appeared; by whose light having perceived, that it was not Father Andrew that did hold her by the hand, she made a great outcry, and presently got away, leaving one of her Gloves behind her, not having had time to discern who it was. But she was perfeectly known by the Marquis, who had had leisure to hear her discourse with Father Andrew, which gave no small cause of reflection to our Jealous, who since the Morning had thought her the most virtuous Wife in all Spain: And the Governor the happiest of all Men, because he could take his rest in quiet. The Dress she was in, did surprise him more than all the rest, he who was a professed Bigot, and who did perceive to what use were put such holy things. He concluded, that Father Andrew must of necessity be made one in all those sports, on whom he did already look as on one of Lucifer's black Instruments, sent into the World to corrupt all Womankind. He could easily guests, by what he had heard them say, that they were newly come from visiting the Pilgrim; and that thought did somewhat comfort him; for in this World there's nothing like having Companions in our afflictions, which makes them not seem so weighty to us. He had a great itching immediately to give the Governor an account of this Adventure; but because he knew him to be extremely prepossessed with a good opinion of his Wife, and that he should have to do with a bold and high spirited Lady, he feared that a Glove might not be sufficient proof, wherewith to persuade the Husband, that he was in his predicament, or to convince the Lady of being concerned in a gallant Intrigue. And that consequently he should but cause some disorder, and draw upon himself all the evil of that Intrigue. So that he took the resolution of being silent, and returned to his own Apartment, reflecting often within himself, how little Women were to be trusted, and that some did make Horns to others, who had his own House full of them. Upon this he caressed his Wife with a better heart than he had done in a long time; and as he knew that nothing could work a greater effect on the minds of Female kind, than Jealousy would, he could not forbear giving her an account of the pleasant Rencounter which he had had. The Marchioness would have had much to do to have believed it, thinking it some effect of his jealous mind, to make her hate the Pilgrim, if he had not assured her, that he had seen them both come out of the Tower; if he had not repeated to her the same Discourses, which had passed between Father Andrew and the Lady, and finally if he had not shown her the Ladies own Glove, which had been left in his hands. Of truth, after that last proof she had no more to say, and the sincerity with which she see him speak to her, knowing him perfectly well, did make as great an impression in her mind as all the rest did; so that she began to feel within herself more hatred for that perfidious Man, and more Jealousy against her Rival, than she could have thought to have had upon so slender a subject. The Marquis, who, though his Wife was silent, did easily see in her Eyes, and perceive by her very silence, that he had compassed his ends, and animated her with almost as much Hatred against Donna Barbara, as he had been against his Wife: He further did inform her, how excellently that fair Lady had acted the Virtuous Woman's part with him that Morning, having flown very high against her Conduct, even to the giving him such Counsels as he would not follow; which confirmed the Marchionesses rage against them both, though he would not let her know what those Advices were: So that what with Jealousy, and what with Resentments, she was all Night in little kind of rages, which would let her take but very little rest, wishing with great impatiency for day, that she might be gone, having no other desires left, than to remove from a place, where she could be of no other use than a property to her Rival, to whom that Traitor the Pilgrim had doubtless discovered all their secret Intrigue.  
The Marquis who had not changed his design, though he had found out, that another had as well as his Wife a Month's mind to the Pilgrim, knowing well, that in all those kind of things, others Examples do rather authorise than deter, was the first rising in the Palace, to have all his Retinue in a readiness to march, and continue his Voyage towards Madrid, where he was going. The Governor and his Lady did rise also to wait upon them out of Town; but the first thing that Donna Barbara did, so soon as her Husband went out of the Chamber, was to send after Father Andrew, to inquire of him who that Man was that affrighted the Father, who was possessed with the same curiosity, having spent all the Night in a strange restlessness, lest it should be the Governor, was very glad to hear the contrary by Donna Barbara's Message. He had no more to say to this point than she had, only that he was certain he had not been seen. Donna Barbara, who was not a Woman to be frighted with so small a matter, did trouble herself no further as to what might happen from this business, knowing well how to get out of it, and that she would make that Person pass for ridicule, that would accuse her of any such thing; she sent back Father Andrew to his Chamber, and took the way that led her to the Marchioness, to acquit herself of those Ceremonies used in such cases, not knowing how to dispense herself from them, though she had no great inclination to go. She entered her Chamber with a cold and indifferent Countenance, and found the Marchioness making an end of prepareing herself for the Journey, and who afforded her as indifferent a reception; they were both for some time in that humour, not speaking a word to one another, till that Donna Barbara, who thought that she had the only cause of Complaint, did break that silence, and told her, that she was much amazed at the reception which she did afford her that Morning. The Marchioness did answer her coldly, that there were certain days of Vexation, when a Person was very unfit for any thing, and that she would have her to be the Judge of it, who appeared not to be in a better humour herself. I might have hoped however, Madam, replied the Governess, who was not satisfied with that excuse, that after so much Complaisance as I had for you in the Garden this Evening, which was so favourable to your Designs, you might have afforded me a better reception: But I perceive the business; you would have them that concern themselves for you to be responsible of the ill success that your desires have had. You being the Person, Madam, replied the Marchioness, who did give the first motion to that Masquerade, which you had not invented but for your own diversion; I wonder, that after you had made me the Property in it, you should yet demand of me some acknowledgement. Yes, Madam, replied Donna Barbara, with a forced smile, if there had been no more in the case, but you know that if you have been my Property, I have been your Gull. The worse for you, Madam, replied the Marchioness. Yes, the worse indeed, replied the other, but do you know, added she with a little transport, not being able to contain her Passion any longer, that I am very unfit to be employed in such kind of Commerce. I am willing to believe it, Madam, replied the Marchioness, still with the same coldness, but it is my Opinion, that no Person should be vexed for rendering such Services to others, of which they themselves stand in need. I need such Services! replied she. Who knows, Madam, replied the Marchioness, you are a Woman as I am, and one cannot— Ah! one can be assured, said she, still fretting more and more, that if I am a Wife, it is without such weaknesses as dishonour an Husband. It is true, replied the Marchioness, who could forbear no longer from revenging herself of that reproach, that it is very honourable for a Woman to go at midnight to visit Prisoners, such a one too, as upon whose account you would have me disgraced, though I had never spoken to him. Prisoners! replied Donna Barbara, in an accent very different from the former. Yes, Madam, continued the Rival, Prisoners, but I must confess that is an act of Charity, which performed at such an hour, and under a Religious Habit, is of so great a Merit before God and Man, that it gives a person a due right of slandering all others. Donna Barbara, whose quick and nimble wit had never wanted a repartee to all that was said to her, did remain now strangely confounded, so that she only said that she understood her not. How! do you not understand me, replied the Marchioness, who was resolved to give it her home, stay a moment, and I will fetch you a certain thing that shall expound to you more clearly what I say to you, and shall let you see, that it is from good hands that I have it. She meant the Glove, which she went to seek for in a Closet that was in her Chamber. The Marquis, who had heard all that fine Dialogue, without meddling with the Dispute, employing himself about something else, was very much pleased that his Wife had given her such a severe repulse, and she had never done any thing in the World that had pleased him so much as to have humbled that Lady, who was the proudest Woman in the World. He could have wished, to complete his joy, that the Governor had been present, who came just in the time that the Marchioness was returning with Donna Barbara's Glove. Here, Madam, said she, giving it her, judge by that Token whether I am well informed of the Adventure. The poor Lady was so cast down with different thoughts, both at the sight of that Glove, and at her Husband's unlucky arrival to make an end of ruining her, that she retired, not being able to speak one word more. The Governor, who did see her go so out of Countenance, and with a great flushing all over her Face, which did sufficiently express the disturbance that was in her Soul, did inquire of the Marquis, the matter with her; he told him that he must inquire of the Marchioness, and she said, that he must ask the Marquis: thus shifting him from the one to the other, without any other satisfaction. The Governor was not very well contented with this, and he would have gone to seek after his Wife, to know of her what occasion she had to separate herself after that manner from the Marchioness, had they not been on the point of going; he therefore deferred his Information till his return, believing that at the most it could be but some Woman's Quarrel, and knowing the humour of his, he did suppose that she might have undertaken to make some Remonstrances to the Marchioness about the Pilgrim, which the other had not taken kindly; and therefore he did not trouble himself any further about it. They all got into the Coaches, and drove on towards Saragossa, through which the Marquis would pass going for Madrid. The Governor had had a design to acompany them a Journeys way from Barcelona, but that certain Words which the Marchioness had let fall by the way concerning Donna Barbara and the Pilgrim, which did bear double sense, did give him more cause to think than was expected, and was the occasion that he returned home that Night. No great store of discretion can be expected from Women in such cases, and there never was one yet that did spare her Rival, when she could ruin her. Donna Barbara, was passing away some very scurvy particles of time, as may be imagined after the late Encounter that she had had with the Marchioness, who doubtless would not forbear, as she imagined, informing the Governor throughly of it: So that she was in strange disquiets, till she did see him go along with them, guessing by that, that he was not over angry with her; seeing he did not desist accompanying them, as he had designed it. After this she began to Breath and Rejoice that she had driven away the Marchioness from Barcelona, and remained in sole possession of her Lover; she presently sent to seek after her most dear Confident, to whom she did relate what had passed between her and the Marchioness. Not conceiving from whom she could have had all that Information, except it were the Marquis that had surprised them at the going out of the Tower. Father Andrew did fear very much for himself, in case this business should be known, not doubting but the share he had in it, would make him fall heavily under the governor's Anger, and made to bear the whole Burden. Donna Barbara did endeavour to encourage him, telling him that he knew a way how to prevent all the harms which might befall them; that they had two days to think of it, seeing that the Governor was not to return till the next Day, but that the Pilgrim was to be disposed to assent to it, in presenting to him the danger that their lives would be in if they should stay till the Governor returned; and that of necessity they must make their escape that Night, and get into France, where they should not fear to want for any thing, because she would carry along with her a sufficient quantity of Jewels, to shelter them all from it. Father Andrew, who would willingly be always the farthest from blows, did highly approve of this Advice, and he did not believe that the Pilgrim would make any difficulty of following them, seeing that besides his liberty, which by that means he did recover, he could not but imagine that there was much more for him to fear than for them. They therefore did conclude, that without a further delay they would go to him, and inform him in what a condition things were, and see whether the proposition would please him. Donna Barbara had put up her Friar's Habit in one of her Closets, whence they took it out, and the Father was again employed in the same Office as the Night before. After which they went to the Pilgrim, who was not a little surprised to see Donna Barbara return in the same Disguise at that time o'th' Day. He could not forbear from expressing his trouble at it, and she without harkening unto him, said, that she came to inform him of two things; the first of them she doubted not but would very much afflict him, which was, that the Marchioness was gone to remain in some uninhabited Place, where she was led by her Husband, that she might never more be seen by any Body but him. The other was, that before the Lady's departure, she had told the Governor of her going to see him the last Night, in a Friar's Habit, as she had learned it of the Marquis, which had met her, and Father Andrew, as they were going out of the Tower, from whose Hands she had much to do to escape, with leaving one of her Gloves with him, which the Marchioness had shown to the Governor for Confirmation of what she had said; so that he might easily see what was to be done: That, as for her part, she was fully resolved to do whatsoever he pleased, provided that he would take care of his own life, which was that which she held most dear. Though Camille had prepared himself in order to his separation from the Marchioness, imagining that they would be gone before he was got out of Prison; yet the news of it gave him a mortal Wound as to what the Governess said; besides, he did not add much Faith to it, and if he could have believed it, it had only afflicted him a little for the fear he would have had, that the beauteous Marchioness had believed he had contributed something towards that Visit; but apprehended nothing at all on the Marquess' account, in reference to his Life, of which he was very careless at that time. Donna Barbara, who perceived that he continued silent, which made her think that he was thinking of what he should resolve concerning what she had proposed to him, did press him to give his answer; it was time to fix upon something, and to prepare for a flight, if he thought fit to save himself from the evil effects of the governor's Fury, who being a Person very sensible of things of that Nature, he would be highly exasperated. Camille, who did presently perceive which way the Lady's Designs did tend, and who had chosen to die rather than to be troubled with her, did answer her very coldly, that he had acted nothing against the Governor, which might draw his anger so severely upon him, and that if he had been so unhappy as so to do, however he would not involve her in his Misery, and so to render her more guilty than she really was. Donna Barbara struck to the Heart with so cold an answer, as much as a passionate Woman as she was could be, concealing her cruel rage, did tell him all that the Wit of a Woman could invent of most persuading to engage him to yield to the proposition which she did make him, even in mere pity to herself, whom she had lost through the violent passion which she had for him; adding to those tender expressions such Tears and Sighs as did tear some also from Father Andrew's Bosom, who did declare of her side, with his Eyes full of Tears, to persuade this insensible Man to seek after his own liberty, which they did offer him, and to shun that Death which would be inevitable, if he should stay the governor's return; but the heard-heartd, or rather prudent Camille, who was not of so easy a Nature as was the Reverend Father, and that perceived better than he did, on which side lay the greatest danger, did easily defend himself against all those Attempts; of which Donna Barbara being sensible, did then endeavour to make him apprehend all that a passionate and despised Woman could imagine of most cruel and wicked, to ruin him with; and finding that all those threaten did not move him neither, in that height of passion she drew from under her Friar's Gown a Stilleto, with a design to plunge it into her own Bosom, and if the Pilgrim had not been nimble in staying of her Arm, and after that he had much to do to force that Weapon out of her Hands. Father Andrew, who had been strangely affrighted at the Attempt, was on his Knees, entreating the transported Lady not to kill herself, and the Pilgrim to have Compassion of her, who at last was moved, not at his Request, nor at her furious Rage, which had rather exasperated him, seeing that all this did tend to make him miserable, but unto those Considerations which he had, that to shun one evil he should create to himself divers others, if he should drive that Woman into a despair: Therefore to reclaim her a little, he entreated her to deliver up that Dagger to him, and that he would do all that she should desire. She did not part with it but on that condition, and breathing a little, Ungrateful, said she, that stays till I cause my own Death, before thou wouldst grant me my Life. I know not, Madam, whether the way that we are going to take, will not bring you sooner to your end, than the abiding here. No certainly, answered she, for the Governor being not in Town, I have the means to draw you from hence without the least danger; at the Port there are some Felouca's in readiness to carry us to France, and I take with me that which shall secure you from want and misery, except you reckon it a misery to have in your Company a Woman that loves you with such a passion as I do. Camille did make her no Answer, to give her leave to think all that she pleased, his design being to get out of Prison, since it was to be so, whether he would or no, to shun greater evils, and not to humour the Amorous Capriccios of a Woman, for whom he had never had the least inclination. However, things were ordered as if he had resolved to content her; and the Lady was so transported with joy at it, that she already thought herself out of Barcelona with her dear Gallant. The Governess and the good Father Andrew took leave of the Pilgrim to go order their businesses, and prepare for their departure, which was to be at Eleven at Night. The Father had all the outward Commissions in his charge, which were to hire the Felouca, to buy in Provisions, and all other things necessary for a Voyage. And the Lady took upon her the care of all inward business, and to prevent all obstruction of their flight: Finally, all things having been well regulated on her part, and Father Andrew having taken such care as nothing should be wanting on his side, when the hour was come they went to the Tower, where the Lady entered, being wholly transported with joy, and running immediately into her dear Pilgrim's Chamber, Come you must rise, said she, seeing him lie upon the Bed with the Curtains drawn, for it is time to be going, and we are Masters as well of the Prison as of the Palace; and finding that he neither answered nor moved, she believed that he was asleep, therefore she drew open the Curtains to pull and awaken him, but when she perceived the Governor, who arose, it did set her on a sudden into such an amazement as may be imagined; which did so surprise her, that after she had made an extreme outcry, which affrighted Father Andrew, who thought as little as she did, to find the Governor there, she fell down backwards in a swoon. This Lord, more careful of his Honour than of his Wife, whose humour he had known long, and fearing more the divulging of the business, than the effects thereof, having well conceived by all that the Marchioness had told him, that some things were acted within his Doors, which did not go well, he had thought that it would not be prudence in him to lie from home: He had been witness of the goodwill which his Wife had expressed for the Pilgrim, and making good use of the Marchionesses advice, had in a handsome manner taken leave of the Marquis, not showing them the least sign of distubance, and was returned to Barcelona on a full gallop, where he came in the dark, judging that if there was any business in hand, his Wife would take the opportunity of his Absence. Wisemen have always some foresights of the mischief that may befall them, and there are many in the World that would not have such weights upon their Foreheads, if they were as well inspired as he was. Our Governor therefore being come into the City, had quitted his Horse at the Arcenal, where having left his people also, he took one of his Servants Cloaks, went into the Palace, and from thence into the Tower, without being known by any body. There he spoke with him that had the Pilgrim in charge, who being none of Donna Barbara's Intelligence, did confess that he had let Father Andrew come to the Prisoner by the Lady Governesses Orders, who the first time had come to see him singly, but afterwards accompanied with a little Friar of the same Order, and that the last Night they had been long together. There needed no more for a Man of understanding, as was the Governor, to unravel this Mystery, and to guests who had been Father Andrew's Companion in that Visit, who was not used to go accompanied in the Palace, and who had less occasion to do so in going to visit that Prisoner. He needed no further insight in the business. He sent the Gaoler to the Port to hire a Felouca, who a moment after returned to tell him, that there was but one, who had been retained by a Friar of S. Dominicks Order, who was to be gone that Night at Eleven. This News did almost distract him, not doubting any longer but that his Wife was resolved to be gone with this Pilgrim, or at least to help him to escape. This Spanish Flemne, who did abound in him, did at last gain the upper hand over divers desperate Resolutions which he had taken, and which he had been upon the very point of Executing upon his own Lady, rather than against an unfortunate stranger, who was not to be responsible of his Wife's follies; he took the Resolutions therefore to break their measures without noise, and to oblige Donna Barbara to become wise by reason. He sent the Gaoler to the Pilgrim to get him out of the Prison, and conduct him to that Felouca, which Father Andrew had hired, with express Orders from himself unto the Watermen to be gone immediately, on pain of Imprisonment; and a Charge to the Pilgrim, of never returning to Barcelona, on pain of Death. This was accordingly Executed, with the greater satisfaction to Camille, who had no business in that City, and who was happily going out of Prison, and quitted of that cruel Torment, in which he should have been with the Governess.  
The Gaoler having acquitted himself of all his Commissions, the Governor had laid himself in the Pilgrim's place, charging the Gaoler, not to tell of his being out of Prison, and to let any in, that came to see him. Thus had the Governor carried on the business; his Wife's accident did somewhat mitigate his wrath, and made him lose the opportunity of seizing Father Andrew, who he had resolved should have been kept in Prison for some time, in recompense of all the good and pious Offices which he had rendered to his Wife, none deserving it better than he had done. But in a Retreat, Father Andrew was always one of the first, setting all his safety in his heels; so that he was already gone far, when the Governor was thinking to detain him. There was no more to do, but to take care of the Lady, who he was forced to lead himself into her Apartment, after she was a little recovered of her Swoon. How that breach was made up, I know not; for my Memoirs fail me there, but it is probable that the governor's Resentments lasted no longer than did his Lady's Passion, who was not long before she was engaged in a new Gallantry with a Cavalier, less cruel than our Pilgrim.  
FINIS.   

THE PILGRIM. The Second Part.  
Written by P. BELON, Gent. Translator of the First Part, And Dedicated to the Duchess of ALBEMARLE.  
LONDON, Printed for R. Wellington, at the Lute in St. Paul's Churchyard; and E. Rumball, at the Posthouse in Russel-Street in Covent-Garden. 1700.   

THE PILGRIM. The Second Part.  
IT was about break of Day when our Pilgrim, impatient to be on the Territories of France, gets up to look about him, and to inquire what progress the Vessel had already made in their Journey; for so long as he was on that fickle Element he thought himself unsafe, not knowing what new turn of Fortune might overtake him, and bring him back to visit his late melancholic Lodgings: Besides his happy and unexpected deliverance from a double Slavery, did appear to him so like a Dream, that he did still remain in some apprehensions of carrying along with him the worst of his afflictions. This made him to inquire of the Master of the Vessel, what other company there was with him: The Master told him, that there was none besides a Friar of St. Dominicks Order, and a Woman: A Woman? replied Camille, being strangely surprised; then am I as miserable as ever, and find that I must never hope for any end to my misfortunes. Had you Orders, continued he, to take in any other person besides myself? Sir, replied the Master the Father who hired it last night, did agree with me for the transporting of himself, and two other porsons, and yourself, the Father and that Woman make up that number, neither durst take any more into my Bark, because of the governor's strict Orders, that I should immediately departed Our Pilgrim was so much troubled at what the Master had said, that holding down his Head, his Hat drawn over his Face, his Arms across, leaning on his Staff, with his Eyes fixed on the Deck, he stood as mute, as if he had been struck with Thunder; but while he appeared so like a Statue outwardly, his Heart was agitated within with such a Confusion of thoughts, as were the cause of his representing so odd a Figure. Sometime he was thinking, what could be the reason that the wise Governor should give such strict Charge to the Mariners for his immediate departure, and yet be so negligent in securing of his Wife from getting into the Felouqua with him: Then again it did very much surprise him, that Donna Barbara should change her mind as to her disguise, and hazard herself in Woman's Apparel; but than it came to his thoughts, that it was peradventure for her better security, in case her Husband had been informed of the dress which she had designed to go in; and so by remaining in woman's Apparel, had cheated him the second time. By and by, again, his mind would be busied in making out, whether Father Andrew, and Donna Barbara were got into the Vessel, in order to go along with him, or that they believing him still a Prisoner in the red Tower, they had come thither to shelter themselves from the governor's present rage, and so had abandoned him to the furious passions that a jealous man, of the Power and Authority that the Governor was, could employ in order to his ruin. If so, then of consequence, those orders that had been given to the Master as from the Governor, he did conclude to be of their own fabric, to hasten the departure of the Vessel, for fear of a surprisal. These, and many other confused notions possessing his whole imagination, he remained unresolved, not knowing what to conclude on: Once he was for discovering unto the Master, who that Friar and that Woman were, which he had taken into his Vessel, and so persuade him he would do the Governor a singular piece of Service, in carrying them back to Barcelona: But he thought that it would be very difficult for him to prevail with the Master, against the governor's positive Orders. Besides, if it should prove, that the two Passengers that were with him should not be the Father and the Governess, it would be a great disadvantage to himself to be carried back; he did believe that it was very unlikely, that at that time of the Night, and at such a Critical moment, any other Friar and Woman than them, could come so pat to embark themselves in that very Vessel that had been hired for them. This at last made him conclude, that the good Father and the governor's Wife were in the Felouqua with him, yet that peradventure they might not know of his being there, which set him upon the design of concealing himself, that he might get on shore without their knowledge of his being there. In this last resolution, he goes to the Master, and having dropped some Pistols into his hand, he whispered to him that for some particular reasons he would lie concealed from the knowledge of those two Persons that were with him, that therefore he would be conveyed where he might remain unseen, till the rest were landed, and then that he would come to shore himself. The Master having returned his thanks, took Camille by the hand, and having conducted him into a little hole like a Cabin, he left him with an assurance that there he might lie as secure as he pleased.  
The Wind was so favourable, as in a short time to convey them in view of Narbona, at which the Master of the Vessel cried out aloud, that all might take notice of it; that who had a mind to go toshore, should begin to prepare for it. At these glad tidings, Father Andrew, who had lain all the while as still as a Dormouse, rises and goes to the Governess, telling her, that if she pleased to look forth, she might behold their wished for Harbour; but receiving no answer, he retired, concluding her asleep, after her long Fatigue, and great Disasters. He gets upon the Deck and accosts the Master in this manner; Are you sure, said he, that that is Narbona? pointing at the City, and in the French Dominions: Yes, replied the Master; at which good news, the friar's countenance was changed from melancholy, to as serene, as was the Wether. In the opinion, that Donna Barbara was not come away empty handed, he gins to build strange Castles in the Air, in his imagination, making already a prize of her and of her Treasure; now that he did find himself out of the governor's reach, and past being controlled by the abandoned Pilgrim, in that height of thoughts, he has not Patience to remain any longer mewed up within the narrow compass of a Boat, which made him to return unto the Lady, and entreat her to arise, and prepare to go to shore, but having no answer yet, he employs his hands, where the darkness of the place did deprive him of the use of his Eyes, and finding that the Lady was not concerned at his touch, he adventures further, and meets with her face, which finding warm and breathing, he descends lower with the same hand, where finding her Breasts, he made bold with them. This free access, without the least repulse, did so embolden our jolly Friar, that he did venture to convey his other hand lower, when on the sudden, he received a severe rebuke, accompanied with a thundering voice, and presently getting off of the Bed, she went to that little light that came in by the Door. The good Father, who had not been a little surprised at the strangeness of the accident, believing that he had mistaken one place for another, was making towards the Door to retrieve his way, when he was seized by the Arm, which put him to a stand, but had you seen in what a dreadful fear the poor Father was, when lifting up his Head, he espied a Face as black as any that ever came from the African shore; which looking upon him with a pair of staring Eyes, cried out in the same tone as before, pressing his hand, you would never have forgot it.  
You may easily imagine that the good Father Andrew at this Apparition, was not in any great humour of making long compliments, on the contrary, he was so desirous to be gone from that black Companion, that running hastily out, he struck his Head with such a force against the Door frame, as did cast him backwards flat on his back in a swoon. The Moorish Woman seeing him lie speechless on the floor, weltering in his blood, did stoop to him, and setting up her voice, to call for help as well as she could, and to bemoan the poor Father; she began to howl much after the manner of the Irish at their Funerals. At this hideous noise the Master run to learn what was the matter, which having seen, he presently went to Camille and told him that the Father was fallen backwards dead, he knew not by what accident, and that there was no body with him, besides the Moorish Woman, which he had brought along with him the last night. Camille learning by this, that Donna Barbara was not there, went to see what was the matter; he found the poor Father, as the Master had told him, in a very sad pickle: He caused him to be taken up and brought in a Chair upon the Deck, in the open Air; and presently after that the good Father had drank a little Wine, which was given him, he began to look about him, while Camille was gone to see who that Woman might be. He was not long before he learned of her, that she was Donna Barbara's Slave; who having engaged to be ready to go along with her Lady, and thinking the hour at hand; she had got to the appointed Post on the Port, whence in the obscurity of the Night she had been led into the Vessel, where she thought that her Lady was before disposed of.  
While that this account had been given at one end of the Felouqua, Father Andrew at the other end having perceived the Mariners flocking about him, he presently fancied that they were Men sent by the governor's orders to dispatch him, in that belief, the very apprehension of Death, though he seemed half dead already, did make him cry out, that he was innocent, that he knew not where was Donna Barbara Day amonte, the Governor of Barcellona's Wife, and that if they killed him, they would murder a harmless man, a Religious man, and one of the Order of St. Dominick, who was a Father Confessor also, for which Crime they should one day severely answer: Look, look, continued he, speaking to those who were about him, whether you can find any such person here? Neither did I ever design the setting of the Pilgrim at liberty, for he was yet in the red Tower, when I went from Barcelona, he was thus going on pleading for life, when those men that were about him staring on him, were called away, and Camille appearing presently to him, he was by that set into a greater fright than ever, which he showed by endeavouring to get away: Camille took him by the hand, and told him that he needed not to fear, because there was no person near him that would do him any injury, that he should take his word for it, whom he knew to be his friend: By this time the poor Father Andrew having with much ado lifted up his Eyes, and perceived Camille; and are you here, Sir, said he, and all alone too, then do I breathe again; with that he fetched a deep sigh, after which he thus continued; and I do begin to believe that all that has lately happened unto me, has been mere delusion, and a temptation of the Devil; then lifting his hand to his head, which pained him; yet there must be something real in the case, continued he, or how should I feel all this smart else? And above all things, I wonder most how the Devil did put that black fantasme into my hand in the dark, in lieu of the Governess? Camille finding that he would presently fall into a melancholy passion, if not diverted, desired him to rest satisfied, and that he would give him a true account of all, so soon as he should be got on shore, and that his hurts were dressed: Why, am I wounded then, said the good Father again, with a great emotion of Spirit: Yes, replied Camille, but not by those means which you fancy, but rest yourself contented, rely upon me, and all things shall be well again, and you shall have but the hurt on't, without any further ill consequence: Then Camille commanded some Persons that were by, to carry him to shore, which being done, he was dressed and put in a Bed, and Camille and the poor Father did remain at Narbona, till he was perfectly cured of his broken head.  
The next day the Vessel returned to Barcelona, whither the Moorish Woman was conveyed back, according to Camille's orders, where you are to know, that the Governor had with much patience, and secrecy, conveyed his halfdead Wife into her Chamber, where he had left her to recover herself, while he went out to order some of his Servants to seek every place in the Palace for Father Andrew, and to bring him immediately along with them, pretending that his Wife being fallen desperately ill on the sudden, she had occasion for him: The governor's design in this, was to catch Father Andrew before he were gone, and to bring him to severe punishment, after he should have vented his passion in words upon him and the Governess, and yet so order the matter, as that the true cause of all these disorders should be concealed from his Servant's knowledge, and that he might give his Wife time sufficient to recollect herself, that she and her Factor might with more patience hear what he should say to them, he did retire into another Chamber, where he expected that the Friar should be brought to him, not doubting but that he should be found somewhere about the Palace, he having caused all the Gates to be shut up, so soon as he had discovered their designs: But he reckoned without his Host, the Bird was flown, so that having waited a long time, after which his Servants being returned without their prey, he designed to return to his Wife and give her her lesson. But mean time, she having been informed that her Husband had sent for her Agent, and judging that it was to bring them together, to let sly his revenge upon them both at once; she had retired into those lodgings, which were lately the Marchionesses, where she had locked herself up, sending back that Woman that had gone with her, to tell her Husband where she was retired, to observe his motions, and to give her an account of his proceed against Father Andrew, that by them she might take her measures, and judge of his designs against herself. The Governor missing of his Wife, asked where she was, and having been told that she had removed her  into the Marchionesses late lodgings, where she had locked herself up, with a design to lie there that night; he troubled himself no further about it, but went to Bed, reserving the Schooling of her against the next day.  
Donna Barbara being alone in that Chamber, had too many things in her head to think of sleep; she intended to employ her time better, in contriving which way to defeat her Husband's designs of railing at her; she had too high a Spirit, calmly to bear his injuries and reproaches, and she was resolved one way or other to prevent his Fury. She had opened the Window, to let in the cool Air of the Night, to refresh her fretted Heart; and she was looking out, when casting her eyes towards the shore, she did perceive, as well as the light of the Moon, which then began to rise▪ would permit her at that distance, a person that was coming from the Sea shore towards the Palace, who being drawn nearer, did appear to her in a Pilgrim's Habit. It came presently into her head, that it might be Camille, who being got out of Prison, and not believing what she had told him of the Marchioness' absence, was come under that Window, in hopes to see the Marchioness, or to learn by some means or other, which fortune might produce in his favour, whether the Lady was gone, or still in her old quarters. Donna Barbara did further imagine, that the Pilgrim not daring to return to his old lodings, or be too busy in enquiring elsewhere, for fear of being retaken, and worse used than at first, he had thought it his best course to come there himself, for information; having prepossessed herself with this conceit, as all persons are apt to believe that which they most desire, she dropped down one of her Gloves, that it might cause him to look up and take notice of the signs that she did make him to have him stay a while The thing succeeded as she had desired, for after the Pilgrim had taken up the Glove, and found by its strong perfume, that it did not belong to an ordinary hand, he lifted up his head, and perceived some body that did make him signs, as if they would have him to stay a little, after which they withdrew.  
This Person who had taken up the Glove, be-being a Pilgrim that was newly come to shore, and was going in Pilgrimage to St. Jago, having no other business at Barcelona, but to seek for a lodging for that night, and to proceed on his journey forwards the next morning, was willing to wait and see what the success of this would be, therefore he stayed there, walking up and down till Donna Barbara having writ her mind, and conveyed it into the other Glove, she likewise did drop it before him. He presently took it up, finds the paper in it, which he takes out, unfolds, and reads, as well as he could; but some clouds at that instant obscuring the Air, so that he could not make an end, he looks up, but finds that the Person was retired, and the Window shut. Now this Pilgrim being one of those persons, that like the generality of those foot Travellers, was light enough of Money in ready Cash, but who are as well provided and stored with Jests, Songs, and merry Tales as our Country Fiddlers, fitted to all sorts of humours and conditions, which amongst those kind of persons are as good as so many Bills of exchange, payable at first sight; for through the Authority of those Letters of Credit, and some little pretty Agnus Dei's, little Crosses, Chaplets, Medals, and the like Toys, they pass every where, and make bold to seek for Lodgings, and all other conveniences, in all places, in all companies and at all times. He thus qualified hasten● 〈◊〉 the City, and being made somewhat 〈…〉 than ordinarily, by this late adventure, he confidently knocks at a House door, where he saw a Candle, where being admitted and got to a light, he pulls the paper out of his Pocket, and read in it as follows.  
In spite of all my Enemy's Contrivances, Plots, and Designs, I have kept my Station: If you continue in the generous design of freeing me from the cruel Tyranny of a Jealous Husband: This next night between one and two repair here again, and bring a long with you a Ladder of Ropes, by the help of which, maugre all my Guardians Circumspections, and Donna Barbara 's Intelligences, you shall receive into your protection the Marchioness of, etc.  
And a little beneath, by way of Postscript, was writ.  
Excuse my bad writing through the want of light: Get in readiness a Felouqua against that time, which may carry us to some Sea Port of France. You need not to fear the Charges; for I shall bring that along with me, that shall be sufficient to defray all, and put us beyond want.  
At every period of this Letter, the Pilgrim would make a pause, then read it over again; but when he came to the Postscript, where mention was made of sufficiency to defray the Charges, and to put them beyond want, he did read that place twenty times over, and having looked once again on the word Marchioness, all those little distrusts and jealousies, which had possessed him during the reading of the Letter, did vanish into Air, and as if the word Marchioness had filled him with another Spirit than his own, he did resolve within himself to act that person's part, for whom he was taken; thus he resolved to take opportunity by the foretop, and not to part with her till he had built his own Fortune. To encourage himself in this resolution, he calls for the best that the house would afford, inquires if there were not a Marchioness that lay in the Palace, who had a Jealous Husband: He is answered that there was such a one, but that it was reported that her Husband was gone with her the morning before; The news of the Marquis, and of his Lady's absence did make him build the stronger upon that bottom, in lieu of deterring him, so that he longed till the time was come to get off the Lady.  
To that purpose, as soon as it was convenient to stir forth, he pays his reckoning, and goes out to hire a Felouqua, to provide a Ladder of Ropes, with all other necessaries for the Voyage, which all his little stock would but just reach to; but while he was busy about this, a small scruple arose in his mind, which was, that doubtless the right Person intended to be employed by the Marchioness, could be no less than some person of quality, which made him fear, that when the Lady should discover his Pilgrim's weeds, she might find out her mistake, retire before he had her sure, and so leave him at all the Cost and Charges, to his utter ruin: This consideration was of weight; but he knew no other way to remedy it, than in pretending, that he made use of that Habit to be disguised, and that through its favourable aspect, they might pass with more safety into the Felouqua. This, with the prospect which he had of making his Fortune, did cause him to push on, and to venture at all, leaving the success to the disposal of Fortune, who commonly assists the bold. With this last resolution he continues his designs, and gets all things in readiness against the appointed hour; which being come, out goes our Pilgrim, and gets under the Window whence he had received the first Summons; he was not long there before he heard it open, and presently after a Cord was let down, at which he having fastened the Ladder of Ropes, it was presently pulled up again, and not long after Donna Barbara came down by it, close muffled up, lest that the Pilgrim should find out her deceit; she did no sooner touch ground, but telling him in a disguised tone, that there was no time to lose, for fear of a pursuit, she pulled him along by the Arm, not giving time to answer, which pleased him very well, who was as willing as she was to keep silence, so that they both hastened to the Vessel, in equal fears of being discovered by one another: So soon as they were come to the Felouqua, the Master disposed of them severally, as the Lady desired, and presently they put off to Sea, making all the Sails they could for Narbona.  
Mean time the Governor, who had through his Wife's Importunities granted her two days retirement, only in order to plague her the more severely afterwards, did not so much as once offer to disturb her, during the whole time of the Truce; but the term being expired, his patience was at an end also: And having sent divers of his Sarvants ●●e after another to have the Door opened to him, though to no effect; he went thither himself, where having divers times called and knocked at the Chamber door to as little purpose, he caused it to be broke open, and his anger being exasperated by his Wife's resistance, he presently rushes into the Chamber, searches all Chambers for her, runs from one place to another, peeps in every hole and corner, but finds nothing but a Paper that lay upon the Table, in which there was writ; that she being not able to endure the affronts and reproaches, with which he had threatened her, he could not take it ill, that she had absented herself for some time, only till his anger was over, and that he had alter d his resolutions; for she could not imagine, that her endeavouring to release an innocent distressed Gentleman, was such a Crime as deserved so severe an usage, as he designed her. Though he was a Person that naturally had a great power over his passions, yet seeing himself overreached by a Woman, he fell into such a rage, that storming, and threatening all the Servants, as being accessaries to her flight, they at last went their ways and left him alone to vent his anger at leisure.  
After the first transports were over, he began more calmly to consider with himself, what he had best to do, and what course to take to retrieve this fugitive Woman. Being vexed with himself for having expressed so much passion before his Servants, and published so much of his concerns; but as to that, there was no remedy, and all that was to be done now, was how to get his Wife home again; but first how and where to meet with her. This he knew not how to go about, having not the least knowledge of the course that she had steered, he resolves a thousand things in his mind, and as often defeats them again with new considerations, not knowing on which to pitch: Sometimes he is for one expedient, then presently again he lays that by, and he takes up another; sometimes he is of opinion that it is the wicked Father Andrew that has assisted his Wife in her escape, at other times he is of opinion, that it is the Pilgrim, who not obeying his order, had lain lurking thereabout to accomplish this wicked business, than sometimes he was in the belief, that they both had a hand in the Plot: Thus being perplexed with divers uncertainties, not knowing what course to take, he goes to the Window which had been left open, where he finds some certain marks of his Wife's escape that way, there he sets himself down, and after a long debate within himself, he concludes that his Wife, imagining that the Pilgrim had followed the Marchioness to Saragossa, she had made what haste she could with the Friar's assistance, to go after him, and to gain him for herself, before that he had time to renew his friendship with the Marchioness. Amongst a thousand conceptions finding this the most probable; he resolves for Saragossa immediately; but receiving that day some orders, which required his presence for three days at Barcellonna, he was forced to obey, and defer his pursuit till that business was over.  
Mean time our Travellers are come to Anchor before Narbona, the Master gives them notice of it; the Pilgrim appears first upon the Deck, trembling at the very thoughts of approaching and discovering his deceit to the Lady: He had been there some time, when one came to him to tell him, that the Lady would have him come to her, in her Cabin. The Pilgrim with much perplexity and disorder did obey the Commands.  
Donna Barbara, had made the place as obscure as she could, to prevent a surprisal, desiring to discover herself to Camille little by little, and to obtain his pardon for the change that she had put upon him; after which she would endeavour to gain his affections. The Pilgrim comes in, and with much ado feeling out the Bed that the Lady lay on; he throws himself on his knees by the Bed side, and was going to ask pardon for his presumption; when Donna Barbara did interrupt him in this manner, Sir, there is no Woman in the World who having received so great a favour as I have lately from you, but would acknowledge herself infinitely obliged unto your generous assistance for it; yet, Sir, the case is such at present, that I must attribute the cause of my present liberty, more to my good Fortune, than to your endeavours, when I look upon all that you have lately done, as intended to some other person than myself. Madam, replied the Pilgrim, I am come to acknowledge my Crime, and most humbly beg your pardon, for having been so bold, as to take upon me the performance of that which was designed for a worthier hand, than that of a miserable Pilgrim; and I do own myself so unworthy that honour, that I must wholly attribute to my good Fortune that happiness, which another more worthy might deservedly challenge from his own merits. You cannot be wanting in that, replied Donna Barbara, except it be that your Cruelty does drown with ingratitude, all those advantages and excellencies that the Heavens have so profusely showered upon you; and in that lies my misery, that while you are endeavouring to oblige another, you set forth your unkindness to me, and are persuading me to believe, how ready and willing you are to serve others, while I am to be left unregarded, or that if you chance to do me some kind Office, it is against your will, and by mere accident. Madam, replied the Pilgrim, since it has pleased the Fates to make me by accident that instrument of your safety, which your judicious choice had designed unto another, be pleased to allow of their determination, and to aceept of my most humble Services, in order to your future designs. This unexpected answer did so surprise Donna Barbara, that she remained for some time without answering, which gave the Pilgrim time to add; I am the more excusable, Madam, in having undertaken nothing but what I had your commands for, under your own hand, wherein reading your resolutions, and fearing that my receiving of your orders might probably disappoint those persons for whom they were meant, by which you would lose that opportunity which might never be recovered again. I thought that I could do no less than supply that place, which I have done, but in order to serve you; Madam, if you think fit to make any further use of me, I am ready to obey you in what else you will be pleased to command me, but if my unworthiness does invite you to cast me off, let me but have the happiness to accomplish the residue of my Pilgrimage under the favourable assistance, and recommendation of your illustrious Name; and I shall rest contented with the honour of having served you once, and shall ever add some words in my petitions to St. Jago, for a blessing on all your designs. This great fall from the Pilgrims first expressions, did fully confirm Donna Barbara, that she had been mistaken in the Person, but however the satisfaction which she had of being out of her Husband's reach, with the hopes she had of meeting with the right Pilgrim at Saragossa, did make her rest satisfied for the present, and to give him this answer: I must confess that I should not so willingly nor so easily have trusted myself in the hands of a Person so absolute a stranger to me as you are, had I had my choice; but seeing that it has so happened, and that you are willing to serve me further, I will make use of you in sending you to shore, to get the best and readlest conveniency that can be had to carry me to Saragossa, where I would have you to accompany me, and there I shall return you thanks proportionable to the services which you shall have rendered me, mean time, take this, continued she, giving him a handful of Pistols to defray the Charges, and so soon as you have provided all things for the Journey, come and fetch me hence.  
The Pilgrim received Donna Barbara's orders with much earnestness, and her Gold with as much greediness; and having assured her that he would make all the haste possible, he went to shore, where he provided all things necessary for her conveyance to the place that she desired, and returned to her again at the close of the Evening, giving her an account of what he had done; presently after the Master of the Vessel was paid for his freight, and Donna Barbara was conducted to shore by the Pilgrim, from whence they were conveyed incessantly to Saragossa. At the last days journey she sent her new servant before to provide her some Lodgings as private as possible, in some by place of the City, to which she would go in the evening, that she might not be seen. Which he did with such diligence, that he came back again, and met her two or three mile's distance from the City, whence in the Evening he led her to her lodgings  
So soon as Donna Barbara found herself to have no further occasion of the Pilgrim, she gave him a very considerable gratuity for his Services, and returning him thanks, she sent him away.  
Our Pilgrim being flushed with what he had received for his four or five days Services, went to seek for a lodging for himself; he had quickly found one at a public House, where he met also with some of his Countrymen, with whom having made acquaintance, they supped together at the Pilgrim's cost, who would treat them; and after Supper, they fell a drinking so hard, that they were all in their Altitudes, especially our Pilgrim, who being puffed up with the honour which he had received in serving a Marchioness, and in that gallant manner too, besides the thought which came into his head, of the great reward which he had received for it; that nothing would serve his turn at last, but the Marchioness' Health, which he began with a full brimmer; which Health he obliged the company to pledge, twice over; one amongst them being somewhat more peevish than the rest, had not so much Complaisance, as to do it without grumbling; and amongst the rest of his mutterings, he said, why must we drink twice over a Woman's Health, whose name we know not? Nay, nor I neither, replied the Pilgrim; but thus much I will tell you, to invite you to it; that she is young, beautiful, wise, and as generous as a Princess: and pulling his Purse out of his Pocket, and shaking it: here are golden witnesses of what I say, with part of which I intent to defray all your Charges here, gentlemans, continued he, and therefore pray fall too, and spare not: After two or three Cups more round the Table, at the request of the company, he gave them an account of his coming acquainted with her, and assisting of her in makng her escape from a jealous Husband, and how he had waited on her to Saragossa.  
At last they drank so long, that they were all past drinking, and it was so late, that the Master of the House came and desired the Company to get to their Beds, if they could find them, for that Night, telling them that the next day would be long enough for them to sing the Second part to the same Tune, if they pleased: With that our brave Pilgrim having discharged the reckoning, was led into his Chamber, and put to Bed, and the rest of the Company did the like.  
The next morning one of the Marquis' Servants coming to that House to visit one that had lately been his fellow Servant, he is informed of a certain Pilgrim newly come from Barcellon●a, who had talked much of a Marchioness, and that he had drank her Health, with some of his own Country men, till they were past drinking for that bout. The Fellow hearing this, without any further inquiry into the Business, concluding within himself, that it was the same Pilgrim that they had left in prison at Barcelona, he immediately returns home with this news to his Master, assuring him that the Pilgrim by some means or other being got out of Prison at Barcelona, was come thither. There needed no more to set our Jealous Marquis on the fret; he presently tells the Fellow that he had so great a confidence in him, that he would leave the management of that business to him, not doubting but he would faithfully serve him in it: Which was to get that Pilgrim to be put in Prison, to that purpose he writes a Note to a Justice who was something akin to him, to have the business done out of hand, letting him know that it was a great Malefactor who had broke out of Prison at Barcelona, where he was detain d for horrid Crimes, and was come into that City under the disguise of a Pilgrim: He immediately sent his Servant about it, assuring him that he would consider his care and diligence in the business; and gave him a special charge to see him cast in Prison, and loaded with Irons, with a strict order that no body should be admitted to speak with him: Presently after the poor Pilgrim was taken out of his Bed with his  half on and half off, and dragged to Prison like a Dog, after the cruel manner which they usually do in that Country, where he remained a close Prisoner.  
While things were in this posture at the City of Saragossa, Camille, little dreaming how he was used there, was recovering of Father Andrew at Narbona, that they might in diligence overtake the Marquis at Saragossa, where he hoped he would make some little stay; and finding that the good Father was in a Condition to begin the Journey, and as willing to serve him as ever, to which purpose Camille had given him to understand that he was a Person capable of protecting him from all dangers, and of requiting him very bountifully. They set forwards towards Saragossa, where being arrived, it was their lot to Inn at the very house, whence the Pilgrim had been taken out.  
The next morning after their arrival, Father Andrew was enquiring of his host whether he knew not of a certain Marquis and Marchioness that were lately come into that City from Barcelona? The Host made answer, that there was a Merchioness, or Marquis, or something of that quality, that was lately come from Barcelona, who lived very privately, not far from thence, which he had heard of by he could not remember whom: Presently the good Father runs to Camille, and acquaints him of the discovery which he had already made, at which they both concluded by several circumstances, that it must of necessity be the beautiful Marchioness, who it was probable was kept up so privately by her Husband. The next thing was how to get her informed of their being come to Saragossa, with the same design of serving her, as they had, expressed at Barcelona; there lay the difficulty, which could not be removed but by a more particular Information of the place, and situation of her Lodgings. To this purpose the Landlord is called up, and employed to go and learn exactly where those persons lay, and presently after returns with full Information; upon which Camille and the Father take their measures. They having debated and concluded on something: Father Andrew is sent to go take private Lodgings near that place, but as he goes down Stairs he meets with his Host whom he takes along with him, to show him the House wherein the Marchioness lay. The Father having taken good notice of it, sends back mine Host, and taketh Lodgings close by it; after which returning to Camille, he gave him an account of what he had done, and presently they caused their goods to be removed. They being in their new Lodging; the next thing which was thought on was, that Father Andrew should insinuate himself into the Company of the Marquis his Landlord, to learn of him how things were; that was presently done, and in a short time the good Father was informed, that he did not know what persons lived in his House, nor how many they were; that he had never seen any of them, but one Maid Servant; that if they were such great persons, as had been reported, they had doubtless for some great reason and design left their retinue behind them, and lived extraordinarily retired, never stirring out of their Chamber, where all their necessaries were brought to them by that only Maid: The Father having been thus far informed, enquired, if it were not possible to have a Letter delivered unto the Marchioness, unknown to her Husband? He was answered, that he did not know whether there was a Husband or no in the case, and did believe that if she had one he was not with her at that time. With that a Maid going by, here is their Servant, continued he, I will call her to you, and she shall inform you herself of that better than I can. He called the Maid, who being come, Father Andrew inquired of her, whether the Marquis was with his Lady, and if it were not possible to give her a Letter without his knowledge, to which all the answer that he could get was, that she was not yet so weary of her place, as to lose it, that she liked it so well, as to have no desire to part with it to another; that she knew well enough what she had to do, and that he should mind his own business, and not go about to get her place from her; and having said this, she went away, with a great deal of indignation. The good Father found by this small Trial, that no good was to be expected that way, he therefore bethought himself of another expedient, and with fair words and promises did require of the Master of the House that he would lend him the Key of his Garden door, that at night he might get into it, where he made no question but by some means or other, he would find out some way to let the Lady know of his being there, which she would be very glad to hear. The Landlord making some doubts at it, pretending that he might by that means lose his Lodgers, the ingenious Father did presently remove those scruples, in dropping in his hand a Pistol or two, which put the Key of the Garden door into his possession. The good Father would willingly have been fully informed, whether the Marquis was with his Wife or not; but after divers attempts, and to no purpose, he went home, being being persuaded by divers circumstances that he was absent.  
Being returned home, he informed Camille of all that he had done, telling him that it were his own fault, if he got not the Lady immediately, while her Husband was absent. How do you know that he is absent? replied Camille. As for my part I am not very well assured that this is the right Marchioness, and I fear lest you may mistake in this, as when you took the Moor for Donna Barbara. To which Father Andrew said, give me leave to tell you some circumstances, and to put some consequences into your head, and then judge whether it can be any other person than the Marchioness. They are lately come hither from Barcelona, where they are very private; as to their being with no other Servant than one single Maid, thus I make it out; the Marquis having it is probable some business, which called him from hence, and fearing, lest in his absence you should clear yourself to the Governor of Barcelona so as to be released presently after, and that you might follow after him, he to conceal his Wife from your knowledge, had left his retinue at some small distance from the City; and to make the less noise, had brought his Wife in the night, only accompanied with her two Guardian Women, and that serving Maid who was to attend them, with charge never to stir forth of her Chamber till his return, after which he might return to his Servants, and take them along with him. This is the best way that he could take in such a case, replied Camille, I must confess, were he forced upon some such extraordinary occasion, to have left his Wife behind him; but I fear that nothing could persuade him to do so: Yes, replied Father Andrew, for some few days, having such ●rusty Guardians to watch over her, and having ●ewd her up so close, as no body but himself could find her again, at least in his thought; Besides, why may she not be fallen sick? At least not so well, as to be carried, with so much haste as his business might require? and so be forced to leave her behind? All these are conjectures and probabilities: It may, and it may not be so, replied Camille, and neither you nor I can inform ourselves better: Well, put the case we are in the right, what is next to be done, continued Camille? This replied the Friar; you must have a Letter in readiness for her; you must besides make some kind of Song or Verses, which you may Sing at night under her Window, in which you must give her to understand, in covered terms, that you are here in order to receive her commands: The consequence of this, replied Camille, will be, that we shall alarm her Guardians, who will reward us with the same presents as the Marquis received at Barcelona; and that at the Marquis his return, they will inform him of the business, and so our design will be lost, and all hopes of setting on foot any other by our discovery. To this I answer, replied the Father, that you must not mention any thing that can be understood, but by the Marchioness herself; that though the Guardians are awakened, we shall find some way to convey the Letter privately to the Marchioness, and that we shall after that, through her own assistance, get her off before the Marquis his return. Well, replied Camille, it is but the venturing of a suit of , and my Theorbo, I will give you the satisfaction of going with you at night, and to that purpose I wil● go about the Letter and the Verses.  
At night Camille, and Father Andrew came to the Garden door of the Marchionesses Lodgings, the Father goes to open it, but after he had fumbled a good while without success, they were forced to leave the Key in the Lock, and to get into the Garden over the Wall, where Camille began to tune his Instrument at a distance, which done, he afterwards drew nearer and Sang: He had not proceeded far, when the House door, that came into the Garden, was suddenly thrust open; at which, Camille step't aside behind a Statue, presently came out running with their Swords in hand, three persons, very furiously, which made the good Father to make towards the place that he had come in at, where by the advantage of a Terrace walk, he nimbly got over the Wall into a back Street, and from thence immediately home. The pursuers finding the Garden door locked; they sought up and down the Garden after their prey, which gave time to Camille to remove his Station; he was passing cross the walk, close by the door of the House; when a Woman taking him by the hand, come follow me, said she, I will put you out at the Street Door, and go along with you; though I am not so well provided now, as I would have been, had you but stayed till to morrow night; with that she led him out by the Street door, where she thus continued to speak. It fell out very ill, that my Brothers should be so unluckily awakened by the singing at the next Neighbours, under the new comers window, as I imagine: I hope, Alphonso, that you are, and will be sensible of what I do for you; How that I abandon all other interests, to follow you; and now that I have put myself into your hands, even before you could expect it, and when you did intent nothing more than a private visit to me, I hope that you will deal generously by me, and faithfully perform all your vows and protestations to me; in order to which I desire you to convey me presently to your own house, or any where else, if you think us not safe there from my Brother's search after us, and there to Marry me out of hand; that being once done, you may claim me as your own, which will very much allay that prosecution, which otherwise we might expect with all the severity imaginable from my incensed Brothers. Having said this, she made a pause, as expecting his answer. Which having not, what is the matter, continued she, that you answer me not? Do you think me too forward in this Juncture, or do you relent in your affections? saying this, she held back Camille, who was still going a round pace, he knew not where; I will be satisfied continued she, before I go a step further. Camille then seeing a necessity of undeceiving that person, he led her towards the middle of the Street, where there was a little more light, and lifting up his head, he gave her time and opportunity to see her mistake, by looking in his Face. So soon as she saw Camille, making a great shriek, she endeavoured to snatch her hand out of his, and would have gone from him; when Camille, finding that it was time for him to speak, said, Madam, be not so affrighted as you are; but assure yourself that you are fallen into the hands of a Gentleman, who though a stranger in these parts, will serve and protect you with his Life, from any danger whatsoever; be pleased but to recollect yourself a little, continued he, finding that she did still endeavour to get away; and cast not yourself into unnecessary inconveniencies by your needless apprehensions; do but command me, let me but know what is most expedient that I should do for you at present, and you will find, that I shall obey with all the respects and diligence imaginable. These words being delivered by Camille, with an accent and grace, which did speak him what he was, did somewhat settle again the trembling Lady, who took the boldness to say, Sir, if in my late misfortune I have had so much happiness as to fall into the hands of a Gentleman, that will not make use of the advantages that my mistake and the darkness of the Night has given him; show yourself such, and immediately bring me back to that place, where I first did meet with you. That were not to serve you, replied Camille, but rather to prostitute you to your Enemy's Fury. Therefore, rather inform me, Madam, where I may convey you into the hands of that person, for whom you took me, who without question will gladly receive you into his protection. If I am so happy, replied the Lady, as to have met with so generous a person; I shall be obliged to return my thanks to Heaven, for having sent me, in such an extremity, so favourable an assistance, which I might not have expected from those of my own Nation, had I been so unfortunate as to have fallen in any of their Hands, with all these disadvantages. You lose time, Madam, replied Camille, and know not how soon you may be overtaken and surprised; I have already declared to you, that I am not of this Nation, and I add to it, that though my lodgings are not far from this place, I neither know where I am at present, nor which way to retrieve them, and did I know, I should not go about to do it, till I had left you safe, where you desire to be; therefore I once more humbly entreat you, Madam, to guide me where you would have me to conduct you: You see, continued Camille, that day gins to break, and should you be found at this time of the night in the open Streets with a man, you may guests at the dangerous consequences. I know not where to go, replied the Lady, for I am ignorant of Don Alphonso's House, therefore I must entreat you to lead me any where, till I have the opportunity to send to him to come to me. Camille was going to reply, when he perceived a man coming in haste towards them, who said, Sir, if you are a Gentleman, pray assist me against the odds that my Enemies have over me; at this the Gentlewoman knowing by his voice that it was her Friend: Oh! my Alphonso, cried she, running towards him: Here is a Gentleman continued she, looking on Camille, that the Heavens have sent on purpose to assist us. This did somewhat calm the jealous Spaniard. Who began to look sourly upon that person, whom he had found in private with his Mistress; but presently the Lady's Brothers coming up, with their Swords drawn, they cried here he is, which interrupted their further discourse, by falling upon Alphonso, which made Camille to draw likewise, and to assist the weakest side.  
The clashing of the Swords did presently call some of the watch to them, before any hurt was done, which made every one shift for himself; by good fortune the Watch following the three Brothers, they gave time to the others to get off. But they not finding the Lady where they had left her, nor no where there abouts, they went to search a little further, where Camille found himself just before his own door, meeting there with Father Andrew, who had the Lady by the hand; he being impatient at Camille's absence had gone out with a design to seek after him, and passing by just when they where fight, and perceiving a Lady standing by, much affrighted, taking her to be the Marchioness, he had led her toward his Lodgings, and she being so surprised at the sight of her Brothers, had given her hand to the first comer, without considering who it was. They were all very glad to meet so luckily in that place: Alphonso told Camille, that he was infinitely obliged to him for his generous assistance, without which he must doubtless have fallen under the disadvantage of his Enemy's Swords. Sir, replied Camille, this is no place to use compliments in, and I judge it dangerous for you both to appear any more in the Streets this Night, while your Brothers are yet in the pursuit of you. Neither would it be safe for us to retire to my House yet, said Alphonso: You say right, answered Camille, therefore if you please to accept of what accommodation my Lodgings and the house will afford, you shall find there a hearty welcome, where you may remain safe, and as private as you please, till you have the leisure and conveniency to retire yourself where else you shall think fit. Alphonso having returned Camille humble thanks, turning to the Lady, Madam, said he, since it is dangerous in having you any further this night, lest that you should fall again into the hands of your Brothers, if you please, we will be further engaged unto this gallant person, in accepting of his kind offers; at which the Lady made answer, I am willing to accept of this Gentleman's Civilities; but it shall be upon condition that you shall presently send for a Priest to Marry us, replied the Lady; and you, Sir, continued she, addressing herself to Camille, you shall engage to me before I enter, that you will do me the favour to give me to this Gentleman; he knows what a considerable Fortune I bring along with me, in spite of my Brothers, able to re-establish his broken Fortune; and when once my Brothers know that I am his by Marriage, they will lay aside their anger, and desist any further prosecutions. Camille and Don Alphonso having promised that she should have all the setisfaction that she should require; they went up Stairs, where, while the Priest was sent for, and a Chamber getting ready for them, Camille gave them the best entertainment that he could; and an account of his Amours, and of the cause of all the disorders of that Night through the Song, which he had applied in a wrong place. After this, Alphonso and Camille renewed their Compliments, with assurances of services on either side, and so they contracted a Friendship, which proved more durable than is usual between a Spaniard and an Italian; after a while the Priest being come, they were Married, and when they retired into that Chamber that had been fitted for them, where Camille having conducted them, he took his leave and left them, to go to his own Bed, and presently after Father Andrew did the like.  
The next morning the good Father, who was always diligent in such affairs, goes to the Marquis his Landlord again, and telling him he had been disappointed by entangling the Key with other things in his Pocket, which pulling out, he had dropped and could not find again: That he desired him to get another made; and giving the man a double Pistol, to stop all replies and put offs, here is to pay for it, continued he, I shall come again in the Evening, therefore pray let it be ready against then: The Landlord was going to reply with a sour Face, as if he did not like it, and had no mind to get another Key: But the cunning Father perceiving it: It may be that it will cost more. Y'are in the right, continued he, and giving him another Pistol, if that will not do, I will bring you more when I come to fetch it; at this the Landlord being overcome, he did promise him to get a Key ready against Evening.  
By that time that Father Andrew was returned, Alphonso and his Lady were visited by Camille, they desired him to let them have a Messenger to send to Alphonso's House for some of his Servants to come to him; is was done accordingly; and Alphonso having writ some Letters to some of his particular Friends, inviting them to come and accompany him and his Bride home; he sent one of his own Servants with them, and sent another home, to give order that all things should be got in a readiness fit to receive him and his Friends; not long after, there came divers of the new married couples Friends to offer their Services: To whom Don Alphonso and his Lady returning thanks, they both recommended to their Friendship, Camille, and after the first usual compliments were over, Alphonso and his Bride, went, accompanied with a considerable number of Friends and Servants, in divers Coaches unto Don Alphonso's House, where Camille and the good Father Andrew did attend them also; and towards the Evening, after they had been Magnificently treated, considering the little time to prepare things in; having taken leave of the company in general, they returned home to prepare for the night expedition.  
While Father Andrew was gone for the new Key, Camille employed himself in fitting anew his Theorbo, which had been disordered in the late rancounter; it was not long before the diligent Father returned, and a little after, it being time, they went out on the second adventure. They soon did light on the right door, which Father Andrew, for fear of any further mistakes, had marked with a piece of Chalk. Being entered and having shut the door upon them, for fear of any surprise from without; Camille having tuned his Instrument, he Sung to it as follows.  

Cloris, before your conquering Eyes,  
Had made my Heart your Sacrifice,  
Your Charming Voice had led the way;  
Seraphic sounds piercing my ravished Ear,  
Enter my yielding soul with full Carrear,  
And forced me Love's Laws to obey:  
So that when on your beauties I once gazed,  
Resolute and amazed;  
I then decreed,  
To serve you, Cloris, with a winged speed.  
My Heart subjected to your Laws,  
Endeavoured soon to gain applause,  
In his dispatch to break your Chains;  
Beat off your Shackles, and all could be found,  
In which your jealous Tyrant kept you bound,  
So set an end to all your pains.  
But while to free you I was wholly bend,  
To Prison I was sent;  
In which I lay,  
Until I heard he had forced you away.   

There having been tempted to break  
Those vows, I had made for your sake,  
I was released, I knew not how;  
Thence here I'm come, where learning you are freed,  
While I envy the hand, I bless the deed,  
And now to your commands I bow,  
Expecting a decree to fall or stand,  
From your Impartial Hand;  
I wish the Fates  
May make your heart and mind my Advocates.   
No sooner had Camille ended his Song, but he was informed from the Window that it was understood, and that he should the next Day about Evening come the same way, where there should a Servant wait on purpose to admit him, after this the Window was shut, and Camille with Father Andrew retired with all the satisfaction imaginable.  
Camille was very impatient till the hour was come to render the visit to the beautiful Marchioness. He could not sleep all night for thinking on it, which made him pass it in framing a thousand agreeable Ideas in his fancy, about the Charming entertainment; and he was in such a Rapture all the day following at the thoughts of the pleasures, which he was e'er long to enjoy, that he could neither eat nor drink, being so wholly possessed with those joys, which he already did relish in his imagination. At last did come the happy hour, he flies unto his bliss, being at the Garden door, where he leaves Father Andrew to return home, he is met by a Servant Maid, who does conduct him to the Camber, his passion is raised to such a height, at each step that he makes towards it, that he endeavours to suppress it with the apprehensions of some reverse of Fortune, for fear that his excess should transport him beyond himself; he arrives at last to the Chamber door, he enters, he perceives the Lady in an obscure place at the further end of the Chamber, he runs towards her, flings himself at her feet, and with a voice that expressed the transports of his Soul, he says, Madam, what honour do I receive in this your gracious condescension to my humble desires? My Soul is so transported at the singular favours which I now enjoy from your extreme bounty, that I want words to express my resentments; let therefore my silence, my respects, and my most humble submission, speak to you what my Tongue cannot utter. Beautiful Marchioness, behold at your Feet, continued he, a person so wholly possessed with admiration at your perfections, that it preserves a heart from the reach of the rest of your whole sex, to offer it pure and wholly at the shrine of your adorable beauty. I do acknowledge, that I am most unworthy of the least of your favour, Madam, when I consider that— Here he was interrupted by the Ladies rising from her seat, who stepping towards the light, did look upon Camille with an eye full of indignation and revenge, which made Camille presently perceive his error, and that all that he had said, had been addressed to Donna Barbara Dayamonte, in lieu of the Marchioness. He riseth, and being struck dumb, he remains as motionless as a Statue, which gave time to Donna Barbara to express her resentments after this manner. Thou the most ungrateful, and the unworthiest of all men; have I abandoned my honour to the censure of the whole world? have I forsaken an Husband, and all other interests, to come after thee? and is it thus that thou requitest me? I will be revenged: and since that I cannot by any means imaginable enjoy thy Life, I will be the Author of thy Death: Yes, Traitor, I will immediately send for the Marquis, whom thou hast so abused, that in my presence he may take a full revenge of thee, that my Eyes and my Heart may have the satisfaction of seeing thee perish before me. With that she commands aloud that the door should be locked without side, which was presently done within Camille's hearing, after which she continued to vent her rage against him, with such passionate words, that poor Camille was never so amazed at any thing in all his Life, and of truth it did concern him; he found himself in the power, and at the mercy of an incensed woman, who doubtless would give a full scope to all her resentments, and satisfy her splenetic revenge at his cost; there was no retreating; to offer to make his way back by force, were to oblige her the sooner to call for help; amongst which the Marquis would not be forgot: To remain there without giving her some kind of satisfaction, were but to exasperate her the more. After divers debates within himself, concerning what he should do, he resolves to appease her in some measure with kind words, fair promises, and humble submissions, thereby to regain his liberty. In this design he approaches the Bed whereon she had thrown herself, and bowing down: Madam, said he, I must confess that my surprisal has been so great to find you here, when I thought you to be at Barcelona, that I am not yet able throughly to recollect myself; and I find that some time must be allowed me for it, which I humbly beg for, mean time all that I have to say for myself, is, that believing that you had been so fully prevented by your Husband in your designs, and I having received orders from him never to return to Barcelona upon pain of Death, this had made me wholly give over all future hopes of ever having the happiness of seeing you again; and on the other hand, had brought me here in pursuit of the Marchioness, to renew with her my former affections, and if— Here Donna Barbara interrupted him, saying: But here I am, where in spite of all oppositions, contemning all dangers, and treading all other considerations under feet; I am come in pursuit of the most ungrateful of men; but if I must perish, I will first break your measures, and have the satisfaction to see my Rival deprived of all hopes of possessing that which is refused unto my affections. Madam, replied, Camille, I am sensible of the infinite obligations that I own you; and if you but please to allow me some small time to wean myself from any further thoughts on the Marchioness, I shall acknowledge what you have done for me, with all the respects and gratitude imaginable; and if you will have so much bounty, as to attribute my former actions unto the excess of a blind passion, which made me pay to another, that which was with more Justice due to you, I shall for the future address my vows here only, and limit my happiness within the compass of that esteem which you are pleased to express for me; though so unworthy of that happiness. At this turn, Donna Barbara looked up, and holding forth her hand, he took it, and kissed it; he found that she would have him to help her up by it, which he did; after which, they having had some further discourses, in order to a more ample reconciliation, and better understanding for the future, she released her Prisoner, upon condition, that he should daily visit her, the same way as he had done that Evening, until they were resolved upon some course, to free themselves absolutely from all the governor's pursuits, and to get out of his power. All which Camille having promised to perform, he took his leave of her, and returned home.  
Father Andrew, very impatient to learn what success Camille had had, did no sooner see him, but with a cheerful countenance, he inquired how the Marchioness had entertained him; but when Camille had informed him of the mistake, the good Father's looks did so visibly change, that no body would have took him for the same man; yet after some little pause that the amazement had caused; Well, Sir, said he, what is done cannot be helped, but to prevent further troubles, let us make what diligence we can to find out the right Marchioness, and to see what may be done with her, before you are obliged to pay any further respects to Donna Barbara, to that purpose I will visit all the Churches in the City, but I will find out the Marquis, or at least meet with some body that will inform me of him: This being concluded on, they went to Supper, and from thence to Bed, where Camille had full leisure to reflect on the oddness of this last adventure, and of the means to prevent further incoveniences, for which he thought no way better than a quick dispatch, in getting the Marchioness at liberty.  
In the morning Father Andrew goes to the great Church, where after some time he sees the Marquis come in; he waits behind a Pillar, till he had finished his devotions, and then traces him home, and now what's to be done, but to return to Camille, and give him an account of the discovery, and consult together, how to inform speedily the Marchioness of their being at Saragossa, because that otherways Donna Barbara's expectations from Camille might spoil all, if not answered according to her desires. After some time spent in debates, it is concluded that the good Father should be disguised like one of those women which go from House to House in those Countries, selling of women's little Trinkets; for there, they have not the great conveniency of three Exchanges, to pick and choose in, lest they should make choice of such ware, as their Husbands would be very unwilling to pay for. No sooner concluded but executed, and while the one is dressing up like a very neat old Woman, to which the withered beardless Face, did not a little contribute, the other was writing a Note which was to be secretly conveyed to the Marchioness. The Father it fitted with all necessaries, the Note is conveyed very smooth into a Glove, and the brisk old Woman, being in a perfect readiness, goes to the Marquis House: She meets with a Servant, of whom she inquires if she can be admitted with her Ware to the Marchioness. I have such choice of curious things, said she, as I am sure will please her very well. At this time she is not to be spoken with, replied the Servant. That is, because that she knows not what excellent things I bring, replied the old Woman: but if she did, I should not be here so long without being called in; I tell you, replied the Servant, that she is now busy, that the Marquis is at present with her, in her Chamber, and that therefore you must come again some other time. At the word Marques the good old Woman was willing to be satisfied, to return, and to let the business alone till some other time, when that bugbear were not in the way. In this resolution she gins to retire, when the Marquis coming by from his Wife's Chamber, he inquires what that Woman would have. It was now time to put on a good Face, nothing but the height of confidence with a good courage can carry off the old Woman, therefore she briskly answers; that she was come to show the Marchioness some choice things, which she hoped would please her, that if he pleased to order that she might be admitted, she was confident, that she should give the Lady full content. The Marquis, who ever since the Pilgrim's last seizure, had been somewhat more complaisant to the Marchioness than before, had a mind to give his Wife some little present, out of this Woman's store; he therefore turning back again, said, Come follow me: At the word, follow, our old Woman did look upon her plot as been utterly spoiled, and was resolved not so much as once to mention the Gloves wherein lay the Letter, nor to let them be seen. The Marquis enters his Wife's Chamber, and tells her that he had brought her a woman with some things, of which he would have her make choice. The Marchioness, who was then somewhat out of humour, at the news of the Pilgrim's second imprisonment, told him that she needed nothing for the present, and that she should call some other time: The old Woman, who thought there could be nothing done so long as the troublesome Marquis was present, was very willing to retire, fearing very much a discovery; but the Marquis holding her back, said, Nay, but I have a mind to present you with something; and taking the Woman by the arm, he pulls her to the Table, and shuts the door of the Chamber, bidding her lay open her Ware: The old Woman would have given all her Shop, , and a finger to boot, had she been quit for that, to have been in Camille's Chamber, but all the wishes in the world will not do, she was got in too far to retire; and now she must make something of it, or be lost for ever; In this extremity she displays her Merchandise; the Marquis presently ransacks in it, and bids his Wife to choose what she liked best: She with a great indifferency, merely to please him, taketh what comes next to her hand, the Marquess not pleased at it, does encourage her to look on all, and take what she liked best; and with that tosses and tumbles the whole pack from top to bottom: The old Woman had her Eye continually upon the tell-tale Glove, and still as it came uppermost, was very diligent to change its Station, and remove it a form lower; but at last the Marquis Eyes it, and finding it to his mind, takes hold of it at one end, while the old Woman presently seizes on the other, the Marquis pulls it, the old Woman holds it fast, and to get it again out of the Marquis his hands, she gives him the other Glove, telling him, that that which he had, had some fault in it, which should be mended if the other did fit, which she would try; with that the Marquis let's go his hold, and is so officious, that he will pull himself the other Glove on his Wife's hand, mean time the old Woman fumbles about the other, not daring to venture the pulling out of the paper, for fear of the Marquess' prying Eyes. The Marquis having pulled on that Glove, which fitted and looked very well, he asks for the other; the old Woman having no other way left to get off, presently takes the Marchionesses hand, to pull it on herself, the Marquis will have the office on it, she persists in her will, and gets it on the Marchionesses hand, do the Marquis what he could to oppose her; saying that she was ashamed to stand still and see the Marquis thus take her work out of her hand, which obliged the Marquis to desist, though grumblingly, and displeased at the over diligent old Woman's opposition; she mean time pulls on the Glove, though not with so much diligence and neatness, as had the Marquis, she busying herself at the same time, in pressing the Marchionesses Elbow with her hand, and guiding her Fingers to the Paper; the Marquis stood looking on with the greatest impatiency in the World, having not power to desist any longer from showing his dexterity, and abhorring the old Woman's bungling, just as the Marchioness was sensible that there was something more than ordinary in that Glove, the Marquis takes the old Woman by the arm, and very angrily he turns her away, to take her employment from her; at which the Marchioness giving a shriek, Cried, You have strained my Wrist; with that, holding her other hand with her Handkerchief over her Glove and Wrist, she put by the over officious Marquis, telling him that she would not have it touched till the anguish was over. This put the Marquis quite out of humour, who fell a grumbling at the old Woman, while that his Wife having bid one of her Servants to carry those things which she had chosen, into her Closet, she followed her to lay them up; so soon as the Woman had laid them down, she sent her back for to know what they came to, and to ask of the Woman if she had not some Essences, mean time she takes out the Paper in which she read.  
Your Pilgrim's Agent, here demands,  
That you would send him your commands.  
And having found a short piece of Black-lead Pencel, in one of the Fingers, so soon as she had sent the Woman of another errand, while her Husband was paying the old Woman, she writ on the other side of the paper,  
This Night, in the Garden, under my Closet Window; and having conveyed it into the Glove again, she unripped some seams between the Fingers, and gave it the old Woman, telling her, that she should get it mended; the Marquis was going to lay hands on it again, but the old Woman being too nimble for him, thrust it into her pack amongst her other things, saying, that she would bring it again sometime that day, or the next 〈◊〉 farthest, and taking leave she was going off, when the Marquis seizing her by the Hand, and pulling her back again, did give her and his Wife a fresh alarm, but it lasted not long; for the busy Marquis did soon put them out of it, in bidding the old Woman to leave the money which she had received for the Gloves, till she came again, the money being readily rendered by the good Woman, she presently went her way, with an assurance of returning again with the Glove mended to their liking.  
The good Father Andrew being got off thus, with flying Colours, was so puffed up with good success, that he thought nothing could be above his achievement, he was so prepossessed with that good opinion of himself, that going out of the Chamber, in lieu of taking his leave after the manner of the Matrons, he was for bowing forwards with his hands a cross, in a Fryar-like Salutation; but rectifying himself, before notice was taken, he got off with credit, and was not long before he returned to Camille; where in giving him a full account of his good success, he was not wanting in expressing the Marquess' over-diligence, and to trumpet forth his own praises in his dexterous avoiding of all the Husband's troublesome pryings into the mysterious part of the late contrivance; and giving the Glove to Camille, he found in it what the Marchioness had writ.  
Business being brought to that pass with the Marchioness, Camille's next care was to pacify still more and more Donna Barbara, and so prevent her from spoiling his designs, which she might easily do, but with one word writing to the Marquis; if she had but the least suspicion imaginable of Camille's, correspondency with her Rival. This made him, so soon as it was Evening, to render her a visit. She received it very kindly, and they were entered upon a very amorous entertainment, when the Maid came running into the Chamber, and as well as her fright and haste would permit her, she told them, that there was a Person of quality at the Street-door, that was setting a Guard upon it; after that he had done the same at the backdoor, with a charge to let no body go out of the house, on what account soever, without his further orders. Presently people were heard to come up stairs, which made her to run out of the Chamber again, and to lock the door after her; one asked aloud which was the Chamber, which being told, and finding it shut, it was broke open; yet not so suddenly, but that Donna Barbara, had time to convey Camille into her Closet, where he resting on his knees and hands, she spread a Carpet over him, and gently seating herself upon him, as on a stool, in that posture she waited (with the Closet door open, that she might the sooner be perceived) till those persons were entered her Chamber.  
The Door being broken down, in rushes the Governor of Barcelona: After he had left two Servants to guard the Chamber door, with a strict charge to let no body go out of it. So soon as the Governor had espied his Wife, he cried out, Oh! are you there, Madam? I must find out your Minion also, if he is here, that I may pay him my respects: This said, he searched all over the Chamber and Closet, flinging the Bed and Bedding all over the Room, and leaving not one hole or corner unvisited, not so much as a Window, or the Chimney escaping him; but having not found what he sought after, he returns to his Wife, and taking her off of her seat: Come, Madam, since I am so unfortunate not to meet with your devout Pilgrim, give me leave in his absence to supply his office, and to lead you into some place more secure, than you find this to be: With that he leads her out, giving a special care to the Servants to watch the Door till his return, and to let no body in; then he conveys her into a Coach, and from thence into a Nunnery, where he left her in the Care of the Abbess, who was a Kinswoman of his Wives.  
He was returning to his Wife's Lodgings, to pack up all that she had left there, when he espied the Marquis that stood at his Gardens back Door, they would willingly have shunned one another, but not being able to avoid their approaches, they were forced to Salute: The Marquis was very much surprised to see the Governor of Barcelona at Saragossa, where, when he came first himself, he did not design to stay above five or six days, only to view the City. The Marquis having given the Governor, an account of his Wife's Health, and enquired of his and his Ladies, the Governor gave him a brief account of her late escape from him, which had made him to seek after her there, where he had found her, but not the wicked Pilgrim, who he verily believed had debauched her; at which the Marquis smiling, made answer, that he had done that work for him three days since, and that he had sent him to Prison, where he was safe enough. They finding themselves Companions in the same affliction, though there were great odds; and that their Wive's zealous devotions to the holy Pilgrim, could not be-allayed so easily, the Marquis was invited by the Covernour, to go with him to his Wife's late Lodgings, where he was to return, that they might pass away the residue of the Evening together, and consult how to rescue their Wives, for the future, from that Devilish Pilgrim's temptations. The Governor did prevail, and took Coach to that purpose.  
The Governor returned with the Marquis to his Wife's Lodgings. They were not long before they fell into a very serious discourse of their Wives; and amongst other things, the Marquis was saying, that if ever that Pilgrim should get out of Prison again, he would certainly be the ruin of them both, to their own shame and confusion: That therefore they were so to order the business, as to have him condemned and executed, which would be a certain way to be for ever rid of him; all this was in the hearing of Camille, with divers other things and contrivances, in which they did spend a considerable time.  
Mean while, diligent Father Andrew, who was always upon the watch, having had an account of all that had passed, and not hearing a word mentioned of Camille, who was not returned to his Lodgings, he concluded that he had hid himself in Donna Barbara's Chamber, whence he durst not adventure forth, so long as the Governor should be there; he ponders within himself, what he had best to do for his deliverance, before the time of the Night were come, that they were to repair under the Marchionesses Window in the Garden; he returns to his Lodgings the better to contrive the business. A little after there came a Messenger from the Prison, with a Letter directed to the Marchioness, without a name, lodging in such a Street. When the Marquis had caused the Pilgrim to be committed, he had given charge, that in case the Prisoner should desire Pen and Ink, that it should be granted to him, but that whatsoever he should write to be sent forth, should be immediately brought to him: This had been done accordingly; but the Messenger being at the Marquess' House, had been sent here after him. The Marquis having received it, opened it, and read as follows.  
Madam,  
WHen I was first committed, I made no doubt but that you would take some care for my immediate release; the want of which makes me now trouble you with these lines, to let you know, that notwithstanding the late favours that you were pleased to bestow on me, I am become one of the most miserable Creatures imaginable; for though through your generous bounty, I have wherewith to keep me from present want, yet the loss of my Liberty is such a Misery, as cannot be expressed. Seeing that it was in your Service that I got this affliction, I humbly entreat you to endeavour forthwith my Enlargement, and to take me from suffering under those sad effects of your Jealous Husband's too severe hand, without which I shall quickly be in my Grave, by which means you will lose the most humblest of your Servants.  
This Letter being read, the Marquis and the Governor could not but admire at once, both the simplicity and impudence of this Pilgrim; yet the Governor did take notice, that this was not writ in such a stile as the Pilgrim used to express himself when he was at Barcelona. The Marquis made answer, That it was probable his imprisonment, and the thwarting of his designs, without hopes of redress, had rendered him so melancholic as to discompose his mind. While they were thus spending their Verdict and descanting on the Pilgrim's Letter, there was another brought to the Marquis, which having opened, he read as follows.  
My Lord,  
THere is a Friar of St. Dominicks Order here, who is very importunate to speak with the Pilgrim, and will not be denied; notwithstanding his Character, I would not admit him to the Prisoner without your order: I have inquired his name, which he was very unwilling to discover; yet in hopes to speak with the Pilgrim, he has told me that he is called Father Andrew, he is very pressing, and I shall keep him here in discourse and hope, till I hear your answer, which you will be pleased to send back by this Messenger to me.  
This last Letter did so surprise them both, that looking on one another, they remained mute; at last the Governor said, that they ought not to let slip so fair an opportunity, of punishing their Wive's diligent Mercury. No, no, reply d the Marquis, that would be a great oversight, I will immediately go to the Prison and have him seized on, and I will along with you, said the Governor; for I long to see how strangely he will be surprised at the sight of us: Thus you see, replied the Marquis, that the wicked seek their own ruin, and bring themselves to receive the punishment due to their offences. Well, replied the Governor, now is the time to secure both these wicked men, that they shall never more be in any Capacity of debauching our Wives. Let's be going, replied the Marquis, and lose no time, for fear he be gone before we come, and that we lose this fair opportunity of seizing him: with that they did immediately take Coach to the other end of the City, where was the Prison.  
They were no sooner got out of the House, but the politic Father Andrew, of whose contrivance the Letter was, came in, he goes up Stairs, and having ask d which was the Chamber that belonged to the Governor of Barcelona; it was showed him by one of the Guards, he draws near it, and is repulsed, and told, that no body was to go in there: I know, replied the subtle Father, that your Orders are to let no body in, but you are not hindered from letting any Person go out, especially when I am sent on purpose by the Governor for them. There is no body there, replied one of the Servants; It were strange indeed, replied the Father, than they are gone out before I came for them, and yet I have made what haste I could from the Governor and the Marquis; I came here directly, and have not met by the way that Person that I come for: But I lose time, and the business presses. Signior Camille, continued he with a loud Voice, you must leave off your watching, for he that you wait for has been a Prisoner these three days, and you must immediately go along with me to the Governor, that stays for you; come forth and I will deliver you my Errand punctually: This was spoken with so much confidence by the Friar, that the Servants presently opened the Door, and forth came Camille; Now, Sir, continued Father Andrew, I must tell you that there is one Father Andrew at the Prison, that would speak with the Pilgrim Prisoner; the Governor was going to seize on him, but he has better considered on't, and therefore has sent me for you, that you should go first, and bring him certain word, whether it be that Person that he means, or not, whom he says you know very well. This did the good Father speak with so much readiness, that Camille himself was startled at it; and the Servants having heard the Governor and the Marquis discourse of it, before they went forth, they made no scruple in the least to let him go: Camille and the Friar got home to their Lodgings, where they had leisure to recollect themselves, to laugh at their Cullies Credulities, and to prepare against the time of going under the Marchionesses Window.  
Mean time the Governor and the Marquis are carried with all the diligence possible unto the Prison, contriving all the way how to punish this wicked and most abominable Friar; at last they get thither, and presently inquire of the Keeper where was the Friar. What Friar do you mean, replied the Keeper? Father Andrew, Father Andrew, replied the Marquis hastily; I hope you have not let him go, continued he? Never talk of that, said the Governor, where is he, where is he? What have you done with him? said the Marquis. The Keeper amazed at their earnest inquiries, stood staring sometime on one, sometime on the other, without saying a word. Pray, says the Governor to him, convey us where he is, and if you can, so as that we may see him without discovering ourselves: Nay, it were much better, now I think on't, said the Marquis, to place us so as that we might hear him discourse with the Pilgrim, and not be seen. Doubtless, replied the Governor, but we should make some notable discoveries, and therefore go let him into the Pilgrim, while we stay here till you come back to lead us where we may hear them. Let it be as of your own accord, said the Marquis, and be quick, for I long to hear what new piece of Villainy they are consulting of; at this they both pausing a while, wondering that the Keeper did not stir, he had time to say, I assure you, My Lord, that you have both so surprised me, I know not what to think, much less what to say; neither do I scarce know where, or who I am; I have heard you all this while, speak of a Friar and a Pilgrim, but I know no more what you mean by it, than the Man in the Moon. Then rubbing of his Eyes, and yawning, Let me see, continued he, am I asleep still, or do I wake? Though I was sleeping when you came, certainly I am now awake, or how should I stand thus else, continued he strutting, and speak thus to you; nay, see and hear you too? And yet I do protest to you, that I know nothing at all of any Friars being here: At this the Marquis showed him the Letter, and said, did you not send me this Letter, about half an hour since? Who I, send a Letter, replied the Keeper? I was then dreaming of other things, I can assure you, continued he; and I have neither writ, sent, or so much as thought of a Letter, this day, except that which I sent you from the Pilgrim a while since; then looking on the Letter, which the Marquis had given him; neither is this my hand writing, alas! I could never write a quarter so well: This the Keeper's story, made the Marquis and the Governor, in their turn to be mute, and look on one another; they concluded that this had been some trick of their Wives, not without some designs: As for mine, said the Governor, she is at present safe enough from doing any mischief of that nature: And mine, said the Marquis, has not had a Pen and Ink since I have Married her, except the Devil has supplied her with one of late; I rather believe, that it is that cursed Friar himself, that has thus shamed us: But to what purpose, replied the Governor? To nothing that is good, you may be certain, answered the Marquis; and for my part I will hasten home, where I think my presence more necessary than here; with that they took leave of one another, and went each to their own home.  
So soon as the Governor was returned, he enquired of his Servants who had been there, they answered him, no body, but the little ancient Gentleman whom he had sent to fetch the other Gentleman, that had been left in the Chamber to watch for the Pilgrim. How, said the Governor, a man left in the Chamber to watch for the Pilgrim? How? said the Governor, a man left in the Chamber, and now gone out, while you two stand at the Door and permit it? With that drawing his Sword, You Villains, continued he, I'll be the death of you both; how many were there to force him from you? What resistance have you made? And if you were overpowered, show me your wounds? Where is the blood that you have spilled in making opposition? At these high words, both the poor Fellows, falling on their knees, gave him an exact account of the whole passage, and with tears in their Eyes, asked him pardon for their Error. The Governor presently entered the Chamber, and while he was considering where this person could be hid, he was thinking also who it should be; at last, he concluded that there was some great mistake in the business, and did believe that the Marquis had lighted on the wrong Pilgrim, who he had secured, while the damned right one had been hid in his Wife's Chamber, whence his special agent, that wicked Father Andrew, had got him out by framing of that Letter: This did set him in such a rage, that he would not so much as give the Marquis an account of his thoughts, which he concluded to be certain; but the next morning early he went to the Monastery, whence having taken out his Wife, he returned with her to Barcelona, where he used her as he pleased.  
The Marquis, all this while, had not been wanting in diligently enquiring of all the Servants, who had been there, and examing of the two Guardian Women, so tormenting them, that one of them named Zora, being tired out with his frivolous repeated questions, and fretting at his unreasonable threatening of them, for letting his Wife have the conveniency of writing, she knowing herself innocent, did at last tell the Marquis, that there was no Hell, like living with a Man so strangely jealous as he was, which did set the Marquis in such a fury, that he struck her, which made her run into the Marchionesses Chamber with Tears in her Eyes: The Marchioness asked what was the matter, to which Zora answered; That, Madam, which in a short time shall turn to your advantage. The Marchioness who had designed to sit up till the Marquis was returned, lest that he going his usual rounds before going to Bed, should meet with the Letter, which his Wife did intent for Camille; hearing that the Marquis was coming to Bed, she went and dropped the Letter, so retiring, she put herself in Bed; while the Marquis was undressing he did nothing but grumble, fret, and threaten, in a word, the false Letter had set him quite out of humour.  
The hour come, which was about the darkest part of the Night, Camille got over the Wall with the active Father Andrew into the Garden; for though the good Father had no great business there, yet he loved so well the sport, that Camille could not prevail with him to stay at home: They were not got half way the walk, which led from the Garden Door to the House, when Father Andrew, whose Eyes were always upon the watch, did perceive something that moved at the other end; this put him to a stand, and made him take Camille by the arm, and hold him back: Stay, said he, I think I see some body that is waiting for us, let us retire while we can, for fear of a surprise: Camille looking earnestly also, said, I do see something move, but it is not tall enough to be a man, and I rather believe that it is some Dog, which though not so dangerous, may, I fear discover us, and spoil our design. Father Andrew was for a retreat, and Camille was leaving the broad Walk, and striking into the lesser Allies to go round by the Wall side to discover what it were, without being perceived; but the good Father having no inclination to venture any further, said, that he was sure it was no Dog, and that he would stay under the next Tree, while Camille should go make the discovery. Camille agreed to it, and went by the Wall side till he came near enough to distinguish that it was a Monkey that had broke lose from some of the Neighbourhood, who having found the Letter that the Marchioness had thrown there, he had torn it open, and was playing with it. Camille was glad that it was no worse, yet knew not which way to go about to get the Letter from that little unlucky Creature; he was still drawing nearer to him, when the Monkey did perceive him, which made him chatter so fast and so loud, all the while tearing of the Letter, that Camille thought there was no time to lose, therefore he suddenly rushed upon the Monkey, who being too nimble for him, did run away, squeaking so loud that the Marquis being alarmed at it, did presently get to the Window, with a Pistol in his hand, and perceiving Camille, who was very busy in gathering up the pieces of Paper, that the Monkey had scattered, he discharged it at him, but to no effect.  
Father Andrew, at the noise of the Pistol, did run as fast as he could towards the place where they had left the Ladder of Ropes hanging, by which they had got over, but meeting by chance with the Monkey, which he took for a Man, his fears magnifying all objects, he ran counter, and knowing no better way, finding himself near a high Tree, he presently climbs to the top of it, where he hide himself amongst the thickest of the Leaved Branches.  
Camille having gathered all that he could find of the Pieces of Paper, made what haste he could towards the place of retreat, and not seeing Father Andrew, as he passed by, he concluded that he was gone, which made him to follow after. By this the Marquis and his Servants were got into the Garden, with Guns, Pistols, Swords, and other Weapons, they search every Bush, Hedge, and Corner, but find no body, the Marquis sees a piece of Paper lying upon the ground, he takes it up, and puts it into his Pocket to peruse some other time; he was too busy then, neither had he light enough to do it. Some run to the back Gate, which is found shut, they perceive some Mortar and Stones newly dropped from the Wall which made them conclude that they were Thiefs gone that way out, so that they were all returning in.  
As the Marquis was passing under a Tree, he was hit on the Hat with a piece of withered Branch, at which he presently looks up, and perceives something to move; he rejoices within himself already, that he had found the Robbers of his Honour, and commands some of his Servants to get up, and fetch them down, dead or alive. While he was pondering what Torments and Racks he should make them endure, some of the Servants being got up, they heard a strange chattering, for the Monkey who had caused the dried bough to fall, finding himself pursued so close, made such a noise as presently gave to understand to his pursuers the Nature of the Beast. But the Marquess' distrustful Nature, making him suspect that it might be some Counterfeit, he commanded his Servants to pursue and take him. The unlucky nimble Creature, having no other way to avoid his pursuers, he leaps from the Tree he was on to the next, where sat the most distressed Father Andrew, whom the foolish Creature taking to be one of his Enemies, he began to squeak and chatter more than ever: Those that were upon the abandoned Tree having given notice of their Preys removal; the Marquis sent some up the other Tree, on which both the delinquents were retreated; one of the climbers went so high after this little troublesome Animal, that he perceived a certain pair of Legs, that did not belong unto so small a Beast as a Monkey. The poor Father now perceiving that he was discovered past all hopes of Redemption, was recommending his case to all the He and She Saints, besides the Eleven thousand Virgins; when his fierce Enemy cried, Oh! have I found you out? I'll fetch you down presently: This dreadful threatening did set him into such an horror and fear, that it caused him to drop down something, which his anguish would not let him retain any longer, just in the nick of time when the fellow was gaping and looking up; which did light so full upon his Face, that it stopped his Mouth from telling any more tales for that bout; and blinded him so, that going to clear his Eyes with his Hands, he was so unfortunate as to let go his hold, which made him fall to the ground, whence he was carried away speechless. This sad accident put an end to the Chase; for the Marquis thinking that there was too much mischief done already, in the pursuit of a Monkey, did give order to all his Servants to retreat, and let the Beast alone, which they presently obeyed, taking the dead along with them.  
Father Andrew having overheard the sad accident, that had been the cause of his sad and safe deliverance; after he had returned thanks to all his Advocates, (though he thought his own industry very instrumental in it, which made him ever after, to rely very much on his own merits) finding the Coast clear, he comes down the Tree, and goes toward the place, by which he had come in, whereon he was looking very melancholic, having no hopes of getting out of the Garden, when he perceives a head peeping over the Wall: at the first his fears were going to make him to run to his old post again; but presently recollecting himself, he thought that it could not be any one of the House; because that whoever did look over the Wall, must be in the Street: A little after he perceived it was Camille; who having not found him at home, was returned with the Ladder of Ropes to get him off, if he was not taken. The poor Father did presently get over, and without speaking on● word, he run as fast as he could to his Lodgings, where he gave Camille a full account of the whole adventure, while he was fitting every bit of Paper to its right place, which having done, he read it as follows.  
THE news of your double deliverance, has been no less welcome to me, than the knowledge of your continuing in the generous resolution of assisting a poor afflicted Woman, wherein you express so much Charity, as sets you right in my Opinion, in spite of all that had been laid to your charge; some new Visions which my Husband has had, since the industrious old Woman was here, has so changed that fortunate good humour that he was in then, into a furious malice against me; that by some words which the excess of his passion drives forth, I have some Jealousies that he may attempt something on my Life, or at least remove me very speedily, where I shall be miserably mewed up for the rest of my days, without any future hopes of a deliverance; I have no way to divert this sudden and dangerous storm from falling on me, but by sheltering myself under the pretence of a fit of sickness, which may retard his designs, till you have leisure and conveniency to work my Liberty. I wish you could find a way to play the Physician as well as I shall act the Patient's part, than I should hope that my freedom were at hand, and then you might with justice expect from me a reward suitable to your Signal Services, which could be no less, than all that I am able to dispose of, without any prejudice to my honour and to virtue. Endeavour to—  
When Camille came to that word, Endeavour, which intimated, by the abrupt breaking off, that there was something wanting of the Letter; which he having left behind, had doubtless fallen into the Marquis his hands; that joy, which had been screwed up almost to an excess, by every Character of the Letter, was instantly dashed to pieces, at the want of that small piece of Paper, which he fancied did contain great matters, and of such weight peradventure, as might enlighten the Marquis to the great prejudice, if not total ruin of the whole design: while he was thus left in the dark, he gave to that word a thousand interpretaons, all of very dangerous consequences. He called himself a thousand fools, for leaving any pieces of Paper behind him; he as many times cursed that mischievous Creature, that had been the cause of it, and as oft he called himself unhappy and miserable; but all this would not bring the wanting piece of Paper to the rest; and that which added much to his sorrow, was the coldness which he found in Father Andrew, as to any further attempts in his behalf; the very thoughts of the late dangers, in which he had so lately been engaged, did make him die with very fear; not knowing but that the piece of Paper that was wanting, might inform the Marquis of the mystery of the Glove; so that Camille had much ado to buoy him up in that Sea of fears and perplexities, wherein the dejected Father was almost overwhelmed; yet after that Camille had read the Letter, and assured him, that there could be no such sense attributed to that word, representing to him, the caution with which the Marchioness did always accompany all her actions, and the utter ruin of all his hopes, if he should relent, and be heartless; but when he understood what advantages and preferment Camille did promise him, if the business were once accomplished, with the Golden earnest which Camille did instantly give him in hand of it; he was quite vanquished, his hardheartedness did vanish with his fears, so that he promised not to forsake so bountiful a Friend, in time of need; No, said he, it shall never be said, that Father Andrew did once undertake an amorous intriegue, and left it off before it was accomplished, especially acting for a Patron of power, and willingness to protect me from all troubles and inconveniences; with that, calling for a glass of Wine to cheer up his Spirits, and stay his stomach, till breakfast was ready, he drank to Camille, a Health to the beautiful Marchioness, and to their good success; Camille was not backwards in giving him all the encouragements that he could imagine; a little after, breakfast was up, and they having eaten, drank, and discoursed merrily, they laid themselves to rest, till it was time to return with the Glove.  
Mean time the Marquis was possessed with a more violent rage than ever. The Fellow that was carried in dead, after the administering of some Cordials and bleedings, coming to himself again, had declared, that he had seen a Man on the very uppermost branches of that Tree, off of which he had fallen, who casting something in his Eyes, while he was looking up, had caused him to let go his hold, which was the occasion of his fall, just when he was giving notice of his discovery. The Marquis had presently sent divers Servants to search every Tree in the Garden, while he himself visited all the underwoods'; all to no purpose, the Featherless Bird being flown long before; so that being returned to his Wife's Chamber, he had given a full vent unto his fury, with such threaten, which tended to the giving her of a Spanish Fig, that there were causes to fear some such sad effect, at some time or other. This did strike such a terror in the Marchioness' mind, that she had no occasion to counterfeit, for she fell into a fever, though not very violent. Then she took a full resolution, in order to save her own life, to make use of the Pilgrim's offers; though she had once been in the mind to refuse them, fearing that he should expect, as a reward, that which she could not, nor ought not to give.  
This sudden illness of the Marchioness, did make the Marquis, so soon as the fury of his passion was over, to send for a Physician, by the solicitation of Zora, which were joined to her Lady's desires; yet with so much discretion, that the Marquis took no further notice of it. A Servant was going for a Doctor, when at the Street-Door he met with the old peddling Woman, who was come to bring back the Glove. Who desired to have it delivered to the Marchioness; the Servant answered, that it could not be now, because that she was fallen very ill of a sudden of a Fever, and that he was sent to seek for a Doctor; but that being a Stranger, he knew not where to go. Alas! a-well-a-day, said the old Woman, I am hearty sorry for it, and she has been so good a Customer to me, that I will bring you to the most eminent Doctor in Town; but he is a great Humourist, and a Man of very few words; and you must let me alone to persuade him to go. The Fellow, glad of the opportunity, goes with the brisk old Woman, who returns to Camille, and leaving the Fellow below, while she goes up to persuade the famous Doctor; she runs up to Camille, and informs him of the business, then presently going down to the Servant, she told him, that he should return home, and tell them, that a Doctor would be with them immediately; and withal give him the Glove to deliver to some of the Marchioness' Women, with which the Fellow returned home, very well contented.  
Father Andrew having thus acted the second part of the old Woman, he returns up to Camille, very glad that he had quitted his hands of that dangerous Glove; he presently advises Camille to write his mind, that he might give it to the Marchioness, while he felt her Pulse, and that he would go to some Jew-broker, and hire what was necessary to make a Doctor of Camille; Camille presently falls a writing, and Father Andrew goes, and in a trice eturns again, with all things fitting, Camille hang written these few lines.  
Part of your Letter was lost, I fear your Husband has found it; I am come to receive new orders, all delays for the future will be of dangerous consequences, therefore conclude on something against I visit you next, and I shall act accordingly.  
He inserted in them these following lines.  
Beauty, Madam, is not purely Ornamental, it has its other lustres and advantages likewise, which speak its celestial origine, and renders it as as admirable, as it is Divine; as its powerful influences, which do produce such wonderful effects do daily verify. With what eagerness has it made the greatest Conquerors, in all Ages, to prostrate themselves before it, and to lay their Trophies at the Feet of her Altars, leaving all their concerns unregarded, to give themselves wholly up to the admiration of its excellency? With what precipitation have the greatest Monarches descended from their Thrones, to pay homage unto its Imperial Greatness? No Rank, Quality, or Condition, escapes its power, Madam. The Priests have desisted addressing their vows and Pray-to their neglected Deities, to offer at her Shrine, their Incense and Adoration. And the Grave Philosophers have laid aside their numerous Volumes, to give themselves up wholly unto the Contemplation of its Causes, and Effects; while the whole Creation stands in an amazement at the Glory thereof. Hero's will readily change their Swords for Palmer's Staves; Kings and Emperors will Convert their Sceptres into Shepherd's Hooks; Priests will turn their Bloody Sacrifices, and Enthusiastic Raptures, into fragrant Offerings, and melodious Lays: Sour Philosophers, will neglect their more crabbed part of Learning to Dream of Elizuim Fields; all Conditions will forget their Interests, and transform themselves into all manner of Forms, to render themselves agreeable, and obsequiosly subservient to its Commands.  
It is true, Madam, that like unto other Divinities, Beauty does make use of secondary Causes, to work those wonderful Effects. But it chief employs Love, that powerful Agent, wherewith it fills all Hearts with such a Divine Flame, as inspires and incites those whose Bosoms are warmed with it, to perform the greatest actions: For, without it, Madam, whoever did attain to more than common things? But when once a Heart is quickened by that subtle Fire, what dangerous Enterprises, what difficult Attempts, and what intricate Designs are there, which are not undertaken with as much celerity, and eagerness, as they are performed with vigour and good success.  
No wonder, Madam, if some Sparks of that Celestial Fire, having alighted upon my prepared Heart, they have filled it with a most passionate desire to become a votary unto the Altars of your excellent Beauty, to the exclusion of all other Terrestrial devotion. Deign therefore, Madam, to accept of the Offerings which I make unto you of it, and be pleased to reward, in due time, it's fidelity and perseverance, with some grains of reciprocal affection.  
These lines which were both a Panegyric to Beauty, and a declaration of Love, did raise such a tender vail of tincture over all the Lilies of the Marchioness' Cheeks, as did almost termine into blushes, when she read them; she guest at what the Pilgrim did aim, which at all other times would have caused her to break all further correspondency with him, but as things stood then, not knowing how to mend herself for the present, she was glad of any opportunity, and to employ all sorts of Instruments; leaving to herself the management of the consequences hereafter.  
Camille was instantly fitted, while the good Father accoutres himself to personate the Mule driver. They were just got ready, when news was brought up, that the Marquis his Servant was come again for the Doctor: They go immediately, the Servant leads the Van, our new vamped Doctor is in the Main, and Father Andrew brings up the Rear; they come to the Marquis his Door, the Doctor alights from his grave Beast, and is conducted up into the Lady's Chamber, which was made so dark, because that the light did offend her Eyes, and caused her Head to ache, that the Doctor was forced to be conducted to the Bedside, by one of her Women; there he feels her Pulse, gives her the Letter, and making as if he asked her some private questions, he steals a kiss from her Hand, and another from her Lips, after which he retires at some little distance from the Bed side; after which the Marquis, who had stood all the while near the Window, came and accosted the Doctor, enquiring of him, how he found his Patient, and what hopes there was; to which he made no other answer, than that he would quickly go and prescribe for her; and that when she had taken what he would send, he would be better able to give him an account; with that the Marquis gives him his Fee, and away goes our Doctor.  
The Marquis returning into his Wife's Chamber from conducting the Doctor, he is met by Zora, who tells him that the Marchioness would sleep, which made him retire, and take along with him the other Woman, that their chat might not disturb her rest.  
Zora being left single with her Lady in her Chamber, she asks how she does, and the Marchioness finding herself something better than she had been, told her so, after which Zora falls down on her knees by the Bedside, and with tears in her Eyes, she began to speak thus unto her Lady.  
Madam, you may suspect, and with much Reason and Justice, that whatsoever I shall say to you, may be to your prejudice, and with a design to entrap you, and make you more miserable yet, than you are; and of truth I must needs confess, that when I consider with what exactness I have observed and executed your Husband's orders, even with that severity, which was beyond his expectation, in which I have shown myself most inhuman towards one of my own Sex though far above me in merits, and all sorts of respects; I then despair of ever prevailing with you, to add faith to what I shall say. Therefore, Madam, I must be forced to make use of something more than my bare words and relation, to convince you of the sincerity of my present intentions: Yet thus much I have to say for myself; that all the cruel severity that I have ever exercised against you, has never proceeded from any particular aversion, hatred, or prejudice, that I could have against your person, but from mere interest and greediness of profit, which made me think, that the more severe I should express myself against you, the better I should be rewarded by him that had employed me; I was a poor miserable Creature ready to perish for want, when the Marquis took me into his service, to be one of the instruments of his cruelty towards you; and finding the comforts of a full Table, warm covering, and other refreshments, besides the hopes of laying up something against my old age, which is coming on very fast, and then reflecting with horror, on my late and miserable condition; the apprehensions and dread of returning unto that woeful state again, and the obligations which I thought that I owed unto my Benefactor, were the true promoters of all the sorrows, troubles, and afflictions which you have since sustained through my means, But, Madam, continued she, there is no heart, though never so hard and cruel, but at some time or other will relent, and give way to some sparks of compassion: since our arrival at Saragossa, I have had now and then some remorse and pity of your condition, which has sometime made me wish, that it were my Fortune to get a livelihood by any other means, than such as did appear to me to be against all the Rules of Humanity and Religion. This has made me to reflect upon the severity, which you have met with on all hands (excepting Heaven, who has plentifully recompensed you in all the accomplishments of the body and mind.) First from your Parents, as I have been informed, who contrary to your inclinations, did force you to marry a Person, whom you had declared you hated, and for whom you could never have any Love; but on the contrary, that you looked upon him as the greatest of your Enemies. Then, Madam, when I added to this, that cruel Tyranny, that your jealous Husband's humour has caused him to exercise over you, without the least occasion imaginable, since the very first moment that he could call you his, and the exemplary patience, with which you have endured all his unkindnesses: These things have made me divers times wish that you were freed from all that slavery in which you languish. But when lately, as I was looking out of the Window, I did see that Pilgrim, who for your sake has suffered so much already, to be dragged and haled to Prison, with as little compassion, as it had been a Dog, it came within my thoughts, that if this poor Gentleman did suffer so much for your sake, only for endeavouring to free you from that misery you groan under; what did I deserve, that was one of the unworthy instruments of your afflictions. Yet, Madam, this is not all; that which has concluded this through Reformation in me, are those Words that your Husband does frequently let fall in his passions of late; which speak as if he would attempt something against your Life: Those indeed reached to my very Heart. These things, Madam, have made me enter into some serious considerations within myself, from them I am come to reflections, and those have brought me to a firm resolution, rather to perish, than to live through so unworthy means as I do at present; and to prefer your liberty and content, unto that prospect which I had of making my Fortune, by continu- to be your Keeper: Not without hopes, Madam, that if you should get out of your Bondage, through my assistance, you would consider my Services, and make up my losses another way. And now, Madam, to confirm what I have said, and convince you, that it proceeds from a due sense of your miseries, which has produced a perfect and sincere repentance in me; be pleased to look on this Paper: With that she gave the Marchioness that Paper, which the Marquis had taken up in the Garden; telling her that the Marquis, pulling out his Handkerchief, had dropped it, and that she having taken it up, looked on it, and found it did so much concern her, she kept it to give it her, notwithstanding the great inquiries and search which the Marquis had made after it, she having flatly denied to him, that she had seen any. The Marchioness having taken it, reads as follows.  
— The Doctor, as you have formerly the Pilgrim, give me an account of your resolutions, by the counterfeit old Woman, when she brings me the Glove, who was so excellently disguised, that I did not know the good Father Andrew, till he had given me some signs of it.  
That was enough to let the Marchioness know, that this was the latter part of her Letter to the Pilgrim, which she had dropped out of her Window. This did fully confirm her, that Zora was a true Convert, which did give her very great satisfaction, but when she thought that her Husband had seen it, by which he would discover the whole Plot, she visibly changed colour, and was yielding to her sorrow, when Zora told her that she should be cheerful, and hope the best; for by the Marquis his silence, and not enquiring after the old Woman, mentioned in that Paper, it is, Madam, eontinued she, an argument that he has not read it, he would be so impatient otherwise to be revenged of Father Andrew, whom he mortally hates, that he could not have forborn enquiring after the old Woman an hundred times over; and besides, Madam, presently after he had let fall the Paper, he seemed much troubled, and was looking up and down for it; which makes me eonclude, that he has not read it. The confusion that he was in at first, by the fall of the man from the Tree, having certainly put it out of his Head, and when he had lost it then he thought of it again. But what confirms me most of all, is, that when the Glove was given to my fellow Servant, she was met by the Marquis, who only looking on it, did return it her again, without speaking one word more, than ask whether the Woman was paid for it.  
That indeed is significant then said the Marchioness: and now Zora, I find that I may breathe again; I believe your Conversion to be sincere and real; and I do assure you, that you shall have no cause to repent it; but on the contrary the sooner you serve me in my designs, of freeing myself from that slavery in which I live, under continual apprehensions of losing my life, and perpetual rereproaches and affronts without cause, the sooner you will feel the effects of my bounty, which I assure you shall extend to the making you happy the residue of your days. I wanted but a Woman to assist me in my resolutions; and now I have thee, I shall willingly embrace the succour and assistance which the Pilgrim does offer me. I did fear, before, to fall alone into the hands of a young man, who was an absolute Stranger to me, and might peradventure take all the advantages that could be against me, and expect such rewards as virtue would forbid me to give: but now I will first make my own terms, and oblige him to put me into those hands that I shall think fit; for my design being not to wholly abandon my Husband, but to retire from his passions, till by some Friends, a better understanding is wrought between us, and so return to him again; if my deliverer should require more of me than my honour would permit me to allow of, I should let him know his mistake; and this I have some reasons to fear from his carriage in his late visit, under the habit of a Physician. Here Zora did reiterate her Protestations, assuring the Marchioness that she needed but to command, and she should find how readily she would obey, even with the hazard of her Life. I am satisfied, continued the Marchioness, and to confirm it to you, prepare yourself to follow the Doctor, so soon as he shall return, for I will send you after him with a Letter, in which I will declare my mind to him, and make my own conditions, before I put myself into his hands, and you shall bring me back a full and positive answer. Zora told the Marchioness, that she would presently ask the Marquis leave to go forth, to see a Kinswoman of hers, that lived in Town, and that under that pretence she would wait on the Doctor. This being concluded on, the Marchioness bid her go call in her fellow Servant to stay by her, while she should go get her Pen, Ink, and Paper, and convey it into her Closet, where she would go and write the Letter to the Pilgrim, under pretence of going to her devotions; Zora being gone, and the other Woman come in her place, the Marchioness laid herself upon her Bed again not so much to sleep, as to reflect upon Camille's boldness.  
She feared that that Person who had the confidence to kiss her, so soon as he came near her, while her Husband and her Guardians were in the Chamber, would attempt more if he should once have her in his possession, and without company, and her apprehensions did so increase, the more she did think on it, that without that assistance which she did expect from the Convert Zora she had not so much as writ to the Pilgrim further, than just to let him know that her mind was altered, and therefore had no further occasion of his assistance, but she thought that through Zora's aid she might so order things, as to continue Mistress of herself, though got from her Husband by the Pilgrim's help, especially making her conditions with him beforehand; therefore so soon as Zora was returned, and had made her signs, that the writing tools were in a readiness, the Marchioness pretending to go to her Prayers, did lock herself up in her Closet, where she wrote the Pilgrim.  
She had but just ended her Letter, when the Woman knocked at her Closet Door, and told her that the Doctor had sent something for her to take. She presently came out, saying that she was much better than she had been in the morning, and that she hoped the worst was passed for that present; but that however she would take something for two or three days to prevent a return; and therefore desired that the Doctor should come again at Night to give her a visit.  
Father Andrew who was now the Doctor's man, gave the Marchioness a Bottle of Julep, and a Paper in which was written how she was to take it, and told the Marchioness, that his Master had commanded him to assure her he would give her a visit at night, to learn how her remedy did agree with her. The Marchioness having something to say to the Doctor's Man, she sent the Woman out of the Chamber of an errand, bidding her send in her fellow Servant in the mean time; the Woman was no sooner gone out, and the other come in, but the Marchioness told the good Father that Zora was become one of them, that she would send her to the Pilgrim with a Letter before he should come to her at night, to inform him of some matters, that therefore he should presently tell her where their Lodgings were. The Father had but just informed her, when the Marquis was heard coming to the Chamber-Door, which made them to change their discourse: the Marquis entered, and seeing the Doctor's Man, and the Julep Bottle standing upon the Table: What, said he, is this what the Doctor has ordered for my Wife to take? and what direction has she? Father Andrew who was more fearful of being known by his voice, than by being seen, because that so soon as they had heard the Marquis coming they had drawn the Window Curtains, and gone to the darkest part of the room, he was wiping his face, in lieu of answering, which made the Marchioness, who guest at the cause of his silence, to answer that he had given her directions; Let's see them, said the Marquis; It was only by word of Mouth, replied the Marchioness. I am of opinion, said the Marquis, that my Wife should be blooded, and that it should have been the first thing should have been done; I am sure she wants it, her blood is hot enough, too hot I have reason to fear. The Marchioness not taking the least notice of what the Marquis had said, made answer that she would have the man return presently to his Master, and desire him to come again so soon as he could, and then that they should consult about it. With this the Doctor's man, very glad of this message, scraped a Leg, and did not stay to be bid once again; presently the Woman that the Marchioness had sent out came in, and told the Marquis, that there was somebody without, that would speak with him: This made him go see who it was; mean time, the Marchioness under pretence to go make an end of her Devotions, returned into her Closet, where having opened the Papers of Directions, she found writ as follows.  
Madam, I have had the advice of some able Physicians, and through their Prescripts, I have got this cooling pleasant Julep: Which if you please you may make use of, or else dispose of it other ways. I fear very much, that we lose that time which, peradventure, we may never recover again: therefore send me word, what you have resolved upon, and what it is I must do for your Service. If you have not now the opportunity of sending me your mind, get it ready writ against I come at night to visit you, I choose the darkness for fear of some discoveries.  
In this Paper there was another, which the Marchioness did hastily unfold, for fear of being interruped, and in it she found written as follows.  
TEll, me not beauteous Cloris, tell not me,  
Of the strict Guards on the Hesperian Tree,  
The brave adventuring at the tempting Fruit,  
Is when the Dragon is most watchful to't;  
And dangers, Cloris, in what I adore,  
Whets my ambition and I dare the more;  
By what sweet Stealths did I hastily sip  
Celestial Nectar from your Hand and Lip,  
While he that might even surfeit with those Blisses,  
Ne'er knew the quintessence of such soft kisses,  
Kisses, which made my heart so fiercely glow,  
That 'twill not cool again, till quenched in Snow,  
That blood warm Snow, which on your Bosom lies  
Unthawed, tho' fallen so near those Suns your Eyes;  
Then o'er your beauties I would careless stray,  
In those Meanders even lose my way:  
For if it were my hap so lost to be,  
Where is that Mortal would not envy me?  
These Verses did sensibly touch the Marchioness: Camille's confident action had already raised a passion in her to his disadvantage. But that his glorying in it, and the publishing of his future intentions, did make her to repent the confidence which she had reposed in an absolute Stranger, and to begin to hate that person, for whom she had so lately had an esteem; she tore in pieces the Letter which she had written to Camille, thinking though it was reserved enough that it had not that severity in it, as she ought to make use of, to defeat such presumptuous designs. Yet when she considered again, that without his assistance she must continue to live miserable; and peradventure all her life time without any hopes of relief, if she let slip this opportunity: she knew not what to resolve; on the one hand, she adventured herself into the power of a wild young man, who might make use of all the advantages that his fortune and opportunity would give him, having no assistance against the unruliness of his passions but what a poor silly Woman, as Zora was, could afford her; neither did know but that she might easily be corrupted by Money, that had been once before won by the same Allurements to become her Tormenter. On the other hand, she had no other hopes of escape, nor no other prospect of getting for some time out of the way of her incensed Husband's rage. She could not promise to herself any other help but what she might expect from his assistance, which if not so generous, and so disinteressed as she took it to be at first, was without choice, and to be accepted of, or lose all hopes of future release: In these perplexities, having for some time remained bandying to and fro in herself a thousand designs, she at last resolves to break all his measures, and to disappoint him beforehand of the expectation of all other rewards, which he might promise himself beyond what a modest grateful acknowledgement would afford him, with the concurrency of her Purse. In this resolution she put Pen to Paper, and writ her mind to him as follows.  
Your late rashness, in taking those advantages, which at that time I could not oppose, did something startle that confidence which I had reposed on your assistance, which till then I had taken to be disinteressed and generous; but your latter boasting in a vain ostentation, and presumptuous Declaration, of what you would do, when I were once within your Power, has turned that good Opinion which I had of you, into an aversion of all manner of aid, that can come from so dangerous a Person as you seem to be: You strangely have mistaken my intentions, which were but to withdraw myself for some time from the dangerous effects of a Jealous Husbands ill grounded suspicions, till his present furious passions were over, and that some accommodations had been made to my future advantage. In this yours, or any other worthy persons secure, had been most acceptable to me, had it been grounded upon honourable Principles. I cannot attribute the timely discovery, which you have made of the contrary, but unto the kind Heavens, who have been so careful in the preservation of my honour, as to force you to this declaration of your ill intentions, which makes me choose rather to venture my Life under the rage of an incensed Man, than my honour under the power of a Person that threatens it beforehand, and at this distance. Yet Life is sweet, and since that I ought to endeavour its preservation, after those threaten which have lately been given out against it. If you will consent to these following Articles; on those conditions, I shall accept of your assistance.  
You shall engage in this business some Person of Quality of my Sex, in whose hands you shall resign me and my Servant, so soon as I am in your Power; but if your small acquaintance here will not afford it you, you shall convey me into a Monastery of Women, in this City, where you shall leave me in the Custody of the Lady Abbess.  
You shall never make any mention of Love, without particular leave, or any other reward for your Services, than may be expected from my Purse; but leave me the sole Judge and Recompencer of your merits in my Esteem, Friendship, and Affections, and to dispose of my favours as I shall think fit. Neither shall you importune me with unseasonable and frequent visits, but by permission likewise.  
That at any time that I shall desire it, you shall readily and freely return me back to my Husband, where you shall leave me.  
That you shall take a Solemn Oath to perform punctually all these things, without any equivocation, or Mental reservation: Except hereafter, at any time, I dispense you from any particular Article thereof, by my express Order.  
On these conditions, I shall accept of your offers, and reassume that good Opinion which I once had of you.  
The Bearer of this to you, is one of my Guardians, who is converted and become sensible of the wrongs which I suffer: I would have you to trust her with all our secrets; to consult with her, give her your Oath, and acquaint her with your resolutions, I have cause to believe her true, therefore receive her into our Designs.  
The Marchioness having written this Letter, gave it secretly to Zora, who was not long before she went with it unto Camille's Lodgings; where you may imagine that she was joyfully received, Zora gave Camille the Letter, with an account of her Conversion, and full resolution to assist them with her life, in the freeing of the Marchioness from that slavery, under which she lived. Camille having, according to his accustomed generosity, filled both Zora's hands with Gold, he told her that it was but an earnest of what he intended for her, so soon as the Marchioness were set at liberty; he read the Letter, which he had no sooner done, but that he kissed it, and said, I do declare here to you both, in the presence of Heaven, that I will exactly perform, and obey every particular Article, and the whole that is enjoined to me in this Paper, by the most beautiful Marchioness, so help me Goodness. Of this Declaration and Promise, I do entreat you to inform the Marchioness. After this they were contriving of some ways to get the Marchioness off; Camille was for getting of her out at the Window in the Night time; but that was not found to be convenient by Zora, who best knew how the Marquis did use to behave himself at Nights, how diligently he did watch so soon as it was but a little darkish; so that though she should have the opportunity to assist them at some time in her fellow Guardians absence; yet it would be very difficult to escape the Marquis his diligence. Father Andrew, in his turn, did propose some other expedients, against which Camille objected. At last Zora said, that if they would but give her that Night's time to consider of it, she made no question that by morning she would, with her Lady's assistance, find out some way better than they had yet proposed. You do not know, continued she, how ready our Sex is in contriving of intrigues? it is in a manner natural unto us, we need but to lay aside other concerns for a while; and in that time, though never so short, our own inclinations will prompt us to amorous designs; I have one in my Head already, which I could tell you presently, but I will take a little longer time to digest it into better order than it is yet, and besides, I am unwilling to propose any thing of that nature to you, without the Marchioness' consent. I will therefore return to her, that I may get some convenient time to acquaint her with it, and to have her advice and addition of contrivance, against you come to give her a visit in the Evening. Camille approving of her discretion, dismissed her, desiring her to be faithful and active, and that he would be careful to gratify her, in an ample manner.  
It was not long before that Zora got home, where she met with the Marquis, who told her that he was glad to see her so diligent, and that seeing she had been so, she should have his consent another time to go out; that he was sorry for what his passion had made him do; but continue faithful to your trust, added he, and I shall make you amends for it: at these words the cunning Gipsy fell into Tears, and said, that she had deserved a better usage from him, in her watchful care over her charge, and that there were many Women, that would revenge themselves of such a wrong; but that she was such a low Spirited Fool, that had not so much courage as a Worm, who would turn again when 'twas trod on, though to little purpose; that she had no other way of satisfying herself, but with taking a Dose of that drowsy Medicine Patience; then carrying her Handkerchief to her Eyes, she seemed to be very much troubled; at which the Marquis, pulling out of his Pocket a piece of Gold, he gave it her, saying, Here, Zora, take this, and assure thyself, that for the future I shall be more kind to thee, if thou wilt continue faithful to me; for I assure thee, that I confide more in thee, than in thy fellow Guardian, of whom of late, I have no good opinion. Well, Sir, answered Zora, since that you are so kind, and have a better opinion of me than of my Companion, it shall not be without cause; therefore prepare yourself to hear of some discoveries from me e'er long; but than you must give me the opportunity, to be some time in private with my Lady this Evening, that I may sift her: Yes, that thou shalt, as long as thou wilt, replied the Marquis, I will take order myself, to have thy fellow Servant employed another way at that time. Well, Sir, replied Zora, and to begin to be sincere with you, I must tell you that my Lady has a Black lead Pencil, which I have not known of before this morning. How! replied the the Marquis, a Black lead Pencil? And in the name of the Devil, how came she by it? That I know not, replied Zora, except my fellow Servant has helped her to it. I do observe that of late they are very great together; though not before me, for I never come into the Chamber, but I find them talking, and so soon as they see me, they are as mute as Statues. Oh Heavens! cried out the Marquis, for certain thou hast overheard some of their discourses; prithee good Zora tell me what thou hast heard: Truly nothing very significant, answered she, only here and there a word, for they speak very low: and the Marchioness is as afraid of me, and hates me as much as she loves my Fellow: But good now tell me some of those words that thou hast heard, continued the Marquis: what I can remember now, is that they talked of a Letter lost, or torn, I know not well which, and of Friars, Pilgrims, and— Hold, hold, cried the Marquis, interrupting her, what didst thou name a Pilgrim? Yes, Sir, that word Pilgrim is very frequent in their Mouths: O! the Devil, Hell, and Confusion! a Pilgrim? Why has the Devil nothing else to do, besides possessing of Women, than to multiply Pilgrims, or to slit one in several pieces? It is most certainly, I see it now, that that Damnable Pilgrim, your treacherous Fellow, and the Devil himself are in league, and hold a correspondency with that wicked Woman my Wife, notwithstanding all my cares, the Woman's preciseness, the Pilgrim's imprisonment, and the Devil's employ about debauching of other Women also. In good time hast thou discovered this to me, for which I shall reward thee most bountifully; one day more of their hellish intrigues, and they had left us behind, for overtaking them again: Then after a little pause: It must be so continued he, didst thou not ●ame a Friar also? I think that I have heard them mention a certain Father, replied Zora; Andrew, cried out the Marquis; I know not, said Zora, if the Friar is the Father, or whether they are two distinct Persons; but if you will have the curiosity to hearken yourself to their discourses, I will so place you, that you shall over hear some words, though they speak never so low; I wish thou couldst do that, replied the Marquis, though I believe thee already; yet that would strangely strengthen my belief, and the good opinion that I have of thee; and should I once hear that that Woman should speak one word to my Wife, but tending towards kindness, I would immediately turn her away: That I would not advise you to do, replied Zora, till you were very certain that she is false to you; what greater proof could I have of it, replied the Marquis, than to be an Eye and Earwitness to the business: Well I long to hear their close discourses; that, Sir, you must not expect to do, said Zora, till in the Evening after I have had some discourse with my Lady. Well, said the Marquis, go, go, get thee to her, and sift her through Lawn; I will call away that Gipsy, that thou mayst have the more opportunity to do it, go thou in, and send her out to me, and saying this, he pushed her gently from him towards the Marchioness' Chamber door.  
The subtle Zora was no sooner come into the Lady's Chamber, but sent the other out, telling her that the Marquis had something to say to her; and having shut the Door, she gave the Marchioness an account of all that had passed between the three Confederates, and how freely Camille had promised to obey her commands, to the very lest circumstance; to which she added this short Encomium. I must needs tell you, Madam, that in my opinion he is a Person of Quality and Honour, who though under a disguise cannot but show it in all his actions; for he is doubtless, the most accomplished Gentleman in the whole World, having in him in a high measure, all that can be desired for perfecting of the most exact Cavalier imaginable; his courteous carriage, his obliging expressions, comely presence, and his generous liberality, of which here is a fair and ample demonstration, (showing the Gold that Camille had given her) will make me think the time a thousand Years, till I see you free from your Husband's jealous Tyranny, and under the safe Guard of so worthy a Person. From this discourse she fell to speak of the Marquis, and gave the Marchioness an exact account of what had passed between him and herself, and how bravely she had coxed him. And now, Madam, I am come, continued she, by his order to sift you; but if you please to take a little of my advice, we will give my Fellow a remove, punish your Husbands unreasonable Jealousy, and you shall have a very Comical Revenge, all which shall tend to make a clearer way unto your deliverance. I have engaged you, Madam, continued she, in a business, which if but well managed will do all this and more: Prithee let's hear it, Zora, replied the Marchioness? Why thus, Madam, said Zora, so soon as I am gone out, and my Fellow Servant come in, I would have you to get into your Closet with her, and there engage her into some discourse concerning Pilgrims, Friars, Fathers, Letters, Jealousy, Liberty, and the like. For I have promised your Husband, so to place him that he shall-over hear those private discourses, which I have told him you frequently have with her, when I am out of the way; and I have picked out your Closet Window for his stand: by this means he will be so incensed against my Fellow Servant, that no question but he will immediately turn her away, which will give us much more liberty and opportunity than we have, to act and accomplish our designs. This pleased the Marchioness very well, who said, but how shall I bring out those words to any purpose, so that he nor she may not perceive the design? Madam, answered Zora, I will leave you to consider of it, you that have so much wit and industrey, will presently find out some expedient for it; be pleased but to give me your black-lead Pen, which I promised to present your Husband with, and I am gone: The Marchioness gave her the Pencil, of which she had no longer need, since that she had been furnished with other writing Tools, and Zora went to give it to the Marquis.  
Zora was no sooner out of the Marchioness' Chamber, but that the other Woman was in, who found the Marchioness lain on her Bed: Zora went to the Marquis, who received her with great demonstration of a longing desire, to learn what she had to say to him, and what new discoveries she had made: Well, said he to her, what news dost thou bring me, and what success hast thou had? The Marchioness is so out of humour, replied Zora, because that I broke the discourse which they had began in my absence, and which was not indeed when I came into her Chamber, that do what I could, I have not been able to make her enter into discourse. I have began to speak of divers things, one after another, thinking to engage her into talk, but after two or three words, she lets it fall, so that I have lost my labour for this Evening; but she will not be long silent, now that she has that Person with her, with whom she may freely discourse, and lay open her heart; she will quickly regain the time that she thinks to have lost with me, though she feigned to me that she had a mind to sleep. Without doubt, said the Marquis, she will be very eager to be at it with her Jewel, and now I warrant you that she is full of news to tell her, therefore that I may lose no time, I would have thee to place me where I may hear as much as I can possible of what they say: Sir, replied Zora, they usually retire into the Closet, when they intent any private discourses, therefore no place more fit for you, than the Closet Window in the Garden, it is but standing upon something, and that will raise you to a sufficient height; I will go and fit things ready for you to stand on, and come to you again: That will do very well, replied the Marquis, and I like that place the better too, because that there I shall not be interrupted by any of the Servants, for I will lock myself up in the Garden, where through the obscurity of the Night, none shall see me. That will do very well, answered Zora: With that she went to prepare the Stage, on which the Marquis was to act the Eve-droppers part.  
Zora scarce got out, but that the Marquis, who was very unwilling to lose one word of his Wife's discourse with her Guardian, went immediately to his Chamber door, to try if he could hear any thing from thence; but because that the Marchioness was not yet prepared, she remaining still on her Bed silent, the Marquess returned to his Chamber again to expect Zora; she mean time was busy in fitting of things, but more earnest in contriving some way to punish this jealous Man. She was not long before she returned, being ready to fit him on all accounts. She acquainted him with it, telling him that she had been forced to make use of an old Water-Tub that lay useless in a corner of the Garden, over which she had placed some Board's and a Stool over them, that it would be something difficult for him to get up alone, but that once up, he might stand firm enough, that he should give her the Key of the back door into the Garden, and that She would meet him that way. The Marquis had such a longing desire to be at the sport, that he liked every thing that she did propose, he therefore sent her away with the Key of the back door, while he himself went the fore way into the Garden, where he locked himself in.  
Zora mean time sends a Person whom she trusted to Camille's Lodgings with a Note to give him notice, that if he would have some pastime, he should immediately repair to the back door of the Marquess' Garden, where she would wait for him, and where the Marquis was going to act a very pleasant Scene, as she had ordered things. For she had fastened a Cord to one of the Board's over the Tub, which having conveyed on the other side of an Hedge, where she was to lie in wait; so soon as he would have heard enough to have made him mad, to conclude the Comedy, she designed to pull that Cord, and of necessity the Marquis must have fallen, that just upon that Camille should appear and make an end of affrighting him, so that he should not know what had happened, nor how, or by what means; but the Marquess' impatiency, and Camille's absence from home, for he had then come forth in order to visit the Marchioness, did prevent her; for so soon as the Marquis was got into the Garden, he could not forbear endeavouring to get up of himself; he thought that each moment that he passed without listening, was so many lost sentences; and what did he know, but that which would give him the greater light in their mysteries, would be the first spoken, and that the rest would be but indifferent discourse; he goes presently to work, and endeavours Doctor like to mount the Stage of himself, and without the assistance of his merry Andrew; but wanting something to raise him a little from the ground, to facilitate his first steps, which were something high, and finding nothing more convenient than a rolling Stone that was at hand; the draws it where he would have it, he sets one of his Feet upon it, and the other upon the Board that was over the Tub, which had in it some Water; he had but one step more to make, which was upon the Stool, and having nothing to get hold of to assist him, there he was at a stand, what he should do, but presently fancying that he did hear them talk; he endeavours to get up by leaning against the Wall, he bushes hard, and so hard at last, that the Board underneath the Stool slipping aside, the Stool fell into the Tub, but he being very nimble escapes it, and lighting on the rolling Stone with violence, it yielded forwards, which threw him back, with his Head forwards into the middle of the Stool which was in the Tub of Water. There lay the poor Marquis with his Head in the stinking muddy Water, up to the Shoulders, and they and his Arms so pinion d in the Stool, that he could not help himself, but of necessity must have been smothered in that filthy Bath. He endeavoured to cry out for help, but instead of that, he did make the most hideous noise that could be imagine d, for his bubbling in the Water, whence he forced himself to cry out, and the sound of the Tub, though not very deep, did render such a strange sound, that nothing can be compared to it, but the roaring of a Bull, that had a hole in his Windpipe. The noise, in fine, was so great, that it caused all the Windows of the Neighbourhood to be opened, and the darkness hiding the Object from their Eyes, they all asked one another what was the matter; but at last the noise growing less and less, as his Strength and Spirits did decay, every body retired, and shut their Windows again.  
The poor Marquis was in this condition just giving up the Ghost, when Zora came to him, who presently, though strangely surprised and affrighted, did with much ado pull the Stool out of the Tub, and the Marquis with it, who having laid on the ground, there he remained dead; she was upon the point of running away by the back Door to give her Lady notice of it, but she fancied that he breathed a little; this made her change her mind, and she was for some time in a Balance, whether she should assist him and save his Life, or let him go, and carry along with him all the Marchioness▪ s troubles, so put an end to all their Plots; but at last good Nature partly prevailing, and the desires that she had in making more sport, and being further employed, besides, the Rewards that she did expect, and not knowing to what consequences this his sudden Death might draw; she stooped to him, and did so chafe, rub and handle him, that as he lay with his back across the Roling Stone, his Head hanging down, he at last vomited up a large quantity of that nasty stinking Water, which he had swallowed most plentifully, which was followed with a great groan and a little after with a Jesus Maria: This did so encourage the industrious Zora, that with the continuance of her most favourable assistance; the poor man having emptied his Stomach of more of his Evening draught, he came to himself as to sit up; she inquired how he did, and how he happened by this accident, but he was so weak with drinking, so sore with struggling, and so hoarse with endeavouring to be heard, that he only told her, by being too hasty; and a while after, bidding her to lead him up to her own Chamber in private, he after that remained silent.  
Zora having lifted him up upon his Legs, and taken out of his Pocket the Key of the Garden-door, she led him under the Arm without light into her Chamber, where she laid him upon the Bed; he had no sooner been let go upon it, but that he fell a giving up the residue of the raw Candle, and calling for a little Wine, he fainted away. He was presently supplied with some, which brought him to himself again; he gave her his hand, that she might help him to sit up, after which be gave her a short account of his disaster; which he concluded with a great demonstration of sorrow for having failed of hearing his Wife's Dialogue with her fellow Servant. I do not blame thee in the least Zora, continued he, for what has happened to me, but acknowledge it my own fault; on the contrary, I confess, that without thy timely Assistance I must have perished, for which good office I will kindly reward thee; I am in a very sad pickle, help to shift me, that I may go to my Wife; for though I should be glad to lie from her this Night, that she might not have the least distrust of my misfortune, at which she would make herself sport, I durst not trust her alone, especially with that wicked Woman, while thou shouldst be busied about me. Sir, you do very well, replied Zora, to lie with her, and you cannot be too wary, for the Marchioness might do in a quarter of an hours time, that which you could never undo again; when you are in Bed with her, than she is secure, and so long as you have but one of your hands over her, you may sleep in safety: Thou sayest very true, replied the Marquis, therefore fetch me what I want, and as thou passest by, step into her Chamber, and see what they are doing. Zora went out, and presently returned, telling him that now his Wife was as pleasant as mirth could make her, they are laughing at the relation which they have had of the hideous noise that was heard in the Garden, and of the several reports that are given of it, some say that it was a surprised Lover by a jealous Husband, or some jealous Coxcomb catched in his own trap; at which the Marchioness adds, that she wished they were all so served. Yea, that I dare say she would, replied the Marquis; no matter how 'twere censured: Oh! the Plague of Women! continued he, of handsome Women! Well, if she makes me once desperate, I shall lodge her far and safe enough from her Minion, and from the whole World besides. She is mine now, continued he, far from her fond Relations, and within the reach of my revenge, and— He was going on in that strain, when Zora interrupted him in this manner: I cannot blame your resentments, they are but just and reasonable; for now that she is your Wife, she should have no Eyes, but to look on you, no Ears but to hearken after your commands, no Mouth, but to applaud them, nor no other parts, but wherewith to execute them; and in my opinion, a Wife that does otherways, and so forgets herself, as to have the least thought imaginable for another Man than her Husband, aught to be used accordingly. I would it her live, continued she, but it should be such a life, so remote from all Conversation, that she should forget the very shape of all men but that of her Husband. Woman, said the Marquis with a transport, thou hast won my heart; in thus speaking the very Soul of truth, and I shall ever like thee the better for it. No, I will not meddle with her Life, though of late I have had such thoughts; but I will before I am two days older remove her into a place where she shall be sequestered from the whole World, but myself, and one or two Women at the most, to give her her necessaries. I hope, Sir, replied Zora, that you will continue me in your Service, and that I shall be one of those two that shall attend her: why dost thou doubt it, replied the Marquis! yes, that thou shalt, and were it not that it were too toilsome to thee, thou shouldst be sole Governess of her; but however, for those good Services that thou hast rendered me, and those which I yet expect from thee, though I shall give thee an aid, thou shalt have a full and absolute power over all but me; I will declare it to be my will, and then who shall dare to control it. Zora returned him humble thanks, with a profound reverence, and saying, Sir, give me leave to go see what they are doing: She went out of the Chamber, it was not long before she returned, telling the Marquis, that now there was an Opportunity for him to hear them in Discourse, for she had heard them at it, as she went into the Chamber, that on the sudden they had been very silent, and that no doubt but they would be at it again by this time: the cunning Zora had been in the Chamber, of truth, and had given the Marchioness that sign, of which they had before agreed together, at which the Marchioness was to begin her Story: The greedy Marquis did need no more to spur him on, but as if there had been no such matter as that of the Tub in the case: my Hat, my Sword, and Cloak, said he, and I am gone, I would not lose one word of theirs, not for all the ease imaginable: A word, replied Zora, why you must not expect to hear one in ten, but however that will suffice to give you an account of the matter of their discourse, at which the Marquis returning no answer, went muffled up to his Wife's Chamber door, where after a while he heard as follows.  
The Marchioness lying on the Bed had called her Woman to her, and had told her in a manner, as if newly awakened by Zora's coming into the Chamber, and as being affrighted, that she was very much out of order, and disturbed with a strange Dream which she had had, or rather a Vision, said she, for I have so perfect an Idea still remaining of what I have lately seen in my Dream, that I cannot well recollect myself, to know whether I was sleeping or waking. I fancy that I see yet all the Persons before me; here stood one, there another, at this side of the Bed was another, another was in this Chair. The one had such  on, the other was dressed like a Religious man, one like a Cavalier, and one in a disguise like a Hermit, Pilgrim, or some such thing, and there was a Woman also; and amongst all these Persons there was a Monster lose in my Chamber, whose Head was very large, with a full Forehead, no Horns on it naturally, but it would order his Wings, that they would lie over its forehead much like Horns, and was pleased to wear them so; his Eyes were very piercing, even to see things that none else could perceive, and the further remote that Objects were, the bigger they appeared to it: Its Ears were very large and open, so that it could hear the least Whisper; Its Mouth was but small, out of which issued forth a stinking breath, that did offend all that it came near, and it darted out of it a Tongue that would wound all those that it touched. The Marquis was come to the Door, when the Marchioness was about this part of the Story, and she spoke so low, that he could hear but here and there a word, of which he could make nothing; she was going on in this manner, This Monster would often make toward me, as if to devour me, and would show his Teeth, but did not by't; but his Tongue was more to be feared, than his Teeth, and always as he made at me, he would be hindered by some of those that stood by me; and when he would make towards any body else, I would give them notice of it: Then I thought that he would make at me again, with more fury than before, so that he was sometimes, ready to swallow me up; at which the Religious man would pray, and use such Exorcisms as the Church has ordained against evil Spirits, while that the disguised Person would strike at him, with a Sword which he had concealed under his , not to hurt him, but to affright him with the splendour of it; but then the Woman would stay his Arm, and when at any time this disguised Person would offer to step between me and the Monster, when it came to offend me, she would interpose again, betwixt him and me, so that I could not see him. At last I thought that the Monster had something thrown upon its Head that was nasty and filthy, which did so torment it, together with the Persons present, that it cast forth a great quantity of Foam and Smoke, which did very much offend all that were present, but particularly me, and the disguised Person, because that we stood near one another, and most in his way, and that he aimed most at us two: Then I thought that on the sudden it turned towards the Cavalier, who to shun him, fell upon the disguised Person, so that he did wedge him in a Chair so fast, that he could not move out of it, till after some time, that the Woman took him by the Hand, and helped him out; but I thought that while the disguised Person was so fast, that the Monster came to me, and took me on his horned Wings to carry me away, when I was awakened by Zora's coming in: This was my Dream, continued the Marchioness, was it not a frightful one? At this the Woman remained silent, only smiling to herself, which made the Marchioness to say, What do you laugh at it? No, Madam, answered the Woman, but I cannot be so much frighted at it, as you are; and when your disturbance is over, no question but you will smile at it also, especially if you would take but a little pains to apply this Dream to some of your own concerns. What can it concern me, replied the Marchioness? You will quickly comprehend it, Madam, said the Woman, if you please but to reflect a little upon it. I am too much troubled at the remembrance of it, replied the Marchioness, and cannot find in me that calmness of Spirits, which is required in the explication of such Dreams. In my Opinion, Madam, than said the Woman, it is so easy, that you cannot but fall of yourself upon the sense of your Dream, and as silly as I am, I would undertake to give you the meaning of it, from what I have sometimes heard your Husband say to you, when he has been in a passion, but that I know my distance. The Marchioness having brought her to this that she would have her, she called to her louder than before, saying, I give thee free liberty to say what thou wilt; and I do assure thee beforehand that I shall not take any thing ill, that thou shalt say, but on the contrary, be very well pleased at it; and I have a most longing desire to hear thee, therefore be free, go on, speak boldly and loud, that I may hear thee perfectly. In obedience to your commands, Madam, than said the Woman, I must tell you, that I have heard often a learned man say, that frequently the cause of such Dreams as yours is, is when the mind being filled with certain Ideas of such things as are of nearest concerns to us, our imagination works upon those things which disturb us even in our sleep: This is the reason, Madam, I think that your fancy has represented to you, in a Dream, though under some disguise, those things which most possess your thoughts when awake. This is very well begun, said the Marchioness, and I prithee go on, and speak louder yet; I have frequently seen the Marquis, Madam, continued the Woman, in a passion against yourself, against a certain Pilgrim, whom he says is some disguised Person, and against the Governor of Barcelona and his Lady, for taking that Pilgrim's part, and why may not out of these things be collected matter sufficient for your Dream, Madam? I like what thou sayest so well, replied the Marchioness, that I would have thee to particularise it. Well, Madam, replied the Woman, who was proud of her Office, and of being applauded, since that it is your Pleasure I should, thus I think it may be made out.  
That Person that seems to be a Religious man is Father Andrew. How! let me hear that again, said the Marchioness, and speak a little louder, who is it sayest thou, Father Andrew answered the Woman, raising her voice; very well, said the Marchioness, proceed. That Person, continued the Woman, that appeared to you like a Cavalier, is the Governor of Barcelona: who through the Monster's instigation did cast the disguised Person, who represents the Pilgrim, into the Chair: who is that? said the Marchioness: The Pilgrim, Madam, who was put in Prison: This is very well, said the Marchioness, prithee go on; and who was the Woman? Donna Barbara, Donna Barbara, Madam, continued the Woman: All this is very just all this while: But then, who is represented by the Monster, said the Marchioness. That, Madam, replied the Woman, must be some body, whose passions are monstrous, and— here the Marchioness finding her to Stagger a little, to encourage her, said, What thou hast done for me, in the interpreting of my Dream, has given much ease to my troubled Spirits, for which I will be bountiful to thee, and if thou canst but give me as true an account of the Monster as thou hast done of the rest, it will give me full satisfaction: I hope, Madam, replied the Woman, after she had thanked the Marchioness, that you will dispense me from speaking more plainly: and there she stopped again; at which the Marchioness called to her to come nearer, and gave her some Gold, which had such an influence over her Spirits and Tongue, that she had no sooner felt the weight of it in the palm of her hand, but that she said, Well, Madam, since you will have it so, and that you promise not to be angry with me; I will tell you, that your Husband, Madam, was represented, by the Monster, How's that? said the Marchioness, seeming very well pleased at it, my Husband? Yes, Madam, your Husband's the Monster, said the Woman: That's very right in truth, said the Marchioness, his furious passions, bitter expressions, severe threaten, curses, rail, jealousies, prying into all my actions, and listening, and lurking up and down like a Spy, does deserve no better, than to be termed Monstrous, and Beastly, and that he should be served as he was at Barcelona. I must confess, Madam, replied the Woman, who was willing to say something to the Marchioness for her Gold, that he is somewhat too distrustful and jealous, and that on the condition that it would change his humour, I could wish that he was served so again, or as that Person was, that we heard to roar so strangely, a while since, which People do judge to be some Eve dropper catched in a Trap.  
At these words the Marquis not being able to contain himself any longer, rushed into the Chamber. I thank you, Madam, said he to his Wife, for your kind wishes; and you, housewife, said he to the Woman, you shall immediately go where you may talk of Governors, Father Andrews, Pilgrims, yes, and of Monsters too, continued he, taking her by the Arm, and stinging her out of the Chamber, thou shalt not lie under my roof this night; and having called Zora to stay with his Wife, he presently went out of the Chamber after the Woman.  
Zora, being entered, did shut the Door, and came with a cheerful countenance up to the Marchioness, who received her as joyfully: I think said she, that we have given him enough on't, to put him out of the humour of harkening this good while. I believe that you have touched him to the quick, Madam, replied Zora, he is in such a passion; but I would not trust him however; for it is so natural to him, or at least he has got such an habit of harkening, that he can no more leave it, than any of his other vices. But now let me know the reason of this change of Station, said the Marchioness: That, Madam, replied Zora, is as Comical a Story, as you have heard, with that she told the Marchioness the Tale of the Tub, which did exceedingly please her; who in her turn acquainted Zora of her feigned Dream, and that Camille had visited her that Evening, in her absence, but that her fellow Servant had watched him so narrowly, that he had not had the opportunity of speaking one word in private; therefore, continued she, you must make some excuse or other to morrow to go out, that you may meet with him, and positively conclude amongst you, of some immediate course of freeing me; for now this man is so nettled, that he will not stay any longer, but will have me away, and Heaven knows where, and how he will dispose of me. Madam, replied Zora, your fears are not groundless; for he has declared so much to me; and I fear that should he remove you from hence, we should lose all hopes of releasing you; but we shall find some way to save him that labour, so soon as I meet with the Pilgrim, and Father Andrew, which shall be to morrow in the Forenoon: Your Husband, Madam, has been sorely bruised, continued she, and though his Curiosity, and his Passion will not let him feel it at present, doubtless but tomorrow morning he will be sore and but of Order, as to be willing to keep his Bed some time longer than ordinary; I will take that opportunity to go to them, and if he should want me before I return, it will be your care to excuse me, under pretence of having employed me about some business: That care I will take upon me, replied the Marchioness, be you but diligent as to the rest; for I very much fear the consequences of his removing me from hence: You will do well, Madam, said Zora, to go to Bed, to avoid your Husbands railing, which he will forbear to Night, if he thinks you asleep when he comes to Bed, and that he may lie the longer in the morning, to exercise your patience with his railing. The hopes that I have, Zora, replied the Marchioness, of being e'er long freed from all his unsufferable extravagances, will make me to endure it, with an exemplary patience. With this the Marchioness went to Bed, where she was but just laid, when the Marquis came in full stored with Reproaches and Injuries; but Zora whispering to him, that she was now asleep and that he had better stay till morning, and then read her a Lecture: after he had grumbled some few words between his Teeth, he told Zora that he was not very well, and so he presently went to Bed.  
In the morning he made divers attempts, of discharging his Choler with a whole volley of rude expressions upon his Lady, but she as often did shun the brunt by feigning herself asleep; yet at last, he was grown so full of his Venom, that he must vent it, or burst; he therefore began to thunder such a peal in her Ears, that she was forced to make some replies in her own defence: amongst the rest, What is it you would have, said the Marchioness, what cause or reason have you to use me thus, continually? What is happened to you of late? And what have I done, to cause you to treat me as you do? I wonder with what Confidence you can ask these questions, replied the Marquis; it is nothing with you then, it seems, to be reviling and abusing of your Husband during an hour or two, with his Servant? And to wish him any thing that tends to his dishonour? That Person replied the Marchioness, (who was resolved to give it him home) that is so little careful of his honour, as to prostitute it to the appetite of every unruly passion, need not fear that a few words from an injured Woman should prejudice it: Neither shall they, replied the Marquis, for that honour, as prostitute as you speak it, is, and shall be above your reach, and I hope to keep it so; but in the mean time, it ill becomes you to control your Husband's actions, to bespatter them with your scurrilous Tongue, and to wish that some ill Fortune might attend them, while that they are in order to preserve that honour, which you so much endeavour to destroy. That which you call the destroying of your Honour, replied the Marchioness, is rather a desire of its preservation, if it were rightly understood; it is that interest that I should have in it, were it not rendered unworthy of me by those base, low, and obscene ways, with which you pretend to preserve it; that makes me desire it should not be so vilified, but that it should shine in its full lustre, without the least Eclipse of a low, or cloudy Action, to hid its brightness. Whatsoever I do, replied the Marquis, is to preserve my Honour from that darkness, which you would cast over it, being in all respects less dangerous; I think it reasonable to prefer some small momentary Eclipses, to that horror of Eternal Darkness which you would cast upon it. I could wish, replied the Marchioness, that you would let me know, what you mean by that Eternal Darkness, that I would cast upon your honour? Reflect but on your own actions, replied the Marquis, and you will not be long without the knowledge of it. If to desire the same liberty as other Persons enjoy, replied the Marchioness; nay, if to endeavour to attain to it, is a crime of such a nature, as to blemish your honour so irreparably, as you mention, I freely declare unto you, that I shall ever be guilty of the same error. And I do declare to you, answered the Marquis, that I will break your measures within these three days, if it is possible, by conveying you to such a place, where you shall not be affrighted at the sight of new Faces; in a word, Madam, I will set my honour in safety, by securing of you, who does endeavour with the utmost of your power to destroy it: And I will commit myself, replied the Marchioness, unto the protection of Heaven, and so do your worst; and after this, she turned her from the Marquis, who would fain have gone on in this wrangling discourse, but finding that he, could not get one word more from her, do what he could; after some little time having called for Zora, and she not coming, he did rise of himself, but did not stir out of the Chamber, being obliged to supply the absent Guardians places.  
It was then about ten of the Clock, the evil consequences of his late disaster having obliged him to lie longer in Bed than usually, he was looking out of the Window, when he was diverted by a little Dog of the Marchioness', who was playing with some Papers upon the Floor, which Papers he had met with under her Pillow; the Marquis did presently deprive the poor Dog from that delight which he took, in tumbling them about; and having looked upon them: Yes, Madam, said he to his Wife, these are some of those means which you use, in order to preserve my honour; then looking on them, both in Verse and Prose, continued he, all this you call but the endeavouring to attain unto the same liberty which other Persons enjoy, and these are some of those small errors that you will ever be guilty of. The Marchioness fretted at the Heart, did not answer one word: Shall I read them to you, they will doubtless please you much better, than whatsoever I can say to you; with that he began to read, but presently Zora coming in, Oh! Zora, continued he, my Wife's little Dog, more kind than herself, or Woman, has made me partaker of some curious pieces, which I would not for any thing but that I had seen, for I am a great admirer of such excellent things; you shall hear them: then he began again to read those Papers, which were those that Camille had presented to the Marchioness, are not these very fine things, continued he, after he had read some of them; here is mention made of Kisses, on Hands and Lips too, full of Nectar; nay, the very quintessence was extracted from them: no doubt, Madam, continued he, addressing himself to his Wife, that you did your part also, and that you and your Minion, did spread inside Lips, and trafficked liquorish Tongues, in order to those extractions here mentioned; to all this the Marchioness did not answer one word, which made Zora, that durst not be too forward neither in excusing her Lady, say, but where did this Dog get them? Where had he them? Where has he been? Where has he been? said the Marquis; Where had he them? In your Mistress' Bosom, that's the Caskanet in which she preserves such precious Jewels: Has not the Dog been out of the Chamber this Morning? said Zora. No, no, answered the Marquis, he needed not to go so far for them, they were nearer at hand, I can assure you: Then he continued reading the rest of the Papers, after which he fell into this raging fit. And is it come to that? Is it impossible for me to make use of any thing whatsoever, but that it must turn to this Damnable Pilgrim's advantage? And must you be sick, continued he, speaking to his Wife, only to give him the opportunity of visiting you, under the notion of a Doctor? and to apply such Lip-Salve for your Cure? Is it impossible then, to find out such a place as is able to contain him, with all the assistance that Chains, Bolts, Shackles, Bars, and Stone Walls can afford? But that notwithstanding all my Cares, my watchful Cares, I must learn that he quenches his lascivious heats in your Bosom? Well, what cannot be done one way, shall be done the other. Thou shame of thy Sex, continued he, take leave of the whole world, for I protest by all that is sacred, to sequester thee from it, with all the diligence that I can possibly use; But first I will have my full revenge on this incarnate Devil, I will tear his heart out of his body before you; yes, I will present you with it, you shall enjoy it. Then walking very fast about the Chamber, and sometimes stopping on the sudden, sometime running hastily out of the Chamber, then presently in again; in fine, showing a thousand irresolutions, with which his mind was agitated at once: at last he stood stock still in the middle of the Room, holding the Papers with one Hand, and biting the Nails of the other; after some time he came out of his serious thoughts again, and thus he spoke, Zora: Do you not move from hence till my return; I will first go to the Prison, and know how it comes to pass that this Prisoner is released; I shall not be long, stir not upon your Life, then going towards the Chamber Door, he suddenly turns back again, saying: No, I will send for the Jailor here; I will not stir from hence, till I have my revenge fully accomplished. Zora, continued he, call some Servants up quickly, dispatch: Zora went out, and presently returned, with Servants after her: The Marquis calls one in, and sends him to the Jailor to come immediately to him, and to bring along with him the Prisoner; that Servant being gone about it, he calls another, and sends to fetch the Doctor to his Wife, who was very ill on the sudden, telling him that he should bring him with him immediately, for his Wife was very ill, and could not live long; but the Fellow telling him that he knew not where the Doctor lived: the Marquis in a passion, bid him call one that knew; the Fellow goes forth, and returns presently, saying, that there was but one that knew where he lived, and that he had sent him to the Prison. All these little obstacles did still enrage the Marquis the more; but being resolved to clear all doubts, and take his full revenge, he tells Zora, that she must go and fetch the Doctor, not considering whether she knew where he lived, telling her that he would watch there himself till her return: Zora being very glad of the employ, that she might prevent all mischiefs, by her giving Camille notice of the discovery; was going forth, when the Marquis cried, yet hold, peradventure that he is but the Pilgrim's Agent, made use of to convey the Papers and secret Messages; and it is on the immediate cause of all my troubles, that my revenge must fall with that severity; then after a little pause: Yet go, continued he, for these Papers speak plain enough, that the two Characters belong but to one Person; but what then, were they gone, and sacrificed to my resentments, are there not more Men? And is not my Honour still in the same danger, so long as that Woman is Breathing? She must— she shall— then after another pause, breaking off his discourse by snatches, as if what he would say were too, cruel to be spoken aloud: Zora, said he, stay, no, go, and get this Robber of my Honour to come and receive his due reward; I shall look him more carefully in the Face, than I did in the dark, when I had no suspicion: go continued he; and send me somebody here mean time: Zora very glad of the employ, did presently go, for fear that he should once again change his resolutions, and she sent some more of the Servants to him. The enraged Marquis commanded two of them to stand at the Chamber Door, and not to move from thence upon pain of immediate Death, till he returned, nor to let his Wife go out, if she should attempt it, and not being contented with that, he took the Key along with him; he presently ran into his Closet, out of which having taken a brace of Pistols, and a long Stiletto, he presently returned again; he than gave order to two Servants to stand at the Street-Door, charging them, that so soon as they should see the Doctor come into the House, they should shut him in, and not let him go out again, till he gave them order; two more Servants he placed at his Wife's Chamber door, with order to shut it so soon as the Doctor should be come in; and two more he set in his Wife's Closet, charging them to be ready to come into the Chamber with their Swords drawn, so soon as he should give the word; having thus placed his Centuries, he walked up and down the Chamber, after so strange a manner, with such strange actions, and muttering to himself strange things, that it might easily be guest at the fury which did possess his Soul.  
Mean time the poor Marchioness, who had not spoken one word all this time, thinking that it would be to no purpose to make any excuses, lay agitated with divers horrid fears; the least of which haing been sufficient to have broken any heart, less fortified with innocency and courage than hers. Sometime she did reflect on what her Husband's passions had forced out of his Mouth, which threatened no less than her Life; at other times she feared, having observed with what readiness Zora was gone to fetch Camille, lest that she being affrighted with his rage, should bring him along with her; and sometimes too she feared, lest he should come of his own accord, before that Zora should come to him to give him notice of the imminent danger; and in a word, she feared more for him, than for herself; with a thousand such fears her mind was possessed, when on a sudden she heard a great out cry in the House; the Marquis, who heard it likewise, did send one to know what was the matter, who presently returned with those two that had been placed at the Street-door, who were bleeding, they told the Marquis, that the Doctor had entered the Door, but that as they were shutting it after him, he distrusting something, it had made him to retire, but they opposing him, he had snatched a Sword out of their hands, and with it forced his way through them, into the Street again; at this relation the Marquis tore his Hairs, and drawing his Sword, had certainly run it through him that stood nearest him, had he not diligently escaped it, which furious action did make the rest also to stand also at a further distance. I want words to express, all that the height of the greatest rage imaginable, did make the Marquis to say and act, therefore I shall pass it by; to tell you, that while he was in the midst of his fury, Zora came into the Chamber; she having missed of Camille, had left her message with Father Andrew, with an account of all that had passed, in as few words as she could, that she might hasten back to prevent Camille's getting into the Marquess' House, who was gone forth in order to go there, after that he had called at Don Alphonso's; but she coming near home, had learned what had happened, by a Servant that was running for a Chiruregon to dress those that Camille had wounded; all this was very well she thought, but for fear that the Marquis being disappointed of his revenge on the Pilgrim, should in his passion discharge it all on his Wife: So soon as she was entered, she made signs unto the Marquis, as if she had something to say to him in private, he presently sent the Servants out and went into the Closet, where Zora followed him, after she had thrown a piece of Paper unto the Marchioness, in which was written: Fear nothing. She told the Marquis, that though she had failed of the Pilgrim, she had met with a Person as dangerous as he, and that was Father Andrew, that finding a Door shut she had looked through the Key hole, and there she had seen and heard the Friar, who with half a dozen more were contriving to take the Marchioness away by force at a Night, or upon the Road, when ever he should offer to remove her; that she understood that they had made many Friends in that City that were as willing as able, to serve the Pilgrim in that wicked design; and that therefore he was to lay his passion aside, and think what he had best to do, to prevent their designs. Do, said the Marquis, in as great a fury as ever, I will help them in it, they shall have her, I will bestow her upon her Minion, myself, I'll only keep her Heart to myself, and they shall share her Carcase amongst them; then presently after a little pause, fetching a great sigh, from the bottom of his Heart, but why should I design so foolishly, this would be to serve them according to their own desires, the Pilgrim has had her Heart long since, and it is only for her body that all this is; here he made another pause, which gave time to Zora to say, Sir, there is no time to lose, spend it not therefore in vain reflections; once more let me persuade you to lay aside all passion, and to think of what is to be done to secure the Marchioness from all their attempts: I have thought on't, replied the Marquis hastily, she shall die, and then there's an end of all, of all my miseries at once, yea, and of me and all: Heavens forbidden, said Zora, Pray, Sir,— What wouldst thou have me to do then? replied the Marquis, interrupting her in a milder tone? I will tell you, Sir, replied Zora, give out to your Servants immediately, that you will be gone from this City in the Morning early, that all things should be got ready to that purpose with all the Ostentation that may be, that the noise of it may be spread about the Town, especially about the Confederates Quarters, so that they may know of it, and provide for the taking of the Marchioness on the Road; mean time let a Litter be got in private, wherein the Marchioness should be conveyed in the dead of the Night, by force if she makes resistance; I shall take care to prevent her from making any noise, or getting out, and let the Litter be driven quite another way, than it should have been given out that you intended to go, while that ye follow with your Mule; no doubt but this will deceive the Pilgrim and his Friends, who certainly will be upon the Road that way that you have given out you would go to intercept the Marchioness, mean time she will have been conveyed to some other place of safety. This, Sir, continued she, I have been thinking of, as I came home; the apprehensions of some sudden attempt, having set me upon it; for now that your Enemies are strong and powerful, when they find that you stir not from hence, they will attempt any thing even here, and Heaven knows what they may not do, having the Marchioness always ready to assist them. And now, Sir, I leave to your prudence to judge, whether what I have proposed, is not reasonable, and the products of an Heart that is wholly devoted to your Service. My Dear, and Faithful, Zora, replied the Marquis, I can never thank thee sufficiently for the cares which thouh hast in my concerns, and I shall never forget it; I find all that thou hast said to be very good, and to proceed from a faithful Heart, but I will, or rather we will with deliberation, Methodize it so that our design shall not be capable of failing. I am of opinion therefore, as you have discreetly proposed, that a Litter should this day be got in readiness, but I would have it to be conveyed a little way out of Town towards the place that I intent to go to, which is Toledo, so privately that no notice may be taken of it, and in the Evening I will take thy Mistress and thyself in a Coach, and we will be carried thither, where you two shall get into the Litter, and I will follow upon my Mule, none of the Servants knowing of this but one that I dare confide in, who shall be busied with the rest of his Fellows in getting all things ready for to be going in the morning, to some other place that I shall appoint them to meet me at: by these means we shall get a considerable way in our Journey, before any notice is taken of it, and the Villains will be frustrated of their expectation to morrow, when they set upon my empty Coach, and my Men, and the further to deceive them, my Servants shall tell them that we did not design to stir forth till the Evening, though we had sent them before, for this will make them to desist any further pursuit at that time, in hopes of meeting with us at Night. This is such a way, replied Zora, as would be infallible, of getting your Wife safe from hence, if we could but be provided with a Litter and Mule drivers to attend it without noise. There's the stress of the whole business, replied the Marquis, neither know I whom to trust as to that; and I believe that I must go about it myself. I would not have you to leave the Marchioness one moment, replied Zora, you have so affrighted all your Servants, that none dares to appear before you, but she that would adventure a thousand Lives to serve you; what do I know but that at this very present there is some correspondency, between your Wife and her Confederates? Sold they attempt any thing in your absence, either by the Garden, to get her out of the Window, she being as ready to go, as they to receive her, who should oppose them? where would be any aid? I should quickly be dispatched, and then the booty would be their own; therefore I think it very necessary for you to remain by her, till we all three are going in the Evening: That which thou hast said is very true, said the Marquis; but then how shall we get this Litter and Men conveyed secretly another way out of Town, than we must seem to go? Let that be my care, Sir, said Zora, I have some acquaintance here in Town, that shall do that business for us, I will go instantly to set them about it; but stay, replied the Marquis, till I have been in my Closet to fetch out some writings, and then I will not move from her Chamber till thy return. After this, the Marquis went out of the Chamber to his Closet, which gave time to Zora, to tell the Marchioness, that she should fear nothing, that she had appeased her Husband for the present, and that that Night should be the last of her misery; that she would inform their Friends of all the business before she returned, take their advice likewise, and of all make an absolute conclusion, which she would bring her back in writing, that she might know what part she had to act, and not be surprised; this did Zora deliver with such a cheerful countenance, kissing the Marchioness' Hand, that she was very much comforted by it: Zora was after that advising her Lady to rise, and pack up all her Jewels and other things of value by themselves, when the Marquis returned into the Chamber, to whom Zora said, I have been persuading, my Lady to rise, and to prepare for her Journey, but she will not believe that she has need to make such haste. No! replied the Marquis; yet she may be certain that she shall not lie one Night longer in this place; therefore let her rise, and pack up her things herself, if she will, for I have other employs for you, and now go about what I have sent you to do: Zora presently went about her business; the Marquis employed himself about making up and examining of Accounts, while the Marchioness went into her Closet, where she employed herself in disposing of her Jewels privately about her, with other things of concerns, and stuffing up of those Boxes and Cases, that they were usually carried in, with other things of little or no value: Thus the Marquis in the Chamber, having continually one Eye on the Closet Window, and the Marchioness in the Closet, did remain till Zora returned, without speaking one word to one another, to the Ladies great satisfaction.  
Zora was not long before she got to Camille's, whom she informed of what she had done, and that the Marchioness had a knowledge of it: She likewise gave him an account of his fair escape, which he had made out of the Marquess' House, while that the Marquis had sent her on purpose to bring him to his inevitable Death. How that he had sworn to tear his Heart out of his Body, and to give it to her: he need not put himself to that trouble replied Camille, I have long since saved him that labour, in presenting it myself to her, in a condition to do her more Service, and therefore more acceptable. Let us lose no time now, said Father Andrew, and let it not be said, that this Woman has done all herself, but let us act our parts likewise. Then Zora told them, that there was to be got out of hand a Litter, Mules, and Mule drivers, that were to be conveyed very privately, at some small distance from the City, at a place which she named. That shall be my charge, replied the good Father, and let me alone to deceive that wicked Father Andrew, and that abominable Pilgrim; and be certain, that within three hours at farthest it shall be at the place appointed: Yes, but where will you find trusty men to attend it? replied Zora: Are not here two, answered the brisk Friar? how many would you have? And for their fidelity to us, I will engage for the one if you will engage for the other, continued he, addressing himself to Camille; that will do very well, replied Camille, and my task shall be to discharge the House, to provide good Horses, and to crave the assistance of my worthy Friend Alphonso, of his Lady, and of his House and Servants, to receive us and our Prize, when we have it. Another thing is to be thought on also, said Father Andrew, which is, to convey something between the Marquess' Mules Feet and her Shoes, that she may fall down right lame within a little while after that he shall be got upon her, which will cause him to stay behind, while we diligently go on with the Litter. Better and better still, said Camille, I see that we shall bring it to something at last. This will do, said Zora, and I think that we need no further to consult about it. No, no, replied Father Andrew, and therefore I am gone to get the Litter and all things belonigng to it: And if you please, Sir, said Zora to Camille, to write down the result of our consultation, I will instantly return and give it the Marchioness, and tell the Marquis, that within these two hours there will be a Litter in readiness, at the place that he has appointed. That I'll engage for, said Father Andrew, and away went he: Camille having writ the Note of advice, did give it to Zora, who returned home with it, and Camille having discharged the House, went to his Friend Alphonso, who he did very easily engage and his Lady likewise, to serve him in that business, she highly praising his resolution, of putting the Marchioness into her hands, when that she were at his whole disposal; and Camille having told them the time and place that they should meet them on the Road, where Alphonso assured him he would not fail to be exactly; he returned home, to wait for Father Andrew's return, which was presently after, with a Litter, in which there were two Suits of , to dress himself and Camille in, like Mule-drivers. He bid one of the Persons that were come along with him, to follow him up stairs, where he should receive his Money; so soon as he came into the Chamber, he called upon Camille to pay the Money, which he had agreed for, Camille did readily do it, and went into the Litter to the place appointed, where Father Andrew followed; they were no sooner got thither, but they sent back the Mule-drivers, and accoutred themselves in those  which the Father had brought, which made a couple of excellent Varlets of them, in which posture they waited for the Marquess' coming.  
While these things had been transacting abroad, the Marquis had been examining the Pilgrim, which the Jailor had brought to him according to his Orders; at the very sight of him, he found him not to be that Pilgrim which he meant, and at last having found his mistake, and the cause of it, through his examining of every circumstance, he discharged the follow, giving him a piece of Money for to make him amends for the wrong which he had done him, with which he went his way very well satisfied, that he had got his liberty at last, with a good sum of Money.  
Mean time Zora was returned home, where she had some opportunity, during the Marquess' examination of the Pilgrim, to give the Marchioness the Note, and a full account of all their proceed, the Marchioness was very well pleased with what Zora did tell her, whereby divers scruples which had risen in her mind, were removed: presently after the Marquis came into the Chamber, and Zora told him, that there would be a Litter at the time and place appointed, with which he seemed very well satisfied: The rest of that day the Marquis did spend in giving his last orders to his Servants, and to get those things together which he intended for his present uses.  
Having dispatched all other businesses, he returned to his Wife's Chamber, where he bid his Wife and Zora to prepare to be going within an hour, it being already towards the Evening. This made Zora to bussel about, and to fit the Marchioness in a travelling posture; at last, the Coach which the Marquis had appointed came to the Door, which made him to call upon his Wife once again; he led her to it, where he placed her, after which, he and Zora went in it; it was dark, and he had so muffled up both his Wife and Zora in Cloaks, that no body could well discern, if they were men or women; in a short time after they came to the place, where the Litter was waiting for them, and his Mule likewise, which he had sent before, whose Feet had been stuffed, by the two new Mule drivers, with things more uneasy, than she could well endure. So soon as the Marquis did see the Litter, and having hastily placed his Wife in it, and Zora by her, he made it up himself, and bidding the Mule-drivers go on, he got upon his Mule and followed.  
They had not gone far before the Marquess' Mule began to halt, but he put her on still, till at last she could, or would not go any further; he did what he could to force her to it, but all in vain, for at last she fairly laid herself down, which obliged the Marquis to alight, and call after the Mule-drivers to stay, but they impatient to be at that place where they were expected by Alphonso, and his Lady, they went on the faster, he run after crying as loud as he could for them to stay, but the uncivil Mule-drivers, did not so much as once look back; on the contrary the louder he called, and the faster he did run, the faster they drove, till they came to a turning, where they met with their Friends; presently was the Marchioness taken out of the Litter by Camille, and led to Alphonso's Coach, where resigning her into his Lady's Hands: Thus, Madam, said he, do I part with you, according to your desires, and my promise, into the Hand of this most worthy Lady; and now, Madam, you are at your own disposal; there was no time for longer Compliments, the Marchioness only said: Now I find that you are truly generous, and that I have not deceived myself: Camille gave her not time to say more, for he presently put off his disguise, and having got a Horse, he and Alphonso did ride by the Coach side, while it carried the two Ladies, Zora, and Father Andrew, another way into the City again, where they all got into Alphonso's House by the back Door.  
Mean time the poor Marquis did continue his hallowing and calling after the Mule-drivers, though he had long since lost the sight of them, and did trudge as he could after them; but the Gallants were gone with their Booty long before he did overtake the empty Litter, which the Mules (being left at their own disposal) had carried to a little by-place, close by the great Road, where they were biting upon a little Grass, which they had met with; so that when he came up wearied and almost spent, he presently looked into it, but finding no body there, nor any where thereabouts, he fairly entered it to rest himself, never minding where the Mules did carry him; and they having eaten that little of Grass that they had met with, they went on, as by chance they had turned themselves, which proved to be the ready way back to the City.  
The poor Marquis being thus carried, he knew not whither, nor did he care to know, with a very flow pace: He had both time and conveniency, to reflect on all his misfortunes, and especially on the greatest of all, the loss of his Wife; concluding with himself, that the whole world did consent to his miseries. What to do, which way to go, or what to resolve upon, he knew not; therefore letting the Mules go which way they pleased, he began to consider with himself, what was the reason that he was so unfortunate above all other men: amongst many things which came to his Fancy on this account, the great severity with which he had used his Wife, by giving too much scope unto his passions, did not a little perplex him, which might be the cause that she had harkened after any designs that had been proposed to her, of freeing herself from it, which otherwise peradventure she had refused: No, no, then would he say again, I must not charge myself with a fault that is wholly hers; those most lascivious papers which I did see so lately, by mere accident, do but too well express her inclinations; yet she did not write them, continued he; then after a little pause, but she received them, and gave them harbour in her own Bed; and it is consequently to be believed, that she owned them, approved of them, and gave a silent consent to all the ill that was contained in them: At this reflection he made a great sigh, and remained a while silent, after which, he again broke out in this manner: But when I first had her, and that she did yet enjoy some moments of liberty, I could never tax nor accuse her of any the least correspondency imaginable with any man; neither could I with all the exactest inquisition that I could possibly use, learn that she ever had any public, or private and particular converse with any Person; so that this Pilgrim which now possesses her, is perhaps known to her but of late, and by mere accident, and she perceiving him to be a man of good mien and parts; why might not she wish that he might know of her hard restraint, and desire that he might relieve her out of it; and where is that man that would refuse her; she in all this may have aimed but at liberty; and notwithstanding what hopes soever he may build upon, as he expressed in his writing: She might have nobler thoughts, and such as might defeat all his ill designs: Yea, but those Kisses, would he say again, in a little passion, those lascivious Kisses might have been stolen from her, continued he, as answering himself, and I think that they were so mentioned, and if stolen from her as well as from me, why should I think that she did approve of it, or consented to the stealth? Thus was he canvasing the case to himself, willing in some measure to take upon himself the cause of his Wife's leaving of him, when on the sudden, a noise which he heard, did cause him to look out of the Litter, at which the Mules did stop, this made him to alight, and presently he perceived that he was not far from his late House, where his Servants were still, he therefore finding that that noise which he had heard, was termining into a quarrel, and that there were Swords already drawn, and being not in a humour to mind such things, at that time especially, he made what haste he could toward his Door; but as he came forth of the Litter, he perceived some scattered Papers in it, which he had the curiosity to take up, and having given a blow to one of the Mules, they went on, while he got into his House, where he was received with as much wonder as unexpectedness, by all his Servants. He presently caused what they had displaced in his Chamber, in order to transportation, to be laid in order again, and having forbid any of them to ask him any questions, he went to Bed, where he read those Papers which he had found in the Litter.  
The one of them was that Letter which the Marchioness had torn, not thinking it severe enough to rebuke Camille's insolence, in kissing of her; at which the Marquis seemed as well pleased, as if he had been in hopes of getting his Wife again. The other were indifferent things, yet with something or other still in them, which spoke more a desire of being freed from Slavery, than of Love: these lose Papers were, it was likely, scattered in the hastily getting out of the Litter, at the time of the seizing on the Marchioness; but such as they were, they did so confirm him in those thoughts which he inclined to have of his Wife's honesty, that taking hold thereon, he did lay the whole cause of his miscarriage upon himself; this with his late mischance of the Tub, and his over-heating himself in running after the Litter, together with the trouble of Spirit which he had upon him, for obliging, and in a manner, forcing his Wife to that extremity of leaving him, did presently cast him into a violent Fever, to which a remorse of having divers times had a design of poisoning of her, did not a little contribute.  
Of truth the Marchioness was not so much to blame as some Persons might imagine, if all the circumstances of her late action was weighed with an equal hand, in the Scale of reason: She was young, and endowed with excellent parts of the mind; she had been forced by her Parents into the arms of a Person for whom she had a natural aversion against his Person, as well as against that morose, crabbed, and jealous Nature, which had always been predominant in him, that even before Marriage he had made her sensible of some of its ill effects, and had given out such words within her hearing, as did sufficiently express how he would use her, when once she was his Wife; she had ever since that found and felt the sad effect of those Menaces, without the least cause given by her to be so ill treated; it was a very hard Fate, for her thus to be sequestered from all conversation, though never so modest and innocent, to be buried alive in the Arms of a Person that she so perfectly loathed, and that far from endeavouring to gain her affection, did use her so barbarously, that it daily did increase her aversion against him. All that she had done was but to free herself from that intolerable slavery under which she lived most miserably, and whatsoever her deliverer did promise, or propose to himself, as a reward for his Services; she knew what was fit for her to give, not to prove ungrateful, and what to retain, not to be counted vicious: It is true, that she had thrown herself into the Power of an amorous young man, whom peradventure nothing would satisfy, but what she ●as not to give, but then she had not the opportunity to pick and choose: Camille was the only Person that had proffered his aid, to free her from her misery; if she refused this, she knew not wheher the Heavens would be so kind to her again, as to send her any other opportunity; she was gong to b made yet more miserable than ever, by that severe restraint that her too cruel Husband was going to put her under, as he had often given out he would, nay, her Life had often been threatened, though at a distance; in all these conditions she could not hope to find any relief but in Death; she was sequestered from all her Friends and Relations, carried away into a strange Country, where she had no body to make her complaints unto. In the midst of all these afflictions, Camille seemed to her, as sent from Heaven to be her deliverer; he was a Gentleman, so all his actions did speak him, he might for aught that she knew be virtuously given as soon as vicious, or at least virtue might have so much ascendant over him, that with a modest resistance against any inordinate desires, she might assist that virtue to get the upperhand in him. That in case he should prove otherways, she would endeavour to get out of his power, by the assistance of some Religious Persons, or by giving private notice of it to her Relations, that in the mean time she would stave him off with fair promises and delays, and finally if all that would not do, she was resolved to sacrifice her Virtue to Death, rather than her body to his lascivious Embraces.  
It were with these and divers other considerations of the like Nature, that were backed with that l●st resolution of dying rather than yielding, that the Marchioness had cast herself into the Arms of Camille's protection, which she did soon put into practise; for the next morning, Don Alphonso and h●s Lady going to see how Camille did, after the first Compliments were over, he did beg of her before her Husband, that she would endeavour to prevail so with the Marchioness as that he might but see her. She immediately went about it, and was not long before she returned with leave for him to come to her, where he might stay so long as she were by, to which he presently consenting, he went with her to the Marchioness' Chamber, he was no sooner at the Door, but that he run, and casting himself at her Feet, he said: Madam, I am come to offer you an heart more busied with an earnest ambition of serving you further yet, than possessed with the thoughts of receiving any recompense for his former Services: Yet, Madam, not so wholly insensible of the happiness, which he might receive from you, if you would but allow him some place in your esteem, as not humbly to sue for it. Sir, replied the Marchioness, making some motion which expressed her desire that he should rise, I cannot be so insensible, of that generous assistance which I have received from you, as not to resent it with all the gratitude that my bosom can be capable of, and it is so lately that I have felt the advantage of it, that I cannot so soon forget it. I do acknowledge, Sir, before this Lady here, continued she, that I am infinitely obliged to you for what you have lately done in my concerns, for proof whereof, I do confess that I own you all that my abilities in the present condition I am, and that my honour can permit me to give you; besides this, I being of a Disposition, as will not permit me to remain long in peace with myself while that virtue lies unrewarded: I gladly received, and entertained your request of seeing me, that I might have the opportunity of giving you some small Tokens of my gratitude, till my good Fortune does enable me to further reach the merits of your singular Services to me; be pleased therefore to accept of all that little which I have in my own disposing at present, till Time and Fortune do further enable me to suit my rewards more proportionable to your deserts. Camille was going to answer, when she thus went on, taking hold of the middle of a Toylet that was upon a Table near her: Here, Sir, is all I have, it is small, considering what I own you, I doubt not but that a Person that has acted so generously as you have done, will be contented with the good will, where the Power cannot extend any further, with that she lifted off the Toylet which she held in her hand, and discovered to Camille's Eyes, a parcel of Jewels of great value. Camille had no sooner cast his Eyes upon them, but turning his Face from them, with an air that did express a contemning of such trifles. You have a design to mock me, Madam, said he, with an emotion which expressed his dislike, in pretending to gratify me, while you offer me this parcel of Jewels, and at the same time you reserve to yourself that inestimable Gem, your heart, which might set me in possession of those Mines of Treasures which discover their Lustre over your Face, and— he was going on, when the Marchioness did thus interrupt him: Sir, you have very soon forgot the promises which you made to my Servant here, and doubtless that you were thinking of something else while you made them; yet I am happy in that you have observed so much of them as has invited you to put me into the hands of so worthy a Lady as this is, and in a place where I need not fear any thing beyond words; yet give me leave to tell you that they surprise me much; but however, Sir, I am extremely sorry, that I cannot gratify you out of my own store, and that you covet that which I was forced long ago to part with to another, tho' I must confess absolutely against my will; but however now it is no more mine, and though this Bosom, pointing at her Breast, is still the Caskanet, wherein it is kept; there is such a strong Guard set upon it by Virtue, as can never be forced but with the loss of my Life, till the right owner of it, though he is never so unworthy, loses his property in it by death. If that were all, Madam, said Camille, his Life were not so considerable, that he should be loath to lose it, or any one fear the taking of it away, which would be but like removing a Stone out of the way that would lead to the possession of that precious Jewel: This did Camille say in a tone that expressed much disorder in his mind, of which the Marchioness taking notice: That were the way, said she, to cast so dark a Cloud over it, and the rash undertaker of so foul a deed, as would eternally darken its lustre, and hid for ever from my Eyes that Person, that should so unworthily attempt it, or should they offer the least violence to deprive me of it, I should look upon them, as on the worst of men; and I would certainly sacrifice my Life for its preservation. This did the Marchioness speak with so much resolution and boldness, that Camille was at a stand, not knowing what he should say. Which gave the Marchioness leisure to continue in this manner. But I can distinguish between what is spoken in raillery, and by way of common discourse, from that which might proceed from the Heart, and I have better thoughts of my deliverer, neither can it enter in my imagination, that a Person that has so frankly served me, should harbour in his Breast such mean and unworthy designs, while he contemns those things which might have taken with any mercenary, and low Spirited Persons. But I am confident, continued she, that you are above those trifles, and that like all other brave Souls, yours expects its reward from that virtue, which set it on those brave actions, which cannot be recompensed, but by that same virtue, which first did move it to the performance. Here Camille being overcome by the Marchioness' generous expressions, and looking upon those designs with which he had approached her, as gross and foul Earthy exhalations, which if not dispersed from his mind, by those refulgent Rays, which the brightness of the Marchioness' brave example did cast upon him, would hinder him from appearing with the like lustre, and from moving in the same Sphere of Virtue that she did; he therefore, wholly changing his mind, and first designs, as scorning to be outdone by a Woman, did immediately cast from himself all lascivious desires, and low thoughts, to give a full and entire possession of his Soul to Virtue, which made him answer the Marchioness in this manner.  
That Virtue, Madam, which shines with so much lustre through all your actions, were more than sufficient, were I any other ways inclined, to work perfect reformation in me. It appears so great, so glorious, and so amiable in you, that nothing but that can be said to surpass all those other blessings of body and mind, that the Heavens have shower d upon you with a prodigal hand, which moves an emulation in all generous Spirits; henceforward, Madam, continued he, I bid adieu to all the little Sallies and Gaieties of inordinate Youth, to wait with patience at your Feet, for what the Heavens will be pleased to set apart for me; only this, Madam, I humbly crave of you, that if ever there be hopes, I may stand the fairest in your affections; he will outlive your patience, Sir, replied the Marchioness; then turning her Head aside to hid some blushes, which what she was going to say did spread over her Face: at least I fear so, continued she, with a sigh, after a little pause: Oh! Madam, what a Cordial have you administered to my fainting heart? replied Camille, say but once more, Madam, that you have that esteem for me, as to allow of your Hearts good Wishes in my behalf, and I protest by all that is sacred, never to endeavour my happiness by any sinister means; I shall with an exemplary patience wait for what my Stars and your fair self have decreed for me, and employ all that time that shall run betwixt this moment and then, in admiring your Beauties, in setting forth your praises, and in obeying your Commands, with all the fervour, zeal, and diligence, that a Heart so possessed with the admiration of your Virtues, as mine is, can be capable of. And I must tell you, replied the Marchioness, that so long as you bring that temper along with you, you shall be welcome to my heart, in which you may claim as a great share, as Virtue and Honour can allow you. This Crowns that Victory, Madam, answered Camille, which I have lately obtained over my passions, and that honour which I receive of being the first in your esteem, is so far beyond all that I shall ever merit, that I can desire no more than the permission to seal the protestation which I here make to be eternally yours, (with that the Marchioness gave him her Hand to kiss) upon this white Author of my happiness, continued he, till I have leave to taste of that Nectar which flows on your Lips. That you once took, said the Marchioness, when I was not in a condition to forbid it, which I have you know forgiven you, and I will not refuse so insignificant a thing however you esteem it, when you sue so modestly for it, but stop there, and let the bounds of your desires be limited within this compass, till it shall please the Heavens to enlarge them; After this Camille kissed her Lip, and was going to return her thanks with an assurance of his moderation, when Father Andrew entered the Chamber as brisk as could be, saying, Madam, give me my News-gift before I tell you the best news that you have heard since your deliverance. That I will good Father, replied the Marchioness, for I own myself already much indebted to you; with that she took up a fair Diamond-Ring which lay upon the Table, and taking out of her Pocket a Purse of Gold, Sir, said she in a low voice to Camille, giving him the Ring, accept of this pledge of my Friendship, and wear it for my sake; then turning to Father Andrew; and you good Father, continued she, receive this small reward of your Services, until I am in a better capacity to acknowledge them: saying this, she gave him the purse of Gold. The good Father having received the golden blessing with an humble bow, he thus began his Story.  
I am but just now returned from the City, where after divers inquiries, I have learned that the Marquis your Huband, Madam, was returned to his Lodgings before day, that he had been taken so violently ill of a Fever, that all the Physicians of the Town that are about him had given him for dead; notwithstanding the frequent repetitions of bleeding, and all the other means that their Art can use upon him; his Fever increasing so violently that he says himself that he is a dead Man: This made me go to a Religious Father of my acquaintance here, where having fitted myself with a Religious Habit, I desired him to accompany me to the Marquis, where I prayed him to mix amongst his comforts some gentle touches of his hard usage of you, with some admonition to make you amends at his Death. But when we came there, I standing a little aside, lest my presence should distract his thoughts, I found him already disposed as I would have him, he was saying to his Kinsman the Justice that is with him, that he was very sensible of the wrongs which he had done his Wife, that he wished that he could but once again see her before he died, to ask her pardon for it; that for proof that this reconciliation to his Wife was sincere, he declared, after some few Legacies and some gifts to the Church to pray for his soul, he would leave his dear Wife sole Heir of his Estate. This news made the Marchioness to go immediately to her Husband, who did no sooner perceive her, but he took her by the hand, and did a Thousand times ask her pardon for his ill treating of her, and after he had ratified the Will which he had made, since Father Andrew's absence, and which was in his Kinsman's hands, having called for it, and given it to her in the presence of all, he presently after gave up the Ghost. The Marchioness after this, leaving directions with her Husband's Kinsman concerning what she would have done, leaving to his management all the concerns in that City; as also the care of her Husband's Transportation and Burial in his own Country, according to his desires, amongst his Ancestors; she return d to Alphonso's House, where being fatigated and late in the Night, she went to Bed.  
The next morning after that she was up and ready to receive a visit, Camille came to her to renew his suit, summoning her of her promises; to which she made answer, that she would do him Justice; after which Don Alphonso, his Lady, Father Andrew, and Zora, being present, she declared before them all, that she received Signior Camille for her Husband, she gave him her hand in assurance of it, and further said, that so soon as she had paid those formalities which were due to the dead, she would confirm it by marriage. Camille full of Joy did return her all the thanks imaginable; the whole company did applaud her choice, and wished them both all Joy and Happiness.  
After that all the ceremonies of the Funeral were over, and that the Marchioness had sent her late Husband's Kinsman to take possession in her name of what he had left her, she began, through Camille's incessant importunities, to think on Marriage: In short, within the compass of some Months they were Married, to both their contents, after which they having returned infinite thanks to Don Alphonso and his Lady, and given them some presents, as also to the Justice who had been their Friend: they took leave of all, and returned into Italy, taking along with them, the good Father Andrew, and Zora, where they were both provided for during their lives very plentifully; and Camille having made his peace with the Church, he enjoyed his Marchioness with great pleasure and content.  
FINIS.