{ •'•it v-. LIE) RA FLY OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS 823 C769 V. 1 •i-HE CONVENT OF NOTRE DAME: OR, JEANNETTE. IN TWO VOLUMES. BY THE 4WTH0R OF A TALE OF MYSTERY, OR CELJKA. VOL. I. LONDON: PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN", (ILNGLISH AND rORElGS CIRCULATING LIBRARY,; NO. 48, CON'DUIT STREET^ NEW BOWn STREET- lY 8. ROU?SCAU, WOOD STRUCT, SPA FIELU« i8o;. jLO^^OM ?A3 v.( TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ELIZABETH MONCK, THE NOVEL OF JEANNETTE IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, By her Ladyship's Most obedient and humble Servant, ^■THE TRANSLATOR AND PUBLISHER. 4- 4 ^ai^ k CONTENTS or THI FIRST VOLUME. Page. CHAPTER L A Pilgrimage to the Shrhie of St. Nicolas. . . . 1 CHAPTER II. Behold Jeanmite ! . . . 15 CHAPTER III. Adoption. .... 30 CHAPTER IV. A good Heart difpJaycd. 45 CHAPTER V. A good ExampUfor many Wives. 58 ( vi ) Page. CHAPTER VI. Evety-Day Characters. . , 74 CHAPTER VII. A Pleafant Promotion, . .87 CHAPTER VIII. Love In a Village, , . .103 CHAPTER IX. Rapid Events. , , .115 CHAPTER X. A Brighter Profpe6l, . .130 CHAPTER XI. Is it really a Fault ^ . .143 CHAPTER XII. An Unforefeen Event, , .15 3 CHAPTER XIII. ItisadoiihtJefsaWhim. . . 1O7 CHAPTER XIV. An Eplft alary hitrigne. . .181 CHAPTER XV. Unifon of Minds. . . , l^^) ( vii ) Pag,. CIIAPTEIl XVI. A dreadful Cha7ige. . .210 CHAPTER XVII. Hoiv can it he confe/Jcd. . .224 CHAPTER XVIII. The CoNfequenccs, . , .237 !-*■ >r;;^,--:v*:^*'^3ii'-^^*^^»--^-^-^ PREFACE. I HID determined on fpending a part of the laft fummer at S O , a village iituate about a league from Paris, where I had for thefe four years paft pofleffed a little rural ha- bitation. I there wrote my '' Ce- lina, or a Tale of Myftery, " a Ro- mance^ in fix volumes, which ap- b ( vi ) peared laft winter, and which the Public have deigned to receive with .the fame indulgence as they have 3lhewa to my former Works : I there rJiA^ed tranquil and happy, iri; the company of a valuable and beloved Jf'emale, and encircled by an agreea* ,lble fociety of kind and lincere friends, iolovers of the arts, artifts them- ^sifelves. Delightful abode ! I never estecal it to mind, but tears of fenii- ,8-biIity immediately flow and moiften ^vjtny eyelids : I fhall inceflantly be- }o hold thofe flourilhing Ihores of the .< Seine, thofe extenfive and variegat- ed profpeds, interlperfed with moun- tains, woody hills, villages, and ham- lets, confifting of clufters of thatch- ( vii ) ed cottages, rifing in the midft of a Cultivated plain, and prefenting fe the aftonifhed eye of the beholder a thoufand varying fliades of verdure ^and nourifhing phints. I fhall ever tranfport myfelf in idea in that park, formed at once by art and nature, the afylum of a philofopher, an ad- mirer of nature, \vhere the fliade of La Fontaine doubtlefs fmiles at Man^ chni Nivernois, compofing his fables in a grove of young chefnut tre^s. I fl^iall ever meafure with the penfive eye of the PulUciste, the height of the tufted trees, which decorate the park of NccIiCr, that Genevefe Finan- cier, to whom Europe is indebted for fo many wonderful changes ; in. b 2 ( viii ) a word, I fhall often reflecft on thofe delightful evenings which I palTed in ray little garden feated on a green bank, by moonlight, and travelling, with my Celina, among the Glaciers of Savoy. How delightful are the occupa- tions of a man of letters! How they exhalt his being ! How they elevate him above that earth which he in- habits ! His imagination meafures the heavens and the earth, enables him to roam through every region (inhabited or not) of this immenfe globe ; accompanied by it, without quitting his own rural dwelling, he climbs up the fummits of Mont Blanc ; he vifits every nation, he ( ix ) converfes with the Indian fifhermaa in his humble hut, or tramples under feet the luxurious carpets of the Def- pots of Afia. With uncurbed wings he direfts his flight whither hcpleafes, and quits at pleafure thofe em- pires in which he does not find him- felf happy. Oh ! how many won- ders did he behold, when he quitted his garden to feat himfelf at the fru- gal table of his beloved companion ! how far has he travelled ! Shall I ever forget thofe dear friends Citizen B , his Wife, their lovely children, that intereft- ingfociety ofartifts, alTemblcd toge- ther in the long evenings of Autumn b3 ( X ) to enjoy the fports of Euterpe or of Terpfichore ; and fhall I not incef- fantly behold myfelf among them, feated under the myfterious Acacia ; or in the evening inhaling the fweet odour of the flowers, which bloom along a terrace overlooking the river? Excellent and fenfible beings, receive here the tribute of gratitude and friendfhip, and permit me ftill to partake of your innocent diverfions ! The contemplation of your Ample manners is necelfary to my exiftence; I behold with tranfport fuch pidures of virtue ; prefent them to me ever, and I Ihall be indebted to you for happinefs. ( xi ) It was in one of thefe charming focieties that were to be met with in this httle village, that a lady of five or fix and twenty years of age made her appearance. She w^as ac- companied by a female friend, who feemed to be a few months older than herfelf. The youngefl of the two bore in her arms an infant who diverted itfelf with the ornaments of its head-drefs. A handfome cavalier, the father, no doubt, of the lovely child, accompanied this excellent couple, who feemed united by the moft fincere ties of friendfliip ; I haf- tened to congratulate the youngefl: on her happinefs in being a mother : Ah, Sir ! faid ihe, if I am a mother. ( xn ) • if I am happy, if I am beloved by the moll: worthy of hufbands, behold this friend, it is to her that I am in- debted for fo much felicity ! Every eye v^as immediately di- refted tov^ards the other lady, who bluflied, turned afide her head, fmiled, and entreated her friend to fpare her. No, no, my dear friend, faid the former, all the world Ihould know that I owe my happinefs to you ; and there is a gentleman (point- ing to me) who, if he had been witnefs of the fublime a6tion which you have been capable of performing in my behalf, would doubtlefs haf- ( xiii ) ten to impart it to the Public in oae of his produftions. Eager, like every other Romance- writer, after plots, incidents, fub- jeds, I requelled the young lady to relate her adventures to me. She for the moment refufed, that flie might not wound the delicacy of her friend ; but early on the following morning, I repaired to a charming country-houfe, which flie pollefled in the Valley of Montmorency. The young lady and her hulband were by themfelves : they made me fit down, and informed me of all that had hap- pened to them, as well as of the obligations they were under to the -to YlindFVftf.! (f^nj-W-^g Ins ilmhoo^ nioft feeling and genexomiid& j«wfo. men. :^ j^uoihb io Bb ^^ l^rfl it is this ftorj which I now pre- fent to the Pubhc ; may they difco- ver fome charm in it ; may they find a moral and a ufefiil aim, and above all thatintereft with which it infpir- ed me, when it was related to me by the parties moft concerned ! Per- haps the fublime aiftion of Jeannette at the conclufion, may appear an ef- fort above the capacity of a mortal : it is neverthelefs tnie ; and, doubtlefs, if it does honour to the lovely fex who have fet the example, in con- fidering the virtues, efpecially the ( XV ) goodnefs and profound fenfibility of that charming fex, ours mull confefs that an ad: of delicacy can never be fupernatural to a woman. "I Jndi 11/ JEANNETTE. CHAPTER I. A Pilgrimage to the Shrine of St. Ni^ colas. JVI. D'Eranville had married for love : he was rich, though Rofalia, his wife, had brought him no wealth, nor even an inheritance to hope for. Rofalia was the daughter of an old mi- litary officer, whofe only honorary dif- tindlion was the bannal crofs of Saint Louis, which now was conferred in- difcriminatcly on all ; and his means of fupport, the moderate penfion at- VOL. I. B ( 2 ) tached to this ornament. Rofalla hav- ing loft her father in early youth, had been brought up by a mother, virtuous indeed, but not without one extraordi- nary weaknefs, which was a paffion for the company of prlefts and religious men of all orders, and for palling all her time at church, where fhe would not have failed being prefent during any feftival or folemnity for all the wealth in the world. Rofalia had imbibed her mother's tafte : devotion formed a pro- minent feature in her charadler ; and her want of fortune rendering it necef- farv file fliould devote herfelf to the cloifter, a mode of life which, moreo- ver, did not militate againft her inclina- tions, fhe was on the point of immur- ing herfelf for ever in a convent, when M. D'Eranville faw her, loved her, de- manded her of her mother in marriage, and obtained her hand. Rofalia loft her ( 3 ) mother a few years after her marriage ; and, like an amiable and virtuous wo- man, concentrated her affections entire- ly in her hufband, who was now the fole obje6l of love flie poffeffed in this world. Rofalia Indeed knew ilie ftill had one relation living, who had be- flowed on her fome proofs of kindnefs in her infancy : this was her mother's brother, who refided at Paris, and pof- feffed an immenfe fortune ; but he had two children, whofe education engaged all his time, and he no longer vifited Abbeville, near which city was Rofa- lia's habitation. She never heard from her uncle, and therefore now only thought of her hufband. Rofalia, though ftill deeply attached to her religious duties, did not howe, ver carry devotion to excefs. She was far lefs bigotted on this point than her mother, to whom Ihe ow^ed this flight B 2 ( 4 ) falling ; benevolent, gentle, a friend to innocent pleafures and chearfulnefs, fhe willingly gave into all the purfuits, the amufements of fociety ; and though fhe often formed its charm by her wit and talents, fhe conftantly rendered her hufband the happieft of men by the rare and valuable qualities of her excel- lent heart. A gage of their love was now all that was wanting to crown the blifs of this affedionate couple. A child would have been to them the deareft gift of nature ; yet nature, often deaf to the prayers of thofe who invoke her, re- fiafed them this blelTmg. They had all befide this gift to render them happy. Inhabiting a charming retreat near Abbeville, enjoying all the elegances of life amidft a feled: circle of enheht- ened and fuicere friends, they feemed to have nothing to defire more : Rofalia ( 5 ) longed to be a mother ; M. D'Eran- vlUe fighed alfo for the foft ties of pa- ternal affcdion, a:id it was of little con- feqiiencc in their eyes, provided they had a child, of which fex it was : Ma- dame D'Eranville indeed fometimcs de- fired a daughter, and her hufband, wlio generally coincided with her in opini- on, joined in the preference. But to have neither fon nor daughter ! this was too great a privation. Eleven years had now flown away, ftill marked by the fcUiic hopes, the fame difappointments, when one morn- ing M. D'Eranville was much furprlfcd to learn that his lady had privately left the chateau at a very early hour, bear- ing a little parcel under her arm, and without revealing to any one her mo- tives for this hafty departure. Rofalia was prudent and virtuous : her hnfoand could not fufj?ccT; her of any diflionour- J^ 3 ( 6 ) able ftcp : but whither could fhe have gone without informing, without con- lulting hini ? He called Rofalla's wait- ing-maid : — Where is your miftrefs ? — Sir — file is gone out. — I know it : but whither isfiie gone ? — Sir, — no fe- cretsifyou pleafe. — Where, I aflc a- gain, is your miftrefs ? — My miftrefs. Sir? She will return in the courfe of a couple of days, to-morrow perhaps. — I you do not reveal to mc the motive of this journey, I will inftantly difmifs you Irom my fervice. — Good heavens ! my miftrefs has forbidden me. — Whatf to tell me her fecret ? Madame D'E- ranville never could entertain one inju- rious to her hufoand : indeed w^ith me &c never bad a fecret. Speak, Vifto- na, or you will feel the effefts of ray refentmcnt. The waiting-maid befttated, grew^ pale : but,, obferving D'Eranville deep- ( 7 ) ly agitated and grieved, flie determined on confeffing all to him. Well then^ Sir, faid flie to him, yoa fhall know all; and, if I am blamed, I hope you will take my part. You are well ac- quainted with father Idulphus, my la- dy's confeffor, the Capuchin who dvvxlls at the nelfrhbourino; convent ? — Undoubtedly : proceed. — This father Idulphus — You well know how ardent- ly my mlftrefs wifhes to have a child. — ^WcU ! but father Idulphus ! fpeak to the point. — Father Idulphus has let her into the fecret of obtaining one. — I don't underftand you. —Sir, you might however underftand me. — Yes, if I a- dopted the firft idea your awkward way of telling a ftory might fuggeft. — Good God ! fir, I am telling what I know, what I have heard, and alio fccn. — What you have feen .... — Yes, the re- verend father Idulphus faid to my lady: B 4 ( ,8 ) My child ! hearken to me : if you will go with me to-morrow, I promife that you fliall become a mother. — Infolent wretch ! — Father Idulphus added. It will Hot be neceflary for your hufband to know whither we are going : he might derange our fchemes. — Yes? likely enough. — He added : your par- don, fir : he added : Your hufband w^ill oppofe it : he is a worldly-minded man, who turns into ridicule all the pious la- bours of our religion. — He calls that a pious labour, does he ! — Yes, furely, fir, and very pious it is ; for they are going to fpend three days, nine perhaps, in praying together. — In praying, foollfla girl ! — Yes, truly, in praying to the good Saint Nicolas I If the good Saint Nicolas will do nothing for her, fhe will next go and implai*-e Saint Fram- bourg ; and if this does not avail, fhe ^ill f^o to Val d'Ombre, to kifs fix ( ) times a day the n:!iraculous foot of St. Maria do Bon-Recours ; and it is ftrange indeed if all thcfc faints together do not grant her a pretty little infant. M. D Eranville had at firft felt fomc flight emotions of jealouf}\ He was afTured of his wife's virtue ; but he feared the religious wiles of the old hy- pocrite, who was the direc^lor of her confclence, and he would not have been able to conceal his anger; but w^hen he heard Victoria fpeak of Saint Nico- las, Saint Frambourg, and Saint Maria de Bon-Recours, of all thofe fuperfti- tious praftices which the monks palm upon women who would become mo- thers, he grew calm, and could not forbear fmiling at her narration. So this is the whole myftery, faid he ; and you, filly girl ! to be afraid to confide to me this extravagant whim of your miilrefs ! Come, this is nothing but a i3 5 ( 10 ) flight fit of devotion, which I will pre- fently recover her from. Tell me, did flie depart this morning for Saint Nico- las ? — Yes, fir, for that church which you may recolledl is in the neighbour- ing village of Orneval. — And why did flie not fufFer any one to accompany her ? — Father Idulphus reprefented to her that her pilgrimage ought to per- formed alone, and with the greatcft humility. — Ah ! very good : father I- dulphus loves a tete-a-tcte ! Viftorla^ tell Picard to put the horfes to the car- riage : you and I will fet out prefcntly for Orneval. — Sir, my miftrcfs will be very angry with me. — No, no; you fliall tell her— My ftars ! you Ihall tell her you alfo have a pilgrimage to make to Saint Nicolas. — O fir ! my hufband Picard and I have no need of the Saints of Paradlfe : we have been married but four years, and, Heaven be praifed. ( n ) here am I pregnant with my third child, without any afliftance either from Saint Nicolas, or the reverend father Idulphus. D'Eranville fmiled at the good wo- man's ingenuoufnefs, and prefently af- ter afcended the carriage with her. Hav- ing reached the village of Orneval, D' Eranville inftantly repaired to the church, where mafs was performing. In a chapel on the left there was a large coloured ftatue reprefenting Saint Nicolas. At his feet was an enormous brazen urn, filled with offerings of va- rious kinds, and around the chapel were kneeling twelve young women, who feemed to vie with each other in love- linefs. D'Eranville prefently diftin- guiflied his wife among them, who blufh^d on obferving him. — My friend, faid flic, addreffmg him with timiditv, pardon me for not having apprifcd you B G ( 12 ) of my defign. I feared your cenfure, your objeftions, your abfolute refufal to permit my undertaking a holy pilgri- mage, in which I have the utmoft con- fidence. — Rofalia, this is the firfl: time you ever concealed your defigns from me: tell me where is the father Idul- phus? — At the parfonage houfe, my friend. — Ah ! at the parfonag* : I hope then he will remain there, and that you will return inftantly with me. — My friend, fuffer me to continue my devotions. You ardently wifh to be a father : an infant would alfo be the de- light of my exiftence : we furely fliould negle<3: no means to procure fuch fu- preme happinefs. Who knows if Hea- ven, if the good Saint Nicolas . . . . — Have done with the good Saint Ni- colas, Rofalia, and obey your huf- band. — D'Eranville, you have ne- ver yet refufed me what I aiked : do not now begin to grieve me. ( 13 ) Here Is room be fide me ; let us pray to- gether ; and be aflured that the pious devotion of two hearts cannot but be agreeable to the holy faint whom you fee other women are invoking, as well as myfelf. — Ridiculous bigotry ! — Ah ! D'EranvIlle, why fuch Impiety ! If you knew what grief it gives me to fee it ! it is the only fault I know in you. Rofalla fhed tears : her hufband ob- ferved them, and no longer felt any re- folution to oppofe her defigns. He e- ven carried his complalfance fo far as to mutter over a fhort prayer to Saint Nicolas : and Rofalla teftlfying her wifhes to perform a nine days' devotion at the Saint's feet, he confented to re- main with her at Orneval during her religious fervour : but he determined to watch Rofalia ftriftly, and to keep from her prefence the fuperftitious monk : meanwhile he amufed himfelf ( 14 ) with the chace along with a few friends, as well as with the pleafures of the ta- ble, and thofe derived from rural ex- curfions. On his return to his eftate with Ro- falia, D'Eranville, who ardently wifhed to banifli from his manfion every fpecies of monks, and who yet feared by fuch proceedure to alienate his wife's affec- tions, found very a-propos a method of carrying his defign into execution,. by taking his wife along with him on ajourney which, it was probable, would entirely diveft her mind from religious reveries^ { 15 ) CHAPTER II. Behold Jeannette ! D'Eranville was thirty-one years of age, his wife twenty-nine. They had been married eleven years, and ftill loved each other as ardently as on their wedding-day. It was not Indeed fur- prifing that D'Eranville fliould feel for his fpoufe fuch warmth of affeftion, as this amiable woman certainly deferved it. And as to the foible which marked her charadler ; born, if we may thus exprefs ourfelves, with her, ftrength- ened from her infancy by the precepts and example of her mother, it could not but increafe with the years of Ro- falla : befides fhe had nothing elfe to occupy her attention, no children to attract her love and fenfibility ; the na- ( 16 ) tural energy of the human mind muft ever be engaged on fomething; and devotion, for a woman who has nothnig elfe to do, is furely the moil excufeable purfuit; it was then but occafionab and always excited by the hope of be- coming a mother, of obtaining from Heaven what nature had refufed her. Setting afide this wifli which fo often fixed her at the foot of altars, fhe was a fecial and benevolent w^oman, and poffefTed alfo extreme fenfibiiity. Such virtues ought furely to counterballance fq flight a fault; and D'Eranville was too enthufiaftic an admirer of his wife's perfedions, to render her or himfelf un- cafy, by making that for ever a fabjecft of complaint, on which he had already frequently fpoken to her. On his return then to Abbeville, af- ter the pilgrimage to Saint Nicolas^ D'Eranville found the following letter addrefled to him : ( 17 ) ''MY DEAR NEPHEW, ParJs. " I am, as you well know, your v/i:b's uncle, and I cannot forget in thefe fear- ful moments, my fitter's child, the ami- able Rofalia, whom I have always loved, thous^h it is Ions; fince I faw her. Now learn all my misfortunes: A cruel and dreadful epidemic complaint, has ex- tended its ravages through my ill-fated family ; I had but two children, the fmall pox has robbed me of them both, already blooming in years and hopes. — This fatal difeafe has now attacked me, at leaft I fear fo. 1 am alone, and perhaps fhall foon terminate my mortal career. — Come to me, my dear relatives, my children now; yes, the only chil- dren which remain to m.e ; come and clofe the eyes of an uncle, an unfortu- nate father; and if you lofe him, may his gifts imprefs forever on your hearts his memory and his name. '' Francis Durand.'' ( 18 ) This letter coft the feeling Rofalia many tears, though like had not fccn her uncle for more than twenty years. D'Eranville was undoubtedly affeded at the misfortunes of the Durand fami- ly ; but he was a man, and the profpedl of increafed riches foothed his grief. Though already rich, he could not re- colleft, without exultation, that if fate fnatched M. Durand from the world, his fortune would be augmented by a rental of more than forty thoufand li- vres. This idea made his heart fmile, and, muft we confcfs it ? drowned his> fenfibility. He inftantly prepared to- depart; and in a few days, D'Eranville having configned his eftate to the di- rcdlion of a fteward, fat off with his wife, Vi6loria, and her hufband Picard, who made the carriage almoft fly to- Paris. There, D'Eranville alighted dX' the houfe.of a friend, M. de BricevaU ( 10 ) w ho pofleiTcd a noble manfion, together with a charming garden in the fuburbs, Briceval gave the moft flattering recep- tion to D'Eranville and Rofalia ; and the fame day repaired to their uncle's, whom they found almoft at the laft ex- tremity. This old man, now a ftranger in the world, w^as given over to mer- cenaries, who beftovv-ed on him only the attention their interefts demanded. As foon, however, as he learnt that his niece and nephew were arrived, here- covered ftrcngth to embrace them, and to make a will in their favour. A few hours after, he expired. D'Eranville's whole attention was abforbed in the thought of his fucceffion to the pro- perty, while the good Rofalia was con- fidcring, with Vidoria, the number of mafles which would be required, in her opinion, for the repofe of the foul of the dcccafed. ( 20 ) All things, however, by degrees were arranged ; and the ftay at Paris having uncommonly gratified D'Eranville, he formed adefign of fettling there, Vvhich his wife did not obje61: to. He accord- ingly hired a fuperb hotel, very near thatof his friend Briceval, and, having next engaged a fulte of fervants, he cftabliflied a houfehold for himfelf, as well as one for his lady ; ail this was done without pride or prodigality, but in a good tafte, and fucb as his fortune admitted of. Their being fo near the refidence of Biiccval was a circumftance which pleafed our virtuous couple ex- tremely : he w^as a man whofc friend- fliip might be relied on, but of a me- lancholy temper, and one who had ex- perienced misfortunes. Thefe misfor- tunes he had never revealed to any one, not even to D'Eranville or Rofalia, wlio were his moft intimate friends. Bricc- ( 2] ) val had fworn they fhould be buried with him in his grave ; and he Hved in retirement, folelj oecupicd with the education of a fon, now five years old, and who was the only fruit of an un- happy marriage. Briceval was not more than forty years of age; handfome and well-made; he combined with a lively wit, a ftroiig underftanding, and, above all, a ftrifl probity and juilice. His word of ho- nour once given, nothing could make him depart from it. He was candid, fmcere, generous, and feeling, and ex- hibited an uncommon delicacy of mind under every circumftance. Briceval, in fhort, was a friend worthy of the cftimable D'Eranville. Our good couple, on their fide, ac- cuftomcd to a fedcntary and quiet life, faw only Briceval, and feldom left their own manfion. After a year's refidence ( 22 ) in the fuburbs of Saint Germain, they were ftill unacquainted with the other parts of Paris ; and when they wxnt to the Theatre, which was but feldom, it was in their own carriage, and they re- turned in it without flopping any w^here on the way. Thus they lived happy in the bofom of friendfhlp and ODulence, derived from their own con- fiderable Inheritance, as well as that which their uncle Durand had left them, Neverthelefs they could not recon- cile their minds to the want of children, and their fortune being now more than doubled, increafed their regret at hav- ing no one to inherit it. Their having been married twelve years did not tend to leflen their fears ; D'Eramille had renounced the hope of being a father, Rofalla had likewife found that her prayers, to all the faints of Paradife, were of no avail in procuring to her a ( 23 ) mother's joys. They therefore thought it beft to fubmit patiently to their lot, even to admit motives for confolation, and to congratulate themfelvesin being freed from the embarraffments, the cares and anxieties, which a being ever caufes who owes its exiftence to our- felves ; for it is thus mankind reafons in like cafes. Njsverthelefs when Rofalia beheld a woman in indigent circumftances en- circled by two, four, or even eight children, the fruits of hymen^ whom their mother could hardly I'upport, (he could not forbear exclaiming in her devotional language : O God ! why givefl: thou fo many children to thofe to whom thou doft not fend the means of providing for them ? Why doft thou fend into the world fo many unhappy beings, when I afk only for one who would be fo happy, fo fortunate, fo ten- derly beloved ! ( 24 ) She was unhappy, and could not con- template without envy the felicity of other mothers ; but when deftrucftive complaints deprived thefe mothers of their offspring, Rofalia confoled her- feir for not having any, fmce fhe felt that the lofs of a beloved child would coft her her life. One day, Rofalia exprefleda wifli to her hufband to vifit fome of the princi- pal edifices of Paris. She had heard of the church of Notre-Dame, of its high turrets^ and the admirable mafter-pieces of art it contained. She wiflied to begin her refearches with this ancient cathedral, which feemed to accord with her tafle, and excited her curiofity moil. D'Eranville confented ; and, to increafe their fatisfaclion, Briceval requefled alfo to be of the party. They joyfully agreed to it, and all three afcended the carriage. The awful appearance of this ( 25 y Gothic building already charms the aftanillied eyes of Rofalla : llie enters, and the coloflal ftatue of Saint Chrillo- pher (which has fince been deftroyed) engages all her attention. Her pious foul was next attracted to the choir of the church, and fhe kneels to utter a Ihort prayer, while D*Eranville and Briceval are examining an equeftrian ftatue of Philip the fair. A d.eep filence reigns through the awful pile, where only a few devotees w^ere meditating. Suddenly Rofalia is furprifed by thefe words loudly pronounced by an in- fantine voice : " Pray remember, the poor little foundlings, who will ever implore the good God for your happinefs.*' Rofalia returns, and addrefles her liufband : My friend, fald fhe to him, what does that mean ? Did you hear it? The fame cry is repeated. Briceval VOL. I, c ( 26 ) approaches : They are, madam, the lit- tle foundilngs, who are brought up at the expence of government, and who alt affiftance of charitable fouls. — Where are they? — Yonder; follow me; did you not obferve them on entering the church ? Rcfalia, furprifed, as all ftrangers are when entering a very large cathedral, had not indeed obferved a kind of recefs in which a Nun w as reading, furrounded by.feven or eight little children. Rofalia approaches them : What lovely crea- tures they are ! exclaimed fhe. *' Good lady, forget not the poor little foundlings, who will ever pray for your happuiefs." Oh no, no, exclaimed Rofalia, I will not forget you, charming interefting children, whofe very countenances have aifedled me even to tears ! Here, take, take ! She opens her purfc, and fpreads its ( 27 ) contents before thefc lovely children, who, with a feriousair, go and carry it all to their i'emiile guardian. Happy age ! continued Rofalia; intcreft fpeaks not in their young hearts ; they coolly take the gold that is prefented them ; a day will come when they will attempt every thing to gain it, they will know its value ; at prefent I doubt not, this will pleafe them much better. Rofalia drew from her pocket a cake. Each greedy eye was fixed on the pre- cious dainty : fhe divides it, and their little hands are ftretched out to her on every fide. Rofalia difpenfes her favours equally to all, and the fmile of pleafure plap on the rofy lips of her amiable little guefts. Rofalia has emptied her pockets, when Ihe per- ceives with fome chagrin a little one who had remained behind mute and penfive, without having dared to C 2 ( 28 ) fliew herfcif or to come forward. Pooj little creature ! faid Rofalia, I have overlooked you, and unluckily have nothing left: but why did not you come forward as your companions did. The child bluihcd, and her bright .eyes were fixed forrow fully on the earth. You blulh, my young friend ; continued Rofalia : I have given you pain, and am forry for it ; but fta}', I will go and buy fomethlng for you ; you ftiall not lofe by it. The child now went up to Rofalia, held her by the hand, and faid to her : No, madam, I do not want any thing— What ! arc you not fond of fuch dain- ties? — Yes, madam. — Well? — But my companions are fonder of them than I. — And what then ? — I am very glad that they have had them all to them- felves. — Generous-hearted child ! look up : what a charming countenance ! ( 20 ) what is your name ? — Jeannette, Madam. — Jeannette ? ah ! you are a little girl then ! And your father ? — I have no father, Madam : our fa- thers, our mothers have abandoned us: we are the children of God. — Poor innocents, you affccSl me even unto tears . . . . ! The barbarous wretches ? mothers, and abandon their offspring ! and I, I am not a mother ! — O God ! O God ! — God will not abandon us ; he is the fiither of us all. — Lovely being ! yes, God is the common fource of all that exifts. He has taken you under his proteclion ! — We pray only to him, and love him as fincerely as our good mothers of the convent. — What facility of expreffion ! How old is this little girl? — Four years, replied the guar- dian filler. — Four years only ! fo young, and yet fo fenilble ! Her little rcafon- ings charm me. Jeannette, come, oh, c 3 ( 30 ) come, let me embrace thee, let me beftow on thee thofe tender attentions which thy fate and good fenfe deferve ! Madame D'Eranville embraces the child, who receives her careiTes with 'gratitude and afFedion. CHAPTER III, Adoption. Behold, my friend, faid Rofalia to her hufband, if we had fuch a child — ! D'Eranville embraced alfo the little Jeannette, who, from his arms, pre- fently pafled into thofe of the feeling Briceval. During this time Rofalia addreffes thus the guardian fifter : O my fifter ! all thefe children are charm -^ ing, without doubt ; but fhe who in- ( 31 ) terefts me moft is the little Jeannettc ; and you fay that flic is but four years old ? Perhaps, Madam, a month or two more. And are you not all fond of this child. — Yes surely, Madam ; my fiftcrs love her the moft : and even our eo- vernors, when they come to the con- vent, always enquire firft for her. — It IS a child of misfortune, I prefume. — Or of indigence : we know not which. She was brought hither by a perfon who had found her in the path -way. — In a path-w^ay ! merciful heaven ! to cxpofe a feeble new born infant to wounds, to the heedlefs fteps of the paffenger ! And v/as there nothing about her w^iich could lead to a difco- vcry ? — None : the poor little creature was abfolutely naked. Not a fmgle covering, madam, and this was in the fevereft feafon of the year. A paper was found folded up by her fide ; but it c I ( 32 ) corxtained nothing — O cruel mother !' vinfeehng woman ! thus to abandon your child, thou waft more ferocious than the lion, or the panther ! huma- nity muft fnudder at thee \ What a lofs too is fuch a child ! for reafon already has outftripped her years. — True, madam, never did a child difplay more fenfe, more gentlenefs. She is a jewel indeed to thofe who poffcfs her, and will never want ; for flie is beloved by every body : I am fure if fome noble lady fhould be inclined to adopt her, and thus deprive us of her, as indeed ladies daily do afk children of us, our fupcriors would with great diffi<:ulty be induced to part with her. — What fay you ? May we then in your afy- lum — Yes, madam, it is very frequently done. Wealthy people, who have no family, come to this receptacle for foundlings, and children are confided ( 33 ) to them, \vhcn it is known they will 1 e ^vcll provided for ; but as to Jeannette I think they need not give themfch cs the trouble to afk for her. — Ah, filler, but it is Jeannette particularly, that I ihould wifli for. Tell me. My friend, Monfieur D'Eranville, liftcn to mc ? Have you heard what the governefs has juft told me ? married people who ha^ e no children may be bleffed in fpite of na- ture, bv taking under their protection one of thcic foundlings ! — I know it, Rofalia. — And yet you never told m.e of it ? Look on Jeannette, you feem to embrace her with tendernefs; I am furc ilie pleafesyou. O my friend ! give her then to me; indulge me with fo i elicd a gift. Then fhall I no longer Irment my fate, I fhall no more hefecch of Heaven a child ; from this moment I fhall fancy myfelf a mother, and will difcharge the duties it impofes. — c 5 ( 34 ) D'Eranville, ftruck with this fudden defire, perceived indiftinftly many ad- vantages which would refult from it on giving his confent. He was alfo fond of children ; and Jeannette who was prattling with him, while his wife was cn^asfed in converfation with the iifler, had already captivated his heart, his affeftions. Yes, my beloved partner, replied he to his wafe ; yes, I do con- lent to it : bring up Jeannette; educate her as your daughter, as mine : if you are a kind mother, I fliall alfo be a kind father, and we fhall together form the happinefs of this child. Omy dear hufbandl exclaimed Ma- dame D'Eranville, throwing her arms round her hufband's neck : Briceval, a witnefs of this fcene, flied tears of tendernefs, and the fifter murmured, though in a low tone of voice, as flic perceived their intention of depriving ( 35 ) lier of her heft beloved child. Ma- dame D'Eranville again took up Jean- ncttc in her arms : My little girl, faid Ihe to her, would you not be very glad if I was to become a mother to you ? — The child, fomewhat embarafied, look- ed down. — Anfwer mc now, my love ? continued Rofalia. — The child at length replied with hefitation; Madam, if you defirc it, I iliould ever be very good, very obedient ! . . . . — Oh, is that the cafe ! exclaimed the filler : then flic has taken a great fancy to my lady, for her to confent fo fpecdily to fuch a propofal ! This is the firfl time ihe has ever exprcffed herfelf thus; for, to all the ladies who have put to her the fame queftion, flie has ever anfwer- ed, No ; I would rather be the child of God and our jrood mothers. TbekiiTes of our friends were ae;aia impreifed on the rofy checks of Jeaii- c ( 30 ) nette. The fifter refumed her dlf- courfe ; But, madam, I doubt whether you will obtain her eafdy of our fuperiors, unlefs my lady is of high birth and poffefled of great wealth ! — O iifter, replied Rofalia, on thcfe points, I truft I can give perfed: fatisfadilon ; but if 1 underftand you right, this child is given over entirely to me, and your houfe can have no farther power over her. — Never, interrupted Briceval ; it is the cuftom when the perfons to whom they are committed are known. She will be yours ; neither father, nor mo- ther, nor any fuperlor whatever can have the power of reclaiming her! — What a happinefs, my* friend ! exclaimed Madame D'Eranville, I am now about to enjoy the bleffing of a child ! After a union of twelve years, I think we ought to renounce the hope of giving birth to a being who fhouldbear our name: but ( 37 ) ftlll you (hall be a father, I a mother, D'Eranvllle, and we will endow at Icall one human being with happinefs. But I am impatient, my friend : this bu- finefs muft not be retarded a moment ; it muft be accomplifhed immediately : may we not take her away now in oui? carriage ? Briceval fmiled ; the fifter ftarted ob- jections ; but Briceval removed them ; he was acquainted with the cuftoms of Paris ; he repaired inftantly with his friends to the fuperiors of the convent for foundlings; there D'Eranville made himfelf known, gave in teftimonials of his rank and fortune, and the child is given up to him by the governors, to the great regret of the fitters, w^ho fhed tears on the departure of their little girl, for thus they ufed to call her. D'Eranvllle figned the refignation which was offered him : they gave him ( 38 ) the neceffary papers, efpeclally that which was found near the abandoned child ; and our friends depart with Jeannette, accompanied however by the guardian fifter, who requefts as a favour to fee the afylum which her pre- cious jewel is henceforth to occupy. All are weeping with joy and tender- nefs : the child alone appears calm, tranquil, cold, even amidft thefe gene- ral effufions of love. The fifters are almofl: inclined to accufe her of ingra^ titude ; but, in reading her expreffive eyes, one might rather have remarked a kind of prefentiment, which, even at this tender age, announced to her the happinefs this change of condition would afford her at a future period. Jeannette having embraced all her good friends, not forgetting her little companions, her new benefactors have already brought her back with them to ( 39 ) the church of Notre-Dame : there on the fteps of the Virgin's Chapel, Rofaha, raifing her up in her arms with her eyes towards Heaven, thus exclaimed : ^* Eternal Being, thou who, until now, hath refufed me the bleffings of mater- nity, pardon me, if 1 have dared to evade thy immutable decrees, in adopt- ing this child of misfortune, this vidlim of the cruelty of man ! I dedicate her to thee, holy Virgin, till her feventh year ! Watch with me over this in- nocent creature, and may thy mercy preferve her for the happinefs I am preparing for her, to enjoy the fortune thy benevolence has granted me, and •which I fhall one day leave her ! permit me, O God, to become a mother, in rearing this amiable child, and may her tenderncfs repay mc for the cares I fliall have beftowed on her abandoned youth." Madame D'Eranville no doubt added C 40 ) m alow tone of voice fome dominical ora- tion or other ; for fhe was muttering for along time between her teeth, and M. D'Eranville could not forbear fmiling, as well as his friend, not only at her mental prayer, but alfo at that in which flie had devoted Jeannette to the holy Virgin, that is to fay, to white clothing* until her feventh year. Moreover this generous occupation would caufe an efFetSual diverfion to the idle and fu- perftitious practices in which Rofalia, having nothing better to do, had hitherto abforbed fo much of her time : D'Eran- ville at leafl: hoped fo, and we ihall fee, by the end, that his expecSlations were not deceived. Madame D'Eranville having finifhed all her prayers, afcended again into the carriage with her hufband, Briceval, and the fifter Emilia. Rofalia placed the child in her lap, and gave herfelf ( -Jl ) up withovit rcftraint to the tranfports of her joy, on beholding in her power ih lovely a creature. Arrived at the hotel, our friends in- troduced the fifter Emilia into a fuperb faloon, and the good girl could hardly examine fufficicntly w ith her eyes all the beauties it difelafed. Victoria was inftantly difpatched ta purchafe a dreis for Jeannctte, until fome could be made expreflly for her : during the abfence of Vidoria the amiable pair and their friend amufed themfelves with the child's prattle ; and the fifter Emiha, tranfported with the magnificent ap- pearance of the manfion, could not help exclaiming every moment : Poor Jean- nette ! what a fortunate girl ! Now indeed fhe will be happy. This morning, I felt an unwillingnefs to bring her to Notre-Dame ; it feemed I had a prefcntiment that I Ihould loofe ( 42 ) ncr ! Well, well, it is all for her good ! Oh ! how well will ihc be provided for ? but ihe furely will not forget her dear Emilia, who nurfed her^- who loved her fo tenderly ! . . . . Never, never, replied Rofalia : no, fifter, I hope ihe will never forget you : you will come and fee her often, will you not ? — As often as your goodnefs will permit me. — You will dine with her ? — You are very good, madam. — You will behold her increafe in loveli- nefs and virtue ; and you will thus have an opportunity of informing your houfe of the attentions that are beftow- ed on her. — O madam, not on that ac- count; the inftitution has nothing more to demand of you or me. I will how- ever, with your permiflion, often come to fee her, out of friendfliip, and the w^fh of paying my grateful refpeds to, you, madam. ( 43 ) As often as you plcafe, filler : you will be always received here ^vith pleafure. And now each began agaui to kifs and carefs Jeannette, who, in fpite of a timidity very natural ather age, appeared gay and happy, and fcemed not at all cmbaraffcd, or aftoniflied at the change of her condition. On the contrary, {he told little frories ; flie laughed, ca- refled in turns Rofalia, the fitter Emilia, and D'Eranville. As to Briceval, he fcemed to alarm her when he approach- ed her. He had one of thofe ferious phyfiognomies, which freezes children at firft fight, and repreffes the expanfi-. on of thofe lively feelings fo natural to their age. Briceval perceived the pe- culiar coldnefs which the adopted child of his friends fliewed towards him, and very far from taking offence at it, he only fmiled : This, faid he, is the ( 44 ) effecS of new papas on young people ; but, patience, If 1 do not pleafe her, \ I hope ihe will feel more friendfliip for my fon : a boy of fix years old, and a little girl of four, who I dare fay w ill not be long in forming an acquaintance. Victoria returned in the mean vvhile, loaded with dreffes of every defcription; This good' girl virho was very fond of children^afiifted her miftrefs in taking off Jeannette's black robe, her cap, apron^^. and white fleeves. She w^as then cloth- ed in a white linen robe, which feemed highly to gratify her ; her dark frock was reftored to the fifter Emilia, who retired, having firft accepted a prcfent from Rofalia, who made her renew her promife to come now and then to fee her little favourite. The evening terminated in gaiety, and Viftoria was charged with putting the mfant to bed in her own chamber, near ( « ) her, and to take care that no harm ihould happen to her durmg the night. CHAPTER IV. A good Heart difpJayed. The next morning Rofalia, who awoke at an early hour, enquired for the child. Vidloria, whom fhe had rang for, approached her bed, and whifpercd to her : I have already dreff- ed her ; charming madam ! only look at her, fhe is in your chamber; do you fee her ? — Where ? — There, before your large glafs. Rofalia looked, and beheld the little coquette admiring herfelf in the glafs, flrutting before it, turning herfelf, and furveying her fine robe behind, her ( 40 ) fafli, and in fliort giving herfelf all the airs of a little mlftrefs. Rofalia could not reftrain herfelf from laughing aloud. The child, who fancied her ftill afleep, perceived flie had awoke, and flew to her bed fide, exclaiming : Mamma ! — ^Do you call me your mamma, Jean- nette ? Oh ! you are right, you are very right ; I am fuch, and ever will be one to you : but take care of her Victoria. See, flie w^ants to climb on the bed ; bring her to me ; flie will hurt herfelf elfe. Oh, good heavens, flie has fallen ! — No, Ma- dam, fee, flie is in my arms; now flie is in yours ! — Dear child ! how fhe carefles me ! Do you then love me already ? Is it becaufe I have given you a fine robe, a beautiful cap ? Tell me. — No, madam, it is becaufe you em- brace me, and call me your child. — ■ Endearing creature ! — D'Eranville now entered, and was in his turn the objecfl ( 47 ) of Jeannette's careffes. She was then left free to run about, and play In the garden, under the care of Vicfloria. Jeanette's difpofition was decidedly inimical to reftraint and timidity, as foon as fhe became well acquainted with her company. At noon, flie came and aflced for her breakfall. Ereakfaft, replied Vidloria, why you had it already. — True; but I did not eat it: I gave it to the great dog be- low. He was certainly more hungry than I ; for he tried to fnatch my bread away; and I am fure I muft be very hungry indeed before I could do that. Victoria fmiled, gave her frefh break- faft, reproved her gently, telling her that the dog had always plenty of food, and that ilie would give her no more, if file let him eat her breakfafl: again. For feveral days, it was remarked thvit Jeanne ttc eat very greedily at din- ( 48 ) ner : flie was fufpected, and they found out that this good child had always faft- ed until then. Each morning fhe per- fiilcd in giving her breakfaft to the dog, and dared not confefs it for fear of being fcolded : but it quite pained her, faid Ihe, to fee how the poor dog devoured her bread, and could have devoured a great deal more, if it had been given him. All admired the goodnefs of her heart, but Victoria determined for the future Ihe ihould breakfaft with her. Another time, flie returned from the garden very much frightened, and it •yvas obferved that her frock was ftained with blood. The alarm was general : they queftioned her, and learnt from her little jargon, that Petard, being unchained, had endeavoured to carry off one of the hens. Jeannette ran to the fpot on hearing the cries of the ( 49 ) poor bird, the fight of her made Pa- taud leave his intended prey, and the feeling Jeannette had torn her hand- kerchief to bind up the wounds of the poor hen, to whom however flie had undoubtedly done more harm than good. The fiftcr Emily came to fee her a week after her adoption: the child wept with joy on beholding her, and the good girl prefled her to her heart. Madame D'Eranville gave the fifter a kind reception, who made a motion to withdraw foon after breakfaft The child wiflicd to conduft her out unat- tended by any one clfc: they could not guefs her motive for this. Jeannette however had one : it w^as to give to her a great quantity of comfits and other dainties, which flie had refervcd from each repaft. Hold, fiflcr, faid fiic, you will give all thcfe to my young com- VOL. I. D ( so ) panlons, to Jacques, to Louis, to Julien; and pray embrace them, and tell them they come from their old little friend, who is very happy, and will always kindly remember them. See, my friend, faid Madame D'Eran- ville to her hufband, on being inform- ed of this circumftance, fee the pre- caution, fee the frugality of a child of four years old ! what a benevolent heart! I am much deceived if this little girl is ever wanting in gratitude towards us! — 'Tis an interefting little creature, replied M. D'Eranville, and it was a happy day, both for her and ourfelves, which made us acquainted with her: Ihe is our child, Rofalia, and all affurc me that flie will iecl towards us the fentrments of a daughter. They had given her, ibr her play- mates, Victoria's two children, who w^ere nearly of the fame age with her- ( 51 ) felf; but the child w honi (lie loved moft^ whom ihc inceflantly enquired for, in whofe company flie was never tired, was the little Briceval, the fonofher patron's friend. This youth was fix years old; and already poffefTed fenfe and reafon, which accorded perledlly with the charad:er of Jeannette, whofe \\ it, as I have already faid, had got the ftart of her age. Young Briceval came every day to play with Jeannette: never were their paftimes interrupted by cries, tears, or quarrelling; ever good friends ever complying with each other's in- clinations, thefe two amiable children feemed to vie with their elders in deli- cacy and kindnefs. They lliared every thing between them, and the little boy efpecially made it his delight to leave with Jeannette any toys of which fhe feemed to be particularly fond. M. and Madame D'Eranville, as D 2 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY ( 52 ) well as their friend Briceval, obferved with lively fatisfadlion their mutual afFection, and thefe children formed the happinefs of both houfes, to which they alternately reforted. Nothing was now wanting to com- plete the happinefs of Rofalia. De- voting her whole time to the educa- tion of Jeannette, whom fhe loved as her own daughter, fhe fancied herfelf a mother, and difcharged the duties of one. Her religious excefTes appeared daily to decline, and this change gave her hufband uneonimon fatisfkftion. To amufe the child, they took fhort excurfions into the country ; they went to the theatre ; and enmi't was no lon- ger an inmate of the houfe of D'Eran- ville: fports and pleafures were ever purfued; the manfion was now as gay as it was formerly fad. Thus does in- fancy animate all: thu« does the picSure ( ^" ) of innocence enliven the fummcr of life. An un'brefeen circumftiincc however was doomed to caft a fliade of forrovv over thefe fmiUng images of love and peace. Briceval, who ever appeared depreflcd by a grief, of which no one knew the caufe, came one day, his eyes molflened with tears, to announce to his friends that he was about to leave them; — to leave them probably without the hope of ever feeing them again. Roialia and her hufband, fur- prifed at this fudden dv^parture, enquired the caufe of it. He could not, he re- plied, reveal his misfortunes to any one ; they were dreadful, and of fuch a na- ture as muft ever oblige him to con- fine them to his own bofom. He mull leave Paris, and he w^as forced to this ftep to preferve his honour, his life even, and that of his child. His D 3 ( r.i ) child! mufchcgotoo! what a lofs to Jeannette, who in the cour/c of one vcar, had grown fo attached to her lit- tle hufbancU ibr thus he was called! Briceval tore himldf with diiBculty from the arms of his friends, who re- fpecled too much his fecrets to prefs him to difclofe them againft his in- clination. Briceval promifed to WTitc often to them; but he did not fay whither he was going, nor on what bufmefs. He had fold his houfe and all his property in Paris, before his in* terview with them; he afccnded the carriasce with his fon, and left them ihcdding tears of regret and fenfi- bility. What a melancholy feparation to the benefactors of Jcannette! Jeannette is now informed that flie will not fee her little friend agam for a long time. She weeps; flie laments; and her grief ( 55 ) augments that of her patrons, who re- turn into the laloon fad, pcniivc, and as Iblitary as if a dreadful precipice had fuddcnly been formed around them. To behold no more their friend Bricc- val, whofe wit, whofe fenfibility, and good fenfe fo agreeably accorded with their difpofitions! This dear frit^nd, -who has ever placed the utmoft con- fidence in them, and yet he has fecrets to hide from them! and thofe fe- crets too of fuch a nature as to com- promlfe his honour, and even his life! what mufi: this w^orthy man have fuffcred ii*om his fellow - creatures! who are the barbarians who have per- fecutcd him fi:il{!....But let us, for the prefcnt, draw a veil over this myllery, which we may clear up perhaps at a future day, and return to M. and Madame D'Eranville and their amiable adopted daughter. D 4 ( 50 ) Jcannette was long incanfolable for the lols of young Briccval: ihe became melancholy, ferlous, and from this time it was remarked that flie abandoned her play-things, trifles which fo gratify children of her age: and, as if reafon had already made her perceive the utility of knowledge, Ihe gave herfelf up to the ftudy of reading, writing, dancing even, and the piano, which Rofalia, who could play very well, began to teach her. Although her little fingers could hardly reach the ftops; yet Ihe learned with tafle and lacility. When fhe was fix years old flie was a favourite with every one; her benefadlors fpoke of her in public with rapture and even pride. In com- pany, where flie formed the very charm, they caufed her alternately to read, to fmg, to dance, and alfo to play on the piano fimple airs: in fhort, flie was de- ( ^'7 ) fervedly the object of all the praife and afFcdion of her benefadors. Alas! Jeannette, this flattering fcene is about to change ; and, although ih young, )'ou will foon experience the cffe<^t of mankind's caprice, and your own deftiny. D 5 ( 58 ) CHAPTER V. ^ good Example for many Wives, Six months after the departure of Brlceval, D'EranA^llle, returnuig one evening from a country houfe which he had bought near Paris, was fur- prifed on entering his \vi e's apart- ment, to fee her fly tov.ards and em- brace him with more than common efFufion of love and fondnefs. V/hat is the matter, Rofaha? faid he to her; whence arifes this excefs of joy? Have you hpard of our friend, who has neg- lected to write to us notv^ ithftanding his promlfe ? You have certainly fome good news to communicate. — Oh ! yes, the belt of news, my friend, the moft ( 50 ) welcome ! Behold the caprice of fate ! Who would hase thought it? Who would have believed it? — But, explain, my Rofalia, for really your joy fcems to have turned your brain. — Oh ! won- der not at it, fuch tidings as I have to announce are almoft enough to turn anv one's brain After an uniou ot fourteen years, when we dcfpalrcd of ever obtaining a pledge of our love — What do I hear ? arc you then preg- nant ? — Yes, my friend, that is the Ic- cret ; I am, and have been fo for n^orc than three months ; I am certain o- it. I fhall foon be a mother D'Eranvillc ! You will be a father! Conceive all 'nc happinefs of our deftiny ! — O my Ro- falia ! you are about to become more dear to me than ever ! This then is the invaluable being after which wc have fo long fighed ! and it comes ai-- ter fourteen years ! How fickle is D ( 60 ) nature, yet how much gratitude do we owe her ! But this adopted child, the Httle Jeannette ! Ir we could have forefeen ! Well, my friend! fhall we not keep her ? is fhe not fuffi- ciently interefting to flaare our love with our child ? D'Eranville, it would be inhuman to abandon this little un- fortunate being, or to abate any thing of our kindnefs towards her. She muft be brought up as our own child.... To be furc ; flie will not inherit our wealth ; but we can leave her a part of it, can we not ? We will fee her mar- ried, we will alfo give her a portion and we ought to remember that it was perhaps the good deed of her adoption that has infured us this favour from Heaven : yes, I have an idea that God has rewarded us with this bleffing in return for the benefit we have afford- e;d a poor orphan. ( 61 ) D'Eranvllle anfwered with a fmlle : If God has thus rewarded us, my good friend, he has not in doing fo, liftened to the interefts of his Httle protegee ; for once a father and mother who knows if our tendernefs and benevo- lence may not diminilh for this poor child. — What, fay you, D'Eranville ? think you that my heart Oh ! an- fwer for mine as I would for your's ! Jeannclte wi!l be happy, and this event will influence but very little her Situa- tion here.. But let us difmifs thcfe thoughts of the future, and think only of our prefent happinefs. I fhall be a mother, O my friend !....! fhall nourifh the infant at my breaft : be afTured it fhall never leave me; this late, but wel- come prefent. If it fhould be a boy, Jeannette will feel lefs the diflind:ion between herfeif and my child, and we fhall fancy we have two children, a ( 62 ) boy and a girl ! It will be a boy, my friend ; I have a happy prefentlment of it. — Whatever it be, it will be very dear to us, my Rofalia, will it not ? — Oh yes, yes, my dear D'Eranville ! From this moment, Roialia thought herfelf the happieft of women Her features, dli played the joy of her mind; her health which had for fome time been but indifferent was reftorcd, and Ihe immediately occupied herfcL with forming a beautiful and fuperb ward- robe for the expectant heir. Poor Jeannette ! you already begin to per- ceive the change your fate is about to experience. Fewer leffons on the pia- no, fewer praifes, fewer carefles ! but more reproofs and lefs notice taken of thee than formerly. Poor Jeannette L -without gueffing what all this means,^ thou fometimes figheft, and thy fenfi- bility often makes thee Ihed tears, the ( 63 ) firft your benefadlors ever caufed to flow from thine eyes ! but, fubmiffive, docile, and grateful, you complain to no one, not even to filter Emily, who comes now and then to afk you if you are ftill happy and content ! — Yes, yes, you reply, and, wirhout difclolnig the didates of your beur^, fiy to embrace your adopted mother, who ftill feels fome aiTedion for you but who, per- haps, foon Let us however purfue our ftory. At the ufual period Madame D'E- ranvillc, whom her hufband, from ex- cefs Oi tenderncls, had almoft made a prifoncr of, left any accident fliould happen to her, brought into the world — not a boy, as flie hoped, but a fine little girl, whom they named Cecilia. I fliall not defcribe the feftivities that took place in confequence of this event, nor the rapturous joys of the father and ( 64 ) mother ; it will be enough to remark that Jcannette had no fhare in thefe pleafures, and that while they lafted Ihe was hardly once thought of. She was now fix years old, and already was able to rcflecS ; but too good to complain, too grateful to notice even the coidnefs with which fiie was treat- ed, flie rejoiced with the reft, at an event which feemed to give fuch joy to her benefadors. The fifter Emily, who came to fee her at this critical time, felt the injury Cecilia's birth would do to her little favourite, and retired, forrowfully fliaking her head. I fliall pafs rapidly over the firft years of Cecilia's life : her mother fuckled her, and it was perceived that this oc- cupation, as well as the ftrong fenti- ment of maternal tendernefs infenfibly detached Madame D'Eranville from Jeannette. Not only were her talents ( 65 ) ncglc her daughter's departure for the coun- try. As to Jeannette, the friend of peace and folitude, Hie was not forry to quit the metropolis. In this hour of trouble Paris was lined with bat- talions: each morning the found of the F 4 ( 104 ) drum awoke the inhabitants, and the Parifians dreamt but of war and mili- tary evolutions. Jcannette returned to the fiieep-iold in the hopes of again enjoying tranquillity. Young Richard was expecting her return with the moft lively impatience; he loved Jcan- nette, and knew that it was on his ac- count that Madame D'Eranville had fent for her to Paris. Jeannette knocked at the door of the farm-houfe; father Richard came to open it: Who is it, father? exclaim- ed the young man, who was bufy at fomc work in the farm. — Richard, re- plied the father, run, come directly ; it is Mademoifelle Jeannette returned from Paris. Well, Mademoifelle, how do you do ? how are all the fapiily at Paris? what is the news? is all quiet there ? „ The multifarious queftions of father ( ro5 ) Richard were prefently interrupted by the arrival of his fon, who came to affift Jcannctte in bringing into the houfe fome parcels which were in the carriage. Jcannette replied, Imiling to the father, that the family were well, but as to the reft fhe knew but little: (lie now followed young Richard, who, pale and trembling, is conveying tii^c feverai parcels to Jeannette's apart-- ment. There, alone with her, he re- mains ftanding; his hands crofled on. his breaft*, in the filent attitude of ^' man who is awaiting good or bad news. Jeannette looks at him; ob- ferves his embarraflment, at which ftie is much affected, and remains filentu Young Richard at length broke the. ice: Mademoifelle, faid he, with a; forced fmile, how does our good mif-?- trefs? — Very well, Richard. — And.-.,., our good mafter ? — He is very wxU too, . ( loG ) •— And....Mademoifelle Cecilia ? — Oh ! !^ all are in good health. — Ah ! I am then .the only one who is ill ! — You, Richard) jand what ails you? — ^You may well afk, Mademoifelle Jeannette, when you re- gard me with that cold and frozen air, enough to kill me ! — I ! methinks, Richard, I regard you as I ufually do.-^— And 'tis that which gives me pain. Have they not fpoken to you of me> cruel girl !....Sq you are ftill filent ?— *- Pardon me, Richard, they have fpoken to me of you, they tell me that yoU have done me the honour to.... look on me with efteem. — They have told you truly ; but that is what all the world feels for you: everybody efteems you; and I do more, I love you. — You love me? Ah, Richard! why has your affection been fo mif-placed ? — You do not love me in return then ? — It is im- poffible for any one to hate you ; but ( 107 ) — Well, Mademoifellc. — i Love and marriage are far from my heart and wiflies. — Indeed? — Here, Richard, read this letter which Madame D'Eranville has fent you. — Ah ! what news does it bring me ? Richard took the letter: he opened it with trembling hands, and read it, at intervals breaking off, in the- following manner : J^: ** I promifed you, Richard, to fpe a word for you to Jeannette." : Yes, indeed, fhe did promife it with* the utmoft willingness. ... ' ** I have done it, and offered heir: your hand, affuring her that you loved, her'' .... "That I adored her! is wl^iatihe oughts to have faid. : '* She has liftened to me. with at-- tentlon'*. ... With attention ! good,: let us pro^ ceed. F.G. ( 108 ) '* She has liftened to me with atten- tion, and has thanked me with expref- fions of the deepeft gratitude ; but. . . ." Ah ! there is the fatal but ! ** But I am forry to inforn[> you, my poor boy, that fhe refufes you". . . . She refufes me ! I need not read any further, Richard put the letter in his pocket, and was going to withdraw : Jeannette flopped him, and begged him to finifli the letter. You will fee, faid flie, my motives.... — The motives for vour re- fufal, Mademoifelle ? Ah ! however powerful they may be, your cruelty will kill me. Richard wiped away a few tears which fell from his eyes : he then opened the letter, and continued: '' Let her refufe you !....lhe feels the warmeft efteem for you : Ihe duly ap- .preciates the honour you have done ( 109 ) her : (he llirugged up his ihoulders,) I can alfo fully affure you her heart is not engaged to another.'* Is that true ? Dare I believe it ? ** But Ihe renounces marriage, love, all thofe afFedions of the heart, to pre- ferve one only, that of cherilliing us until death ; that of devoting to us her exlilence ! Think, therefore, no more of it, my good Richard, but give up your defigns on Jeannette, and to- con- fole you for her lofs".... To confole me ! and does Madame think fuch a misfortune fo eafily ad- mits of confolation? Let us fee, how- ever, by what means fhe intends to confole me !.... '* To confole you for your lofs, I will give you in marriage one of tny god- daughters, an amiable and handfome girl, I will double the portion I pro- mifed you with Jeannettc. Rosalia D'Eranville." C no ) A fine oiFer truly ! Are allMadameV'' gad-daughters put together worth you> Mademoifelle ? Can all the portions in the world prevent me loving one {o amiable as you ? Oh God ! what an unhappy creature am I! w^fT-r ^^^ Jeannette endeavoured to foothe the grief of this poor lad ; but fhe found it in vain: Richard left the apartment haftily ; and the next morning they learnt he had enlifted into a company of chafleurs, which had juft fet out, and taken him with them. His old father was inconfolable at his ralh departure, and Jeannette was not much lefs af- flicted. She accufed herfelf, as being the caufe of this rafh ad:, and even re- gretted that (he did not confent to make this young man happy, by whom Ihe was fo tenderly beloved. This event excited a grief which encreafcd ( HI ) her natural melancholy ; and if it had not been for the kind fricndfhip of fiftcr Emily, who by ftealth came occa- fionally to fee her, fhe could have paff* - cd the remainder of the winter in fuch fadnefs that her health might have been eventually injured. Towards the month of March, 1 790, Jeannette was fent for to Paris to fee ; Madame D'Eranville, who beftowed on her frefli proofs of kindnefs, and affection. Adverfities began to weigh heavy on this famil), whom plunderers, concealed under the appearance of na- tional cohorts, had pillaged of almoft all their property in the province. D'Eranville, abandoned to the moft gloomy defpair, no longer fought for confolation in the pleafmg fociety of his wife and child. Madame D'Eran- ville, to call off her hufband's conti- nual contemplation of his misiortuncs. ( 112 ) endeavoured to perfuade him to go into the country, did not fucceed ; and fearing to leave him alone amidft the troubles which now agitated the capi- tal, flie perfifted in her defign of re« maining with him, and confided to the care of Jeannette her daughter, whofe innocence and tranquillity were in continual danger in a city whofe inha- bitants were now become foldiers. Jeannette was therefore deputed to condu6l Cecilia to the farm, and to watch over her as a mother. What ec- ftatic delight did thcfe commands convey to Jeannette and Cecilia, who both poflefTed the kindeft and mofl: affectionate of hearts. Thefe two friends, clafped each other in their arms, embraced their parents, their benefac- tors, and departed, anticipating every pleafure. Arrived at the fheep-fold, Cecilia and Jeannette agreed to inha- ( 1'3 ) bit the fame chamber, and never left each other ; an affcding pldure of that frlendftiip which united them through life, and which was one day deftined to require the moft grievous facrifices for the mutual happinefs of thefe two hearts, fo formed for each other ! From this period the farm became the moll delightful refidence ; all was fmiling and gay, and the very birds feetned to fix on this enchanting fpot to pour forth their lively and melodi- ous notes. A felcd library furniflied one of the apartments of the country houfe : Ce- cilia had conveyed thither her piano; and thefe two friends paflcd their time, cither in making rural excurfions, read- ing, or playing on the piano. Ye poor inhabitants of Seve and Meudon ! ye will often recal to mind the hofpitable vifits of thefe two confoling angels ! ( 114 ) you whom ficknefs and misfortunes kept confined to the bed of mifery, I doubt not, you fometimes fancy you ftlll behold Cecilia and Jeannette, bringing you the broths, the medicines they prepared for you, with their own fair hands ; and that your children have revealed to you the little fums of mo- ney they received, unknown to you, to be applied to your relief, fo fearful were thefe kind beings of wounding your de- licacy ! not an unfortunate being in th6 neighbourhood, whofe tears they have not wiped away \ nol a pauper whofe miferies they have not alleviated ! alas! why were they not permitted to remain where they were fo ufeful to their fel- low creatures ? and why has fortune deprived them of the means of doing good! ( n5 ) CHAPTER IX. Rapid Events. A YEAR fled away in the cxercife of thefe charitable pleafures, M. and Madame D'Eranvllle came frequently to fee the young friends, and never left them without feeling increafed ten- dernefs and efteem for their daughter as well as for Jeannette, whom they now looked upon as their fecond child. Public commotions however conti- nued toencreafe, and D'Eranville, who could not habituate himfelf to fuch fcenes, had taken fuch difguft to life, that he would probably have cut fliort his days, by an a6l of violence, if hc^ had not often refledted that he was a ( 116 ) father and a hufband. His wife perceiv- ed the fatal eifeds of his grief, already traced on his perfon. His health was gone, and his fortunes almoft ruined. Conflagrations and repeated pillage had deprived him of the greater part of his property ; there remained to him only a few rents, and his manfion at Paris. To add to his misfortunes, a natural fon of his late uncle Durand, profiting by the advantage of the new laws, came to reclaim the whole inheritance of his father, which he aflerted had pafled unjuftly into the hands of a nephew. This gave rife to another tedious law fuit, during which other events oc- cured, which augmented ftill more the defpair of D'Eranville. His wife pro- ^ofed, the following fummer, to go and refide with her children at the Sheep-fold. She lived there in tran- quillity fome months ; but an acci- ( 117 ) dental fall brought on her death in the courfe of twelve days! What an affliction to D'Eranville. RofaHa whom he had fo affcAionately loved, that ' Rofalia, who w as fo neceflary to his happinefs, to whom he had Submitted all his wiflies, who fupported, who confoled him in all his adverfities. Rofaha no longer exifted, and every misfortune feemed now centred to fall upon her unhappy hufband D'Eran- ville would have loft his reafon, if it had not been for the confolations of Cecilia and Jeannette, who, though not lefs afflided than himfelf, had ftill fufficient ftrength of mind to conquer their grief, and endeavour to alleviate that of the moft unhappy of men. To divert his mind from its afflidions, D'Eranville conceived a dcfign of vifit- ing his ancient eftates in the province, and fee if it was not poffible yet to fiwc ( 118 ) tlic wrecks of it. He wiflied his daugli- teif to accompany him, and Jeannette rJfmained behind, to fuperintend the houfe at Paris, as well as the farm at Mcudon, which were now almoft the f©le remains of D'Eranville*s property. The latter departed with Cecilia ; and their journey was fo retarded by various occurrence?, that a period of more than a year elapfed before their return. It is true D*Eranville, to whom every place was now almoft equally IndifFer- cnt, made a (liort ftay in thofe towns where he found pleafant accommoda- tion; and his averfion to Paris was fuch, that he was continually deferring his return thither. During his abfence, his affairs, which he could not thus attend to, were ftill further deranged. His uncle Durand*s natural fon gained his fuit, through the negligence of D'Eranville's lawyers; ( no ) and the latter was adjudged to reftore him the whole inheritance which he had enjoyed for more than twenty years. D'Eranville not having fuffi- cient to make good the whole^ they took from him the httle wealth he formerly poffelTed, and Jeannctte, to whofe cultody the houfe at Paris was committed, found herfelf obliged to leave it to make way for the officers of juftice and the lawful heir. Jeannette knew of no other afylum for herfdf and her patrons, than the farm at the Sheep-fold, which, happily for him, D'Eranville had fome time before affign- ed over to a friend named Lefever, as a laft refource, in cafe he fhould lofe his caufe. Jeannette wrote to D'E- ranville to inform him of this laft mif- fortune; he was then in Britanny, and the fad tidings had fuch an effect upon him, ihac he fell dangcroufly 111. His ( 120 ) fond child paid him every attention, and at length fucceeded in reftoring him to health and ftrength fufEcient to enable him to return to Mcudon. jWhat an affefting interview was that v^hfch now^ took place between thefc two unfortunate beings and the amiable Jeannette ! Tears flowed from every eye : no more lands, no more magni- ficent manfions, no more carriages, (Jeannette had difmiffed Vidoria and her hufband Picard) no w^ealth remain- ing ! in fhort, D'Eranville could not furvive fuch complicated misfortunes ; he fuffered a relapfe of his late illnefs ; and, in a fhort time, his daughter,- and his young friend bad the grief to learn that the phyficians defpaifed of his life. When D'Eranville faw his lafb hour approaching, he called Jeannette and Cecilia to his bed-fide, w^hofe hearts were almoft breaking. 'D'Eranville ( 121 ) took hold of his daughter's hand, and addreflcd to her thefc affcfting words, which flie has never forgot : CeciUa, my love, y6u weep, and your grief augments mine. I will not aflert that I feel regret at leaving this abode of trouble, where the fum of our misfortunes even exceeds that of our happinefs : no, my daughter, you are the only cauie of my regret in this world ; the reft is but drofs in my eyes. Behold me ! behold this plain aiylum, the only inheritance I have to leave you ! You fee your father, who once moved in a fphere fo exalted and fplendid, you fee him expiring on a s forry bed, almoft in want of common ncccflaries, and difplaying a fad exam- ple of the efFed: of human viciffitudes. Cecilia ! you now feel, and no doubt acutely, what is fortune in this world ! All is tranfitory, all is changing in VOL. I. G ( 122 ) form and nature ; wealth efcapcs the hands of the opulent man, to enrich thofe of the poor, whom he once looked on with a dlfdainful eye ; titles are taken from one to exalt another, and repofe exifts no where. Cecilia my fole affliftion is this, I leave you an indigent orphan, without rank, without a fettlement ; and, an additi- onal misfortune is, my having accuf- tomed your youth to the enjoyment ot the comforts, I may fay, the luxuries of wealth. Your change of condition will be moft grievous to you. I fhall expire, my daughter, ignorant o'" what willbe your future deftiny; i fhall leave you without relations without friends.... Vhat do I fay ! without friends ! no, you have ftill the good and amiable Jeannettc, who may ferve you as a guide, a fupport, a comforter ? She is older than you ; fhe has more expe- ( 123 ) rience; never abandon her, never leave her, my Cecilia, let her fupply to you the place of a mother, ofall that you have loft! My child, I folemnly com- mand you to live with her, to unite your deftiny to her's, and to liften to her as to a good and wife friend ! Promife me you will refpeft this laft wiili of your dying father ! Cecilia could only anfwer with her fobs : O my father ! your leaft commands will furely be facred to me, when my heart can know no other pleafure than that of obeying them. The fick man now beckoned to Jeannette: And you Jeannette, faid he> thou dear and amiable girl; if^veryou recall to mind that period when in prof- perity, my wife and I caft a look of compaffion on the cradle of an aban- doned child ; if ever you refled that we ;idopted you at a time when the pity of G 2 ( 124 ) mankind accorded you fparingly that bread, which you Ihared with other childi'cn of inisfortune ; if you keep alive the recollection of the conftant tendernefs I have fliewn you, and which never admitted of a moment's change till prefled by the tender Solici- tations of a beloved fpoufe, who was become a mother. O Jeannette ! — watch over my daughter, over this precious treafure which I confide to you ; fave her from the fnares of reduc- tion, the perfecutions of the wicked, the horrors of indigence ; let the labour of your hands be united to my daughter's exertion of thofe talents which were cultivated for her amufe- ment ; and, united together like two fifters, let every thing be common among you. Jeannette, thus you can repay the kindneffes we have beftowed on you ; thus you will confole in the ( ^25 ). tomb the fliadcs of your beiiefaCiliors ! Jeannette, with the fwcet aflurance of your fricndihip, which I bequeath my daughter, I die more tranquil ; and this obHgation which I owe you is a bleffcd recompence for the good I have done you. Weep not my children, but receive with my laft fighs, the bleffings of a father who has ever aflbciated you together In his heart and his thoughts ! fliudder not at the approach of that death which Is now about to feize me^ and which has been long the object of my prayers. It is terrible to the prof- perous man ; but to the unfortunate, it is but the paffage from mlfcry to eternal felicity. D'EranvlUe paufed, and his two chil- dren, as he called them, flied over him tears of regret, and kifled with devoted tendernefs the hand he had offered. He appeared fenfible of their kind G 3 ( 120 ) attention, and with great dliBculty added thefe words to his former ex- hortations : Jeannette, your obfcure condition, and your ignorance o" your birth undoubtedly are and may ftill be the fource of long fecurity: yet, if ever you Ihould feel an inclination to reco- ver your parents, an inclination which may be to you the fource of a thoufand forrows, it is pofiible you may fucceed in this enquiry, whatever difficulties it may feem at firft to be attended with. When, in the receptacle for foundlings, you were firft committed to my care, I was told that a neighbour had found you in an alley leading to his houfe; that by your fide was an unfealed paper too infignificant to induce them to make any enquiries. This paper w^as given to me ; I have it ftill ; and you will find it in the little coffer where I have prefcrved alfo fome jewels of ( 127 ) your mother, my Cecilia. I might have profited by the ditFerent indications which this mysterious scroll unfolded ; but I loved you too tenderly, Jean- nette, to cxpofe myfelf to the cruel necelTity of restoring you to perfon^ Avho might have the right to reclainn you. My wife and I carefully conceal- ed this writing, the import of which was indeed extremely obfcure, and we have never felt inclined to make any ufe of it ; but, if you think proper, Jean- nette, you may; and perhaps, a fatal difcovery may tear you from the arms of my daughter! — Jeannette, if you would abide by my counfel, you will remain in that happy ignorance in w^hich you have hitherto lived. What good purpofe can it anfwer to fmd again thofe parents who have been fo unnatural as to abandon you, who may now abufe their imaginary rights^ G 4 ( 128 ) and render you unhappy ? If they are poor, what advantage can you expeft ? If they are opulent, you may expofe yourfelf to their fcorn ; as probably to the vexations of greedy heirs, whofe hopes your prefence has deftroyed ; and "vvho. regarding you as I have done my uncle Durand's natural fon, may per- fecute you with proceedings more unjuft than any I have ufed towards the deftroyer of my fortune. Jeannette^ cherlfh repofe ; my beloved girl, chc« rifh peace and obfcurity : it is by fuch means only we can enfure onr happinefs. Such are the councils, the refult of ex- perience, which your dying benefactor gives you. Regard them, I befeech you, even as il they proceeded from Heaven ; for man in his laft moments has a glimpfe of eternity ; his foul is purified, and his fplrlt already imbibes a portion of that celeftlal fire which is to animate it to all eternitv. ( 129 ) Jeannette and Cecilia were ca^cr to exprcfs to the good fick man, the fub- niiUlon they would pay to his Icaft commands. He appeared fatisfied with their protcftations, and a lew hours af- terwards expired. Thus did D Eranville fpeedlly follow to the tomb his beloved Rofalia ; and thefe two beings, who, in the courfc of their lives, had done more good than evil in the w^orld, left in it two young creatures, moft dear to them, ex- pofed to the paffions of their fellow- creatures ; amidft the tumults alfo of a revolution, which gave encreafed power to thefe paffions, fo fatal to innocence. D'Eranville, Rofalia, were no more ! They difplayed a fad example of that fatality, by which individuals, in the height of profperity, are fometimes fud- denly precipitated into a fca of trou- bles. G 5 ( 130 ) CHAPTER X. A Brighter Frofpedl, The death of D'Eranville threw our young friends into the deepeft nielan- choly. Alone in the world, they look- ed around them with a kind of fear, as if queftioning with their eyes what would be their future fate. This mournful diftra^lion continued for a long time ; they had not the power to fpeak to each other, or to Ihed a tear. At length torrents of tears flowed from their eye-lids ; and, if it had not been for the attentions of the good old Ri- chard and his wife, this ftate of violent defpair might have been fatal to both of them. The good Richard was eager ( 131 ) to confole them ; his wife brought them' to her own apartment ; and, during this interval, they took care to bury the corpfe, and to remove every thing, which might recall to their minds the caufe of their grief. Some days pafled away in general' grief; but at length it was necessary to fubmit, with refignation, to the ftroke of fate ; and the final tranquillity of our friends, was the work of a pious ecclefiaftic, who was vicar of the village of Meudon. It is now time to intro- duce this worthy charad:er. M. de Verneuil (I do not reveal here his real name) was a man apparently between thirty-fix and forty years of age ; tall, ^ell-formed, and dii'playing in his phyfiognomy the charaderiftic figns of all the virtues of his heart; he was as learned as he was good. and. feeling. It was not from any particu^ o ( 132 ) lar bias to it, that M. de Verneull had taken upon him the clerical profeffion ; but defcended from a noble family, and born in a country where the eldeft fon formerly inherited all, while the youngeft found themfelves deprived of the fortunes of their fathers, M. de Verneuil was obliged by his family to affume the ecclefiaftical habit. Simple in his tafte as in his ambition, he had al- ways preferred a tranquil ftate, an ob- fcurebutrefpedable fphere of life, to the noife of cities, the luxuries of a high eftate ; and had long felt himfelf con- tent with a fimple vicarage in a little village. He recalled to his mind that the facetious Rabelais had formerly amufed himfelf here, and exulted much in a little tower adjoining to his houfe, where this ingenuous author had once refided. M. de Verneuil made it his ftudy; he there read and meditated ( 133 ) inceflantly, not over his breviary but the -works of our philofophcrs. M. de Ver- neuil was a fagc who enjoyed in tran- quillity a rental of twelve hundred livres, while his brothers and relations in their fpheres found themfelves not latisfied with a revenue of fifty thoufand crowns each. It was fome time before the death of Roialia and D'Eranville, that M. de Verneuil had become acquaint- ed with Jeannette ; he often called at the farm to take a luncheon with her, or to affill her in the management of her garden. He had fcnfc to diftin- guifli and appreciate the exalted mind, the matured judgement of Jeannette. He lent her books, or accompanied her fine voice with a guitar, which he could play on very taftefully. They paffed many happy hours together, and their virtues, the well known credit of their charaders, forbade ca- ( 131 ) lumny ever attempting to blacken their innocent acquaintance, which was of- ten enlivened by the prefence of Rich- ard and his wife. It is true, and I ought to inform my readers, to prepare them for fucceeding events, that M. de Verneuil did not behold Jeannette with an indifferent eye. The good vicar w^as a man, and often regretted that the ridiculous rules of his order confined him to a flate of ce- libacy, which was by no means agree- able to him. His heart, until now in- fenfible, imbibed a paflion for Jean- nette ; and if he had not been an eccle- fiaftic, he would before now have offer- ed her his hand. It was at this moment, when love reigned in his heart, that he ardently wifhed for that liberty, the w ant of which he had never before la- mented; butdifcreet, noble minded, and delicate, never had he fufFered a word ( 135 ) to efcapc him which might have reveal- ed to Jeannette his pqfjion. He was con- tent to adore her in fecret; and Jean- nette, gentle and unfufpec^ling, attri- buted only to efteem and friendfhip thofe affiduitics which were the efFed: of love. M. de Verneuil hadalfo feen Cecilia: Cecilia was lovely, and her features were remarkably regular as well as beautiful: grace and am iablenefs reign- ed through all her perfon : her talents alfo had been more cultivated than thofe of Jeannette, but Jeannette had one of thofe enchanting figures which, handfome without that exad: regularity of features, arc oftentimes morefeduc- tive than even beauty itfclf. Though ferious and penfive, Jeannette pofleffed an amiable checrfulnefs of difpofition : a gentle fmile often played on her lips, and her mind was more cultivated, and probably more acute than that of ( 130 ) Cecilia. M. dc Verneuil therefore re- mained conftant to his firll attachment; but although he felt a paffion for Jcannettc, he ftill entertained for Cecilia a warm efteem, a lafting friend- fliip. He was the common friend of both thefe un ortunate young creatures, and at the period of the lofs of their fa- ther and benefactor, he fhewed every attention, gave them all the advice and confolation, that could be expetJled from the moft zealous of friends. It was to his kind offices they owxd the reco- very of their fpirits from this fatal blow ; it was he who infpired them •with that courage and firmnefs they have fince difplayed, and which their fituation fo much required. M. de Verneuil feldom quitted the little vil- lage they refided in, and our young friends experienced much uneafmefs whenever he w^as abfent from them. One day whilll M. de Verneuil was ( 137 y abfent they received a little billet appa- rently from a notary, which alarmed them. From as much as they could de- cypher of it, they found that it contain- ed an order to quit the farm, as it now no longer belonged to them. What new blow did this portend to their hap- pinefs ? They awaited with impatience the arrival of their friend, to whom they inftantly fhewed this paper. Monf. de Verneuil read it, walked haftily acrofs the chamber, and exclaimed, O human race ! can there exift fuch villiany as this ?....What do you mean, fir ! what fignifies this order to quit our prefent afvlum ? This is what it means, Cecilia: Your fcither, fome time before his death, findinsr himfelf almoft ruined, affigned over this farm to a perfon of the name of Lefevre ; it is this villain who now aims to deprive you of it. — The monfter ! — Do you known him } — No. — He gives himfelf ( 138 ) the title of an advocate. If he does many deeds like this, he will not fail getting rich ; but let us not defpalr. Your father furely has left fome coun- ter-writing refpecfting this fiditl- ous furrender. Come, let ns fearch. M. de Verneuil carefully examined all the papers of the deceafed ; but ^ found no record to prove that the farm ftill belonged to him. However, he poflefled all the title deeds of it, and there was nothing to prove that it was more Le^evre's than D'Eranville's. The good vicar flew to Paris : he con- fults an advocate, gives him the writ- ings: the caufe is tried, the writings are produced, but it ended in Cecilia's lofs o her fuit. She is condemned to reftore the farm to the villain who has thus robbed her : and all tended to fliew that D'Eranville had been the dupe of this wretch who had mad^ him fign what he pleafed. ( 130 ) This was the lift dart in misfortune's quiver that could ever ftrike our young friends : they had nothing more to lofe ; they had drained the cup of ad- verfity to its dregs. They were thus at once deprived of every refource, of a home, o^ fortune, unable even to gain a fubfiftence ; for their exccffive misfortunes had taken (Vom them every energy or wifli to exert their talents. To complete their defpair, their Iriend de Verneuil, though he had fubmitted to all the laws made againft priefts, was involved in the general profcription which fignalized the reign of terror. The unfortunate man was arrefted, and dragged to a prifon ; and, having no relation, no friend to watch over his interefts in this his utmoft need, it was Cecilia and Jeannette who render- ed him, on this occailon the kind, but dangerous offices of a lively and active ( 110 ) frlendihip : but how could they give him pecuniary affiftance, who in faft pofleffed nothing! Virtue will make any facrifice ; Cecilia fold her mother's effecfts and jewels, and was thus enabled to fupport her friend, herfclf, and the eftimable de Verneuil, for fome months. This refource however being now exhaufted, it was neceflary to devife others : Cecilia, for the firft time pro- pofed to her friend to earn a fubfiftence by embroidery and other ornamental needle-work with which flie was ac- quainted. Jeannette could not reftrain a few tears, inbeholdinsf Mademoifelle D'Eranville, late the heirefs to a con- fiderable fortune, now reduced to la- bour at her needle for a fubilllence. Jeannette was fkilful alfo at thefe things ; fhe therefore applied diligently to work with Cecilia, and thefe two friends, inhabiting a fourth ftory, in a ( 141 ) narrow ftrect, in the fuburbs of Paris, affiduoufly applied themrelves to work, which brou;iht them indeed but fmaU profits, but thefe were Sufficient lor their confined wants. M. d:* Verneull now fucceeded in obtaining affiftance from his family : he was therefore no longer chargeable on this icore of friendfhip ; and if he did not blufli for the benefits he had received, he never- thelefs experienced acute grief at the Sacrifices he had cofl two fuch generous hearts. Yet Cecilia, who treated Jcannettc exaftly as her fiflier, ftill abandoned hcrfelf to the deepeft melancholy. Nothing could footh her Sorrows ; fhc often fighed, and raifed her eyes to Heaven, and often did the unbidden tear fall upon her work, which flie haftcncd to wipe away, anxioufly look- ing if Jeannette had noticed it. Jean- ( 142 ) nette for fome time fancied her melan- choly was the natural confequence of her misfortunes ; but the referve (he obfer- ved accompany it, and efpecially the embaraflment fhe betrayed on her tears being noticed, inclined Jeannette to fufpeft that her grief had fbme fecret caufe. Added to which, fhe had fome- times furprifed her reading letters with great apparent intereft, which on feeing her ihe concealed with precipitation. Jeannette dared not afk her friend to reveal her fecrets ; but fhe felt perfua- ded fhe had fuch, and it hurt her extremely. ( 143 ) CHAPTER XI. Is It realty a Fault ? OxE day Jcannette made bold to queftlon Cecilia: Mademoi'ellc, faid ihe, until now I had flattered myfelf I was honoured with your friendthip, with your confidence ; yet I fear I h ivc not rendered myfelf fo worthy of it as I could have wifhed. Cecilia regarded her attentively, and enquired with an anxious air, why fhe entertained fuch fears ? Rcca\ife, Ma- demoifelle pardon my boldnefs, but I fear you futfcr grief, with which I am unaquainted. — Grief, Jeannette ! have I not loft a father, a mother, my •whole fortune ? — as to fortune, Made- ( 144 ) moifelle is too much of a philofopher to regret that ; and as to the lofs of M. and Madame D'Eranville, it is cer- tainly irreparable ; but I : think the lapfe of nearly three years ought to have foothed its bittemefs. — Never, Jeannette, never! — If fuch is the caufe of your melancholy, I will refpect it, Mademoifelle, and w^ill not trouble you more with importunate quef- tions.— Importunate !...(/7/^ fetzcd her hand;) can my friend ufe fuch an ex- preffion to me ? — Really it feems a juft one to me, Mademoifelle ! for though I am no ftranger to the goodnefs of your heart, your fmcerity, I cannot help thinking, that, in the prefent inftance, you are not entirely candid ! It is diffi- cult for great fouls to difguife any thing ! Ah ! Jeannette ! afk no further. — It is true then, Mademoi- felle'! I have loft vour confidence !— r ( 145 ) Jeannette, there are fecrets of which Gur own hearts ought to be the folc dcpofitaries, when the revealing them cannot lead to any good ; and it is e- ver humiliating to confefs an error. — ■ An error, O Heavens ! what a word has my friend fpoken ! could flie be ca- pable of one? Jeannette ! you fee my fhame, the blufhes which fuffufe my countenance ! Leave me, leave me! — Leave you, Cecilia, when you are in grief ! No, no; I will never fpeak to you more on the fubject ! conceal, entomb for ever in your heart thofe impenetrable fecrets ; I no longer wifli to know them : but I will endeavour to foothe the uneafinefs they caufe you : I will confole you, and Mademoi- felle, you fhail banifli me from your piefence, before 1 will give up the talk oi rcftoring you to that ferenity of mind, which ought ever to be the VOL. I. H ( 146 ) companion of innocence Of inno- cence Oh ! what a word have you pronounced !.... Cecilia after this exclamation cover- ed her face w^ith her hands, and retired. to a fmall apartment adjoining Jean- nette's. Jeannette remained, extreme- ly furprifed, hardly knowing what to think of Cecilia, wavering between a thoufand conjectures, and in defpair at the little confidence her friend feemed to repofe in her. Cecilia re-entered a- bout an hour after, and changed the converfation, fo that Jeannette was to- tally at a lofs what to conclude. Some days thus elapfed, and Jeannette remarked that Cecilia's grief ftill conti- nued to increafe. She fhut herfelf up alone, read, often fpokc aloud, and feemed to complain bitterly. Her un- happy condition caufed fuch pain to Jeannette, that notwithftanding her fix ( 1^7 ) ed refolution to refpect Cecilia's iccrets, flie vowed to attempt every thing to difcover them. CeciUa was no longer a child, flie had now attained her twenty- fecond year; Ihe could not be fufpected of an error unworthy her age and prin- ciples; what therefore could be the caufe of her deep melancholy. One day that Cecilia was gone out, and Jeannette remained alone in the houfe, the evening already began to clofc in, when Ihe beheld a man enter gen- teelly clad, who enquired of her if this was not the rcfidence of Mademoifelle Dafcourt? (This was the name Cecilia had aflumed to conceal her own, which was fo well known at Paris.) — Yes Monfieur, replied Jeannette, who could hardly diftingui-ili his features : w^hat do you plcafc to want ? I come from Madame de Saint Albin for the veil flie gave her to mend. Here is her letter. U 2 ( 1-18 ) The ftranger feeks for it, but does not immediately find it; he feels into feveral pockets, infpefts feveral papers, draws out others, and at length prefents Jean- ne tte with the letter, author ifing her to confide the veil to him. The ftranger laid down the money agreed on, and retired. Jeannette prefently after ftruck a light and fet to her work, Ceci- lia returns and learns, with indifference, that Madame de Saint Albin had fent for the veil ; and, continually abforbed in her grief, approached the light, took up a book, and began to read, fome- thing fell from the table, Cecilia ftoop- ed to pick it- up ; flie perceived a paper which w^as vinknown to her; fhe took it up and on looking at it exclaimed : Heavens ! is this an illusion ? is he then arrived ? — Who, Mademoifelle } ' — H^ is certainly come ; this is un- ( IK. ) doubtedly bis writing. By what llrange accident came this paper here, — I know not, Mademoiielle ; uniefs the gentleman who was here this even- ing has dropped it from his pockety in feeking Madame de Saint Albin's let- ter. — What fay you, a gentleman.— Was he tall ? — Yes. — Well formed ? — He feemed fo. — About thirty years of age, of a brown complexion, w^ith handfome and regular features ? — I could not well difcern thefe things ; the day was declining. — It is he, it is he, my dear Saint Ange ! . . . . Jeannette was filent, but obfervant ; and awaited an explanation of this e. nigma. Cecilia eagerly perufed the pa- per, and then again exclaimed Jean- nette, O Jeannette ; he loves me ffiil ! ....he loves me tenderly. Here, judge for yourfclf. [reads ,) *' Unjuft and cruel uncle, to whom H 3 ( 1^0 ) I owe thje lofs of my repofe and liberty, -when will you ceafe to perfecute me ? and to what purpofe ! to perfuade, to oblige me to referve my hand for a child of mis'ortune, whom I have never known, whom I have never even ieen !....No, fir; fo long as this heart exifts in my bofom, it will beat for Mademoifelle Saint Brice.../* Mademoifelle Saint Brice ! repeated Cecilia with rapture, and then conti- nued. *' You know not, you can never know the powerful intereft which binds me to this charmini^:; woman ; it is the tie you ever lovTd ? — Made- moifelle, the fatal paffion of love has never yet, happily for me, entered my _ heart. — Your heart is then of iron ? — It is, methinks, as feeling as that of others ; but, ever inclined to melan- choly reveries, it has not yet apparently ( IM ) met vs'lth any object to Intcrcft it. — Why had I not remained at Paris, Jcannctfe ! I fliould not have then met with this dangerous man who has con- quered me ; but then how amiable he' is : Jeannette ! you have fcen him : is he not fufBciently engaging to tri- umph over the moll inflexible heart? —I told YOU, Madcmoifclle, I did not much notice him.— Not much notice Iiim ; not Saint Ange ! Ah, Jeannette ! how happy are you in poiTcfling fuch inrcnllbiiity !— It was then the perfon who called this evening ?~Ycs, lurely, Jeannette ; learn, learn all, and then, if you can, blame your unhappy iriend lor futtering herfclf to be feduced by fo many perfections ! Jeannette burned to know Cecilia's fecret ; and Cecilia, who had already partly betrayed herfclf, had no longer a motive to rcfufe her friend this proof H 4 ( ^^^ ) €f her confidence. Accordingly, Ce- cilia aproachcd Jeannette ; and having once more perufed the letter of Saint Angc, gave the folio v^ing relation, which muft have deeply furprifed the innocent Jeannette. •( ^^-^ ) CHAPTER XII. , An nnforefcen Event. You recollect, Jeannette, that after the death of my mother, about three years fmcc, my father conceived fuch a difguft to life, fo deep an averfion alfo to Paris, that he formed a determina- tion to travel to divert his forrows. He took me with him, and it w^as in this fatal journey, Jeannette, your friend loft her peace of mind and her honour. My honour ! Jeannette, con- ceive the extent of that lofs which I owe to an unhappy deftiny, more perhaps than to the weaknefs of my own heart. Now liften to me : you will learn fome circumftances fo fm- H 5 ( 154 ) gular, that, if I were to write the hif- tory of my life, people would take it for the rough fketch of a romance. There happened to us nothing ex- traordinary on our w^ay, untill my father's arrival at Abbeville, where he poflcffed an eftate, which he wifhed firft to vifit. My father, alarmed at the events of a recolleftion which had now extended its effects through all France, and fearing that his name would expofe him too much to the notice of his vaffals, who believed him immenfely rich, affumed the ficti- cious one of Saint Brice, and com- manded me never to utter the name of D'EranvlUe before any one. It was now more than twenty years fmce my father had quitted this province ; and all his domeftics had been changed fmce that time. There remained on the eftate only an old farmer, a trufty fel- ( 1-' ) low, and one whofe dlfcretion he knew he could rely on. Undoubtedly, Jean- nette, you will attach much of whim- ficality and little reafon to this condud: of my father ; but you have been no llranger to him ; and well know how timid, fickle, and fmgular he was ; his fears often led him even into impru- dence. We arrived at Eranvillc, and no longer rccolled:ed it. The Inhabi- tants, believing we had fled from France, as fo many other rich and titled individuals had then done, had almoft divided our property among themfelves ; their pillage extended to every thing, and there now remained only the farm, which they were even inclined to dlfpute the pofiellion of with the good old Germain. This ve- nerable creature recolledled his mafter, flew to embrace him, and fliewed for him the moft lively frlendfliip. Peace^ hO < 150 ) peace, Germain, cried my father to him, 1 am no longer any thing here, I do not "\vifli to be, I am only Saint Brice, a traveller, feeking to divert his mind from bufy cares. Beware that you an- nounce not my return ; let me not be feen by any one who might recollect me, and only inform me in what ftate arc my affairs here. Germain prefentiy fatisfied his maf- ter's queilion : Ah, fir, faid he to him, you have nothing here to hope for. They have treated you as an emigrant, and your property is no longer in your pow- er. You cannot hope for even a fpot of turf on thofe plains which were for- merly your property : but you can have recourfe to an appeal; you may make yourfelf known, and prove you con- ftantly refided at Paris. — -By no means, my friend. I would rather lofe all, than expofe myfelf to long and probably dan- ( ^57 ) gerousdifcuffions, and after all what, will be reftored tome? mere ruins! No, Germain, no, I mull rcfign myfelf to my fate, and I feci that the facrifice colls me little, after the lofsofmy dear Itofalia. In vain did Germain endeavour to reafon M. D'Eranville out his preju- dices : borne down by misfortunes and fears, he perifhed in his capricious re- fund ; and having bade an eternal fare- well to his anceftorial property, he de- parted forOrncval, a neighbouring vil- lage, to fee a Madame Durocher, who was an old friend of his family. Madame Durocher was dead; flic had fold her manfion to a woman of no great reputation ; her name was De Linval. This Madame de Linval, to whom we applied for fome account of my father's old friend, gave us a moft gracious reception. I am forry, faid flie ( 158 ) to us, I can no longer replace to you here the friend you feek. Undoubtedly you propofed to pafs fome time with her? and your vifit would have proved to that lady a fource of deep gratification ; but fuice file is no more, deign to be- lieve that m lofmg this relation, I inhe- rit her attachment to her friends, and her hofpitable heart. It is late, night is coming on, and Monfieur probably ha:s no afylum in this province. — Alas ! in- deed I have not, Madame, replied my father, with a figh ! — Well then ! will Monfieur deign to accept an apartment in my houfe : I will do all I can to fup- ply my friend*s place to himfelf, and this dear girl, who is as lovely as- an angel ! She advanced to kifs me, and I thought I ought not to refufe this proof of kindnefs. My father, fearful of ading indifcreetly, wiflied for ^n excufe to ( 150 ) withdraw ; Madame de Linval however Infifted, called herfelf his late friend's coufin, and at length fucceeded in in- ducing my father to accept of the afy- lum file offered us. Fatal ftep ! ralh confent ! what misfor- tunes has it entailed to me. A dreadful prefentiment of evil feemed to freeze my heart, Jeannette, when my father yielded to her entreaties. A fudden palenefs overfpread my countenance; and though I could not trace the fource of fuch emotions, I felt a ftrong diflike to remain under this woman's roof, whofe manners and conA^erfation had by no means interefted me in her favour. Madame de Linval, pleafed at our ready confent, rang for three or four footmen, whom fhe ordered to prepare quickly the apartments in the weft wing of the houfe for my father and me. She then condu(^ted us to the parlour, where we ( if'O ) found a great deal of company; and here the converfation foon became general. What furprifed me extremely was, that Madame de Linval, who was not in the leaft acquainted with us? fhould prefume to introduce us to her company as two of her intimate friends, juft arrived from Paris, and come with an Intention of palling a few months at her country houfe. As my father re- garded her with a look of furprife, ilie fald to him in a whifper: Allow me to affume this flattering title, that you may not feem to be entire ftrangers here. In the country, we fliould endeavour to a- void the idle conjectures each is difpofed to make on our concerns. She then added in a ftill lower tone of voice: And you will allow this cir- cumftance may give rife to an ample provifion. ( 101 ) Neither my father nor myfclf un- derftood what fhe meant ; \vc however joined in inducing a belief that we were her moft intimate acquaintances. The company talked, played, and yawned; at length fupper was announc- ed, but here ennui feemed to prefide alfo, and at length the guefts departed. — When they were gone, we obferved there remained with Madame de Lin- val only an old military officer, and a youth, who feemed to belong to the family. Sir knight, faid Madame de Linval, I reftore you your liberty which you have facrificed to me all this evening You muft have been very w^eary, my friend, you who love neither cards, nor company ? Upon my honour, Madame, you owe me no flight thanks, replied the old officer ; for, afk my nephew if ever my tafte fo little accorded with that of your company as this evening, and had I not known that you expected Monfieur and Mademoifelle....-— -Hem? prithee ? interrupted Madame de Linval, blufliing, what fay you, that 1 expect- ed ! — I meant, rephed the old man with a fmile ; I meant that If it had not been for Monfieur and Mademoifelle's company, I Ihould have been twenty times indined to withdraw in the courfe of the evening. Mark me, J€annette,we had not once addrefled this old commander all the c- vening, and had hardly noticed him. He now made us, as well as his nephew, a profound bow, and both retired, light'* ed by a valet, whoconduded them to an adjacent apartment. Madame de Linval then faid to us fmlling : you have juft beheld one of my old, yes, my very old friends ! He is the old commander of Mellery, and his nephew is the young ( 103 ) Saint Ange. — They have been with me about a month, and I hope to keep them all the fummer ; the uncle is in- firm, and fomewhat rough in his man- ners ; but I am under great obligations to him, and he adds to the entertain- ment of my guefts. I am a widow, and rich : am fond of focicty ; but while 1 love fplcndour and buftlc, I cftccm alfo honour and reputation. You will howe- ver fee! and in time, I dare believe, you will favour mc with your clleem. — In time, madumc ! replied my fa* ther... .undoubtedly it will afford mc pleafurc to cultivate your acquaintance, to recall your obliging reception of us, but I beg you to thinkbetter of mcthan to fuppofe that I fliould thus prolong a vifit which might at length be confider- ed as inlrufive. — Intriifive, Monfieur ! what a word have you employed !.... you did not confidcr its meaning^ ; no, ( 1«^ ) you moft affuredly did not ; you muft take time to grow acquainted with me- I have an intereft in this; as to you, your features, which bear the character of franknefs, your whole perfon fufficlent- ly teftify you are a worthy man, for whatever reafon the veil is aflumed in w^hich you are enveloped ; and I believe thatM. Saint Brice that M. Saint Brice will be one true friend more I ihall foon acquire. She afFeded to repeat this name of Saint Brice with fo lingular an empha- lis, that my father noticed it. Madame* faid he to her, are you acquainted with any one who bears my name ? — Your name, Monfieur ? it is fomewhat fami- liar to mc ; there was a Saint Brice for- merly in the light horfe, another in the finance, and a third, whom I knew an abbot, but I think you are ho relation to any of thefe ? — Madame is right. I am. ( 1C5 ) alas ! a ftrangcr, and have nothing I hold dear in this world, but my daughter !— * Mademoifcllc is an accomplilhed young lady, and will furely prove her father's joy : but I am retaining you, and forget you have been travelling, and are fatigu- ed: good night to you both. Madame de Linval took a light, and retired to her apartment; we were alfo conduced to the apartments defigned for us. I found in mine a waiting maid obedient to my lead commands, and my father alfo was waited on by an in-* tclligent domeftic. My father, ever unhappy, and referv- ed, faid little to me ; he retired, and I entered my own chamber, where I pre- fently was abforbed in the reflections thefmgularity of our hoftefs's character infpircd. I ihall defcribe her to you pre- fcntly, Jeannette; as to myfelf I then had no knowledge of her fortune, her ( leo ) her connexions, or her conduft. Clr- cumftances have however fince too truly developed the character of this perfidi- ous woman^ to whom I owe all my mif- fortunes. ( 1^7 ) CHAP. xiir. // is d$uhtlefs a Whim, The next morning my father fpokc not of purfuing his journey, and I re- fpefted his willies too much to introduce the fubjed. Madame de Linval fent up to inform us that breakfaft was ferved. We defccnded, and found with her the old commander of Mellery, and his ne- phew, who politely enquired how we did. Right ! interrupted Madame de Linval, without awaiting our anfwer* and if any one is ill I wlfli them to fol- low my example : let the purfuit of gai- ety and plcafure be their cure ; this is the fource of my health. You feem, Mon- ficur Saint Brice, a little pale and de- ( 108 ) jeded ; well, refide a month under my roof, and I will anfwer, jou fhall have the fine colour which now mantles the cheeks of your fair daughter. That colour of which fhe fpoke fud- denly fufFufed my w^hole countenance ; and my looks were bent to the earth, while Saint Angc, the officer's nephew, was intenfely furveying me. My father frailed, and looked at me alfo, and this general attention augmented my cm- barraflmentand bluflies. Undoubtedly, faid my father, Madame's gay fpirits, and her fafcinating fociety might be ve- ry well fuited to rcftore me to health and tranquiUity, if I could prolong my ftay with her; but that is impoffible; and 1 am about to depart almoft imme- diately for Abbeville, whence I Ihall take poft.— Depart immediately ! re- plied Madame de Liiival. Ah! you flirely will not be fo cruel, to fhew ( 109 ) vourfelf thus for a moment, and then •x difappear for ever. Indeed you muft not ferve me thus, Saint Brice, indeed you muft not. — Madame ! What bufuiefs have you to tranfa6l ? None. What are your motives for travelUng ? A wifh to divert your mind from uneafy reflexions, by a variety of fcenes and objeds. I can procure you more variety under this roof than a journey of two hundred leagues can afJord you. You muft remain here; I am determined on it; you muftftay. — ButMadame — Ah ! you have no objection^ I know, teazer that you are ; I read your heart, and fee there.... mor^ than you think for. — Yet I fwear to you, Madame, that my heart contains no fecret which may not be revealed to you ! — It is perhaps too early then to But let us difmifs the fubjecS for the prefent : it is moreo- ver your bufniefs to break filence firft. VOL. I. I ( 1/0 ) My friends, the weather is lovely to-day; fuppofe we go and dine at that pretty hunting box in the neighbouring foreft ? Du Villier and "Lornevil will be at the chace this morning ; let us furprife them : what fay you to it ? it is agreed on. I will SCO and give the neceffary orders. My father wiflied to expoftulate, but ihe was already gone to fummon her domeftics, and was playing up a pretty racket on the flairs. My father whifper- ed to me : this is a very fmgular woman ; I have fome wifli to ftudy her ; for ihe is either mad, or has fome defigns I am at prefent unacquainted with. — We fliall remain here then, my father ? — ' Yes, a few days ; juft to fee how things will end. My heart was poflefled anew Svith uneafy fenfations, and I w^as filent. I felt that I was not happy or unembar- raffed in Madame de Linval's fociety ; ( 17' ) llie was older than I, and treated me as a child. My lather, however, Ibemcd determined on fta} ing ; and I was o- bliged to obey. While the old commander was talk- ing to my iatheron the fingularity of Madame de Linval's character, whom he called his beft friend. Saint Ange took occafion to fay a few civil things to me, and this young man, whom my fancy already adopted, appeared to unite a lively wit with modefty and ele- gant manners. A few moments after our hoftefs returncj^l : thanks to the riot I have been mailing, faid ihe, to us; all is ready, and we may depart imme- diately. M:idemoifelle, Saint Brice, her father, the commander, and myfelf will go in the great coach, and as to our youngfter, he muft walk; he will not be long after us; for it is only two leagues hence. ( ^l''- ), Things were prefently arranged. My father gave his confent, and we w^ere -prefently packed into a forry gothic carriage, flowly dragged by two lean horfes. We were hardly arrived at the hunting feat, when we faw running to us Saint Ange, accompanied by Du Vil- iier and Lornevil, two tall young men whom I recoUefted having feen the pre- ceding evening at Madame de Linval's, as well as feveralof their friends. Well, faid Madame de Linval, you little expefted to fee us here. This was my fcheme, and you find I have made it as ufual fubfervient to my pleafures. For we fhould have dined alone, while now we fliall have fociety. All the young men haftcned to pay their refpefts to her. Du Villler efpecial- ly feemed to me the moft eager. He kifled the lady's hand v/ith an appear- ance of fondnefs which feemed to be- ( ir3 ) long to another fcntlment than that of friendlliip. Is it on my accovint, faid Ma- dame deLinval, with a fmile, tothl^^ gay party, that you flicvv lach joy? or is it for the pleallire I have procured y&u in bringing hither Mademoifelle Stiiat Brice ? This qucilion excited feveral gallant anfwers, of which Madame de Linval was the pririclpal cljc;*^. SaYord, was jealous, my father's was not. You will blame me perhaps, Jean- nette, for fpeaking with fuch freedom of my parents ; but I owe to one my love for virtue ; and unhappily, it was under the guidance of the other, pro- bably from the little fevcrity difplayed [n his principles and example, that I have been found tranlgreffing, though voluntarily, all the laws of honour. My mother abandoned me at that age when the paffions are moft lawlcfs and wild, on the edge of the precipice, and my father has not held out a helping liand to fave me from falling into it. Let me however return to my Itory. Hardly had I aw^oke, when I be- held my father enter haftily my apart- ment. My daughter, faid he to nie, a I ( 1Q7 ) note which I found in my apartment on rifing has much furprifed me. It informs me that your affections have been engaged by the flattering propo- fals of one of the inmates of this houfe; his name is not revealed to me ; but, if I mav judge from what paffed yefterday this feduccr can be no other than Du Villier. — My father before you con- demn me, deign to communicate the conten!:3 of that note, anonvmous no doubt. — Oh yes, compleatly fo, and in a hand- writing which is perfedly un- known to me. Here it is \ tie i)rc-cn;:ed mc with the note, and I read as f()!l()V> s. " Y(;u \\\\o would try fo rigoroully the virtue of others, you who i machine vourfclf the wifeil: of men. and flieft w the bands of hymen, from the ap;;re- hcnfion of meeting with a companion but little worthy of yon, think of ihe K. 3 ( 198 ) dangers to which your voluntary celiba- cy expofes your daughter. A feducer kas rendered her fenfible to his preten- ed paffion : flie loves him with ardour ; and, if you do not give her a fecond nn other, your daughter will fall into a fnare of which both her and yourfelf will be for ever the victims. Accept this advice from a friend." This note fo much furprifed me, that I remained for fome moments utterly difconcerted ; a cold fwcat bedewed my forehead, and 1 found myfelf unable to utter any more than thefe two words ; The monftcr ! Whom do you mean, my daughter ? demanded mildly my father, who is this monfter you accufc ? who do you fuppofe has conveyed me this advice ?--i I know not, my father ; but it is not Madame de Llnval ! it h fome one as wicked asherfelf. — Madame de Linvai- ( 109 ) but, Cecilia, \vc arc not talking novv^ of her vices or her virtues, the qucftion is, whether the information here given be true, !( this vain Du VilUcr.... I interrupted my father, improving joyfully of his 'error: Du ViUier, my fa- ther ! And do you render fo little juf- tice to }our daughter as to fuppofc her affections could be engaged by fuch a triflcr as him. — It is not Du Viliicr then, mv daughter? But Avho tiien is it ? for I have obfervcd licrc only tliat young man who could warrant tlie dc- cufation of fcduftion and perfidy : be- fides, I obferved he paid his court moll afliduoufly tc you ycilerday. — Oh ! my father, how can you give even a nio- ment's credit to fuch falfe reports ? Can- not you ])Grccivc that this pretended advice is given only to prepare you for the private interview Madame dc I/in- vai wiflies to have with you? Tlub K 4 ( 200 ) woman probably knows you are a wi- dower, fancies you are rich ; wifhes to marry you. Indeed, fir, this is an infernal houfe we are in. My father remained for a moment thoughtful; then, after a fhort filence, faid to me : Cecilia, you take after your mother in fagacity and forefight. You have guefled it; yce^, I think you have difcovered the dcfign Unwil- ling to lofc this opportunity, I inter- rupted him, and thus faid: Go then> my father, and hear what this woman has to fay, whofc conda(!il is guided by falfehood and the blocked defigns, and you will prefcntly return, impelled by the confidence with which you ho- nour me, and fay : Cecilia, you have made mc fenfible of the perfidy which endeavoured to leffen you in my eftima- tion: your father now will be juft to you; he knows he is your friend, the firft ( 201 ) to whom you ought to confide your fe- crets, and that your heart can only ac- knowledge a fpoufe which meets with his approbation, and is worthy of pof- feffing it. M. d' Eranville, moved by this ener- getic addrefs, embraced me with kind- nefs. My daughter, he exclaimed, my Cecilia! Oh! you will be forever love- ly and good; you will fupply to my heart the place of your excellent mo- ther... Come, let us fee this woman: but foon, Cecilia, will we quit this dwells ing, w^here virtue, innocence, candour, reputation, all are in danger ! Adieu, my Cecilia, embrace your father, and believe he loves, he ftillefteems you. Affured that I had now led back the author of my days to fentiments more worthy of me, I prefled him to my heart, and he went immediately to Ma- dame de Linval's apartment. ( 202 ) Hardly was my father retired, than I beheld Saint Ange himfelf enter my apartment. How great was my furprife, my confufion, at obferving him take fo bold a ftep, fo dangerous alfo to myfelf, after what had been written to my fa- ther, and which could only relate to him! Sir, faid I, much embarraffed, I know not who gives you permiffion to intrude here ; allow me to retire. — Oh no ; flay, lovely Saint Brice, ftay I I am indeed your paffionate admirer, but at the fame time I would be both re- fpeftful and fubmiffive. — Give me then a proof of your fubmffion, fir, by leav- ing me inftantly. — I am ready to obey you, charming creature : but before I go, fwear you do not hate me. — That queftion, fir, is fo hacknied a one, fo peculiar to romances and dramas, that I cannot think of anfwering it: is there no dlftindion betweea adoring and (• 203 ) . not hating.... There is none among lov- ers: he who adores not, hates, detefts: love can content himfelf with no inter- mediate fentiment. — Then, fir, what do you require of me ? what do you wifli ? — To hear thofe words from your mouth, and then I will retire. — Thofe words ?... — Are they fo difficult to pro- nonncc ? when I repeat to you a hun- dred times, I adore you cannot you utter thole three words fo rapturous, fo pleafing : I love yOu? — Well ! of what ufe would be fuch a confeffion ? Do I know whom you are ? Do you know any of my connexions ? Could we flat- ter ourfelves with being ever united to^ each other? — Who Ihall prevent it? Hell itfelf has not a barrier ftronr e- nough to feparate us, at leaft to feparate me from you ; for here I can only fpeak formyfelf. — ^You have not anfwercd my queflion. — Do you flatter yourfelf that kO ( 204 ) your birth, your circumftances will de- ferve my father's confent ?. . — Alas ! that perhaps is the leafl: obftacle. — You figh. Saint Ange ! Your eyes are even filled with tears ! You know not how much you intereft me. — Adorable crea- ture ! — ^Your hand is not then free ? — Oh ! yes. . . .it fliall be. — And you would infpire me with a paffion which you are not yourfelf capable of return- ing. Leave me. — Leave you ! — Yes, reftore me my liberty. — Render me back then mine. The noble youth wept ; Jeannette, he wept bitterly ! Say, in my place, would you not have been moved? I dried his tears, Jeannette ; I had the weaknefs to confefs that he was not in- different to me, and we long difcourfed of love and its delights. He at length left me fwearing that he would foon give me proofs of his afFe6tions...He has ( 205 ) kept his word, Jeannette ; but what proofs, great God !....and after what manner has he given them !..,Let me however proceed. My father returned : the interview demanded with fuch formality, and fo impatiently expecSed, had only ended in giving D'Eranville tounderftand into what an error they had fallen with re- gard to whom he was, and in convinc- ing him that I had gueffed aright. The particulars of their interview I will now relate. My father entered with a very cold and ferious air : Madame, I obey your orders. — Oh ! here youare,....Monfieur Saint Brlce, that. I think is your name? — Madame...— You change co- lour ? have you deceived me then ? — Has any one prefumed to tell you I have ? — Oh ! I have heard a great deal of you. I now know you ; and allow { 200 ) me to fay my pride has fome reafon to be irritated at the contempt you have fhewn for me. — Contempt, Ma- dame ? — Yes, fir, contempt; and efpe- cially a total want of all confidence. Since you have feen me, fince you have felt a paffion for me, were thefe un- handfome evafions worthy of a man of gallantry. Wherefore this change of your name ; the pretence of coming to enquire for Madame Durocher, whofc death you could not be unacquainted with. Why all this difguife and myf- tery ? Omitting the mention of another perfon, on whom I Ihall be filent, but who juftly excites my jealouiy and in- dignation — Madame, all you have juft faid is fo perfectly incomprehenfible to me, thati find it impoffible to anfwer you. — Is Saint Brice your name ? fpeak....You areconfufed ? — I am quite tired of this interrogatory. You have ( 207 ) no more right to make it than I any obligation to anfwer it. I fee that you either take me for fome other perfon, or elfe your mind is deranged. Fare- well, Madame. — Ho, traitor, you fliall not leave me. You fhall not accufe me of madnefs with impunity ; if I have feemed agreeable in your eyes, if I alfb love you, you fhall at leaft aflign fome reafon for your perfidy to me. — It is painful, Madame, to hear myfclf de- nounced perfidious after a practice of forty years probity, proof to all circum- ftances. — We fhall fee that, ungrateful man ; I am now going to be plain with you, and if you deceive me, nothingfhall fave you from the effects of my re fen t- ment. Now look on me.... Dare you deny that your name is Dormon ! — Dormon ? — Yes, Dormon. You re- main fpeechlefs !— -What, Madame ! Dormon, the rich financier, who pof- ( 208 ) feffcs a rental of an hundred thoufand crowns ! do you take me for him !--- I am wrong, I prefume? — You cer- tainly have never feen him ?— -Frefh. evasions. — Dormon is much taller than me : you, I fuppofe, expected him here.— -Yes, and I have been deceived in my expectations. M. D'Eranville here burft out into a loud fit of laugh- ter : I beg your pardon, Madame, but indeed this jeft fets all gravity at defi- ance; the furious lady accufed him of adding wrong to his former infults. My father, feeing fhe perfifted in her error, rofe to leave the room, exclaim r ing : Well, Madame, I am that Dor- mon whom you expected, whofe hand and fortune you apparently afpired to ; but your condud: has erafed your image from my heart for ever, and I will now depart immediately for Paris, where many fair females will be proud of gain- ( 2g ) ing that heart without tjramfing over it. My father left her on faying thefe words, which his curious fituation prompted; and he enjoyed another hearty laugh in relating to methisplea- fant miftake, the effects of which wc obferved, without having a clue to the caufe. It was now high time to depart, and leave this foolifli woman and her libertine fociety : my father was impa- tient ; and notwithftanding the grief I felt in the uncertainty of never feeing again my dear Saint Ange, I was obfig- ed to obey. Already were the fcrvants engaged in removing our effcds to th^ carriage, when a new incident fuf- pendcd for the fecond time our de- parture, and compleated my mls'or- tuncs. ( 210 ) CHAPTER XVL A dreadful Change. Sir, exclaimed a woman who now prefentcd herfelf before us, apparently under the deepeft confufion ; Sir, deign to hear me, and permit me once more to regain your efteem of which my fatal giddinefs has deprived me. It was Madame dc Linval ! My fa- ther requefted her to fit down. He would have had me retire, but the ra- pidity of Madame de I /invars difcourfe prevented him entirely from fignifying his wifhes. Sir, continued this wo- man, I have a thoufand pardons to afk. I fee I have been unwarily deceived on a point... c.» You are not Dormon, I ( 2.'. ) perceive; I know it well ; I havejufl had the moft convincing proofs of it ; and to be candid with you, I own I have mlftaken you for that perfon. Your air, your features, private infor- mation, all has tended to plunge me into an error which has made me guil- ty of the moft culpable imprudence. I have even, I know, in your eyes overftepped the boundary of that de- cency, that modeily which is the fair- ell: ornament of our fcx. Under the certain convidllon that you loved me, that vou came under an aifumed name to judge perfonally of my condud:, I caufed that portrait to be placed in your chamber. 1 even made advances which only expofed myfelf. Pardon then, Sir, my condud ; deign to clofe vour eves on thefc follits ; let me alfo hope you will promife mc inviolable fccrccy, and allow me time to repair ( 212 ) my faults, to regain your cftccm. You owe me this indulgence, and my difappointment gives me a right to ex- ped; it. I befecch you, Sir, devote to me yet two or three days of your time. Abjuring all diffipation, my whole fo- ciety yourfelves, I v^'ould now endea- vour to prove to you that my wit and talents are more folid than I have yet given you reafon to fuppofe. Farewell to Dormon, farewell to my follies ; my aim is now to fecure a friend in Mon- fieur Saint Brice ; and he is not fo in- human as to reject the atonement of a guilty woman. My father, whofc heart was frank and iincere, imagined he perceived the fame virtues difplayed in this confcffi- on of Madame de Llnval : he tried to convince her that the term guilty flie had applied to herfelf was by far too harfh ; that there had been nothing in ( 213 ) her whole conduft which amounted to more than a flight error. — Ah ! Sir, replied the artful woman, if it had not been for this error, which blinded my reafon, fhould I have ufed fuch preffing entreaties to induce you to ftay when you firft Introduced yourfelf to me ?.... fhould I have fnice employed a thou- fand artifices to retain you ? fhould I have addreffed you with half-confiden- ces unintelhgible to you, though I then doubted not you underltood them. You fee that if I have difplayed much levity in my conduct, a fingular con- nexion of circumftances will in fomc degree tend to excufe it. You have told me, Sir, feveral times that no bu- fincfs of immediate importance dircfted your travels ; grant me then the favour I afk. Two days more, only two days ; and if not for my fake, or your own, let this charming girl plead for ( 214 ) me, whofe lofs I fliall fo feverely feel, whofe graces, talents, and amiable cha- radler will form the charm of our re- union. Shall I obtain this favour? My father, naturally little inclined to be firm in his dcfigns, hefitated for a moment before he replied : his eyes leemed to confult me ; but mine were depreffed, that he might not read in them the defire I felt to prolong my ftay in a place dangerous indeed to in- nocence, but which lov^e feemed for ever to have attached mc to. I did not anfwer, and my good lather, taking my filencc for confcnt, pleafed more- over at the honeft and candid manner of Madame de Linval, who entreated him to lorget her extravagances, my father conlcnted to prolong his ftay ; and, for the fecond time, our portman- teaus were removed to our refpectivc apartments. ( 215 ) I fliould obferve to you, Jeanncttc, that I was remarking attentively Ma^ dame de Linval, and her fecretand ma- lignant exultation did not efcape my notice, when my father yielded to her entreaties. She bit her lips, and even changed colour, when flie remarked the attention I paid to her leafl: move- ments ; but, like an able politician, Ihe foon recovered from her confufion, thanked my father a thoufand times, and loaded me with careiTes. She then retired, and we remained where we were. And now, Jeannette, it will be pro- per to reveal to you fomething of the character, the intrigues, and the plots of this vile and contemptible woman; and you will fee into what fnares my father's imprudence had led the iuno- cence of his unhappy daughter. Lif- ten to me with attention : what I fhall ( 216 ) now relate, I knew not, to my misfor- tune, untill a long time after. Madame de Linval was one of thofc w omen of moderate virtue, who, be- ing left widows at an early age, plunge into all the follies of coquetry, and de- vote their whole time to fplendid appear- ances, and to difplay themfelves to ad- vantage. Madame de Linval, after having led at Paris a life fufficiently depraved, had the prudence to amafs fome pro- perty ; and had rcfidcd for three years in a large and elegant country-houfe, which fhe had purchafcd, in the vil- lage of Orneval, near Abbeville. There, no doubt, from the profit that accru- ed from her riches, Ihe gave reception to a crowd of young libertines, old lliarpers, and women of her own de. fcription, Du Villicr was the lover of the day ; and Lornevil, as well as fe- veral others, expcdcd their turns, ( 217 ) their turns, which they knew were not tar diftant. But a Madame Dumerel, whofc lover fhe had deprived her of, in- fluenced by the moft horrid jealoufy and fury towards Madame de Linval, to avenge herfclf, conceived a device, pleafant enough, but of which I, alas ! w^as to be the fad victim! You know, Jeannette, that at Paris focieties are compofed of all ranks of people. This Madame Dumerel, who acled there the prude and the woman of fair reputation, went to the houfe of one of my father's friends. There, fhe heard a report that Monfieur D'Eran- viile was about to depart with his daughter for his eftatc near Abbeville, and that he fliould pay his refpcd* likewife to a Madame Durocher, an old iriend of his, who lived in the village of Orneval. Madame Dumerel knew that this lady Durocher was dead? that VOL. I. L ( 218 ) her enemy, Madame de Linval, had* purchafed the houfe fhe refidedin? and Ihc inftantly fat about planning fome trick to play in turn to her rival, and rob her at once of her lovers and her' liberty. But this wicked vroman knew not that Ihe was involving alfo in dif- honour a father of refpedable family and his virtuous daughter; or, if Hie had known it, flie would have only laughed at it : all was indifferent to her, provided fhe was avenged. At that time nothing was heard of at Paris, but the immenfe fortune of Dormon the financier and his regret at having loft his fpoufe. Neverthelefs Dormon paffed for an epicure, a great loverofplcafure and women. Madame de Linval had never fcen him, and knew nothing of him but from general report. La Dumerel wrote to her in the ftile of frlendfhip, to congratulate ( 219 ) her on her good fortune, hiformuig her that, in the laft vifit Hie had paid to Paris, Dormon had feen her at the ope-t^^ ra ; that he was become her paffionatc admirer, and fpoke no lefs than of mar- rying her, &c. &c. This news alniofl turned Madame de Linval's brain : fhe inftantly returned a letter of thanks to her falfe friend for the communication, and begged her advice with regard to how flie fhould proceed to fecure her good fortune. Madame Dumerel wrote to her the /bllowing letter, which formed the tif- fueofher whole conduct to my father and myfelf : ^' My dear friend, when I think of the fervice I am rendering you, I am in- deed convinced I am doing that of which our fex is thought incapable. I who have fo many reafons for being in- cenfcd againft you, I am interefting L 2 ( 222 ) and, as you know he loves pleafure, let there be feafts, balls, good company to enliven him, in a word — but I need not enlarge farther; you underftand me. '^ Adieu, my fair B'lle, arrange all for his arrival. Dormon, a man of about fifty years of age, of a brown complexion, well formed, melancholy^ and inclined to taciturnity; his daugh- ter if you will, about eighteen, handfome, but fomcvvhat awkward, and reftrained In her manners ; vuxdcr an aifumed name, they will enquire for Madame Durochcr, whofe death they will pretend to be ignorant of. li you manage this information well, your fortune is made. Once more, therefore, adieu, m) fair and fortunate one.** '* PULCHERIA DuAIERIl/' Here Jeannettc could not forbear in- terrupting Cecilia, to exprefs her in- dignation and fears. O Heavens, mjr ( 223 ^ dear lady, {he exclaimed, what a vile plot! you was then taken for a finan- cier's mlftrefs. Ah ! my blood freezes within me. Tell me what rcfulted from this infamous falfehood. — Misfor- tunes the moft terrible, my dear Jean- nctte. Liften; we fiiall prefently come to them. X- 4 ( 222 ) and, as yoa know he loves pleafure, let there be fcafts, balls, good company to enliven him, in a word — but I need not enlarge Ihrther; you undcrftand me. *' Adieu, my fair B'.lle, arrange all for his arrival. Dormon, a man of about fifty years of age, of a brown complexion, well formed, melancholy^ and inclined to taciturnity; his daugh- ter If you will, about eighteen, handfome, but fomcwhat awkward, and reftrained In her manners ; under an alTumed name, they will enquire for Madame Durochcr, whofe death they will pretend to be ignorant of II you manage this information well, your fortune is made. Once more, therefore, adieu, m} fair and fortunate one.*' '* Pltlcheuia Dumeuil/' Here Jeannettc could not forbear in- terrupting Cecilia, to exprefs her in- dignation tod fears. O Heavens, m.y ( 223 1 dear lady, (he exclaimed, what a vile plot! you was then taken for a finan- cier's miilrc/s. All! my blood freezes within me. Tell me what rcfulted from this infamous falfehood. — Misfor- tunes the moft terrible, my dear Jean- nette. Liften; we fliall prefcntly come to them. L 4 ( 224 ) CHAPTER XVII. How can tt he conff[Jcd ? You may fuppofe, my friend, that, after receiving fuch a letter, Madame de Linval could not for a moment doubt, on my father and myfelf ma- king our appearance, that the former Was the myfterious financier Dormon, and the latter the handfome but awk- ward young lafs, who paffed for his daughter. Hence fuch refpeftful at- tentions, fuch entreaties to induce us to ftay ; hence the fending her portrait tomyTather, thofe partial confidences^ thofe famous interviews; in a word, all the arts of a coquette piqued with a man for fo fcrioufly endeavouring to ( 225 ) found her condud: and manners. The note by which my father was warned of the dangers I ran, in the company of a feduccr, was alfo dictated by her ; it was meant to render Dormon fufpi- cious of the fidcUty of his miftrefsf and to fix his attention more Intenfely on the amiable objedt who ^ow courted his affedions. Madame dc Linval had obferved my growing paf- fion for Saint Ange, and it was him flie meant in her perfidious letter. Now I am fpeaking of Saint Ange I may remark, that I could never ac- count for the general and his nephew^s conduct in vifiting a perfon of fuch a fufpedcd charafter as Madame dc Lin- val. Yet, if I may truft fome old re- ports relpefting the general, he was by no means a ft anger to the miftrefs of the houfc. As to the nephew, he fol- lowed his uncle, to whofe will he was L 5 ( 226 ) entirely fubmiffive ; and you will foon perceive that, notwithftanding the goodnefs of his principles, his manners did not remain totally free from the pollution which reigned through this afylum of debauchery O my mother! you w^ould not have left your daugh- ter for olie moment in fuch a place ! In herlaft interview with my father, in which (lie hadafked him if his name was not Dormon, though my father had denied it, had even rallied her on her miftake, Madame dc Linval was not convinced; but ftill perfuaded that the pretended Dormon rejefted her hand, and evidently defpifed her by his wlfh. to leave her, this unfeeling woman meditated an horrible revenge. To exe- cute it, it was neceffary to engage us to remain with her two davs more, a favour which flic foon obtained of 'he t©o ealy D*£ranville, Emboldened by ( 227 ) her fuccefs, more than ever pcrfuaded that my father was Dormon, and my- felf. a proftitute : fori muft confefs it, however it harrows each modeft fed^ ing, the cruel Madame de Linval pre- fently aflembled her gang of debau- chees, compofed of Duvillier, LornevU, and many more. She then related to them, fliedding tears of malice, that the unfortunate times, the fmallnefs of her fortune, had induced her to feek the hand of the rich Dormon in marriage, who had alfo taken a liking to her. She informed them of all that had pafled be- tween Dormon and hcxfelf fince he had rcfided in the houfe, and concluded by imploring their affiftance to avenge her- felf on the fickle wretch, and his girl, who no doubt influenced his con- du(S. — Faith ! faid Duvillier, it is on the young lafs I would rather take my revenge. — And I alfo, added Lornevil. L ( 228 ) The idea of revenging themfelves on Pormon'smiftrefs made them all laugh heartily : and the plot was then formed, which you will prefently fee executed. Youiigh, Jeannette ! you will foon have reafon to pity me ftill more. In the evening, at fupper, Madame de Linval, who fince the morning had entirely changed her manners and beha- viour towards us, afked my father if he ftill pcrfifted in his defign of departing the da after the morrow. — Madame, replied my father, I fliould have de- parted to-day if it had not been for the promife I made you, I know not why, to Hay two days longer. — You know not why, Sir? My condud: will explain that. This doubt, Sir, I think, a gentle- man like you ought .-.t leuft to have re- preffcd. Pardon, Sir, thi flight erne- tion of" fcuiibility ; it ihali be the lait. ( 229 ) My father did not anlvvcr her : he has confeffcd to mc fincc that if it had not been for the promifc which bound him, he would have departed that in- Itant. It was indeed cafy for Madame dc Linval to perceive that Dormon, for Aich fhe ftill imagined my father, was far from fliowing the leaft atiedion to her, or even efteem. However this may be, Ihe ftill continued her diffimu- lation, and propofed a feaft aad ball, for the next day, to celebrate their farewell to Monfieur Saint Bricc. I remarked that flie ftill afFedt^d to lay an emphafis on this name ; which con- vinced mc fhe was ftill undeceived. The convcrfation took a turn, for a lliort time, on the arrangements of the intended tcftivity, and at length each of us retired to our chambers. ( 230 ) My father fpoke but little ; tired without doubt at the courfe of life he had thefe laft few days purfued, he internally wiilicd to be irced from it, efpecially when he rcflcftcd he had a daughter with him from whofe eyes he wiflied afiiduoufly to remove each vici- ous fcene of life. For my part, 1 flept foundly, in the pleafmg hopes of feeing again Saint Ange the next day, and of dancing with him. Hardly had I well awoke, before Madame de Linval enquired for me; the articles of the toilette were to be difculfed ; an im- portant employment with her ! fhe teftified even more friend ibip for me than ufual, but ftill in that haughty manner which furprifcci, though it di4 not deeply aifeft me. Sine prefidcd herfelf at my equipment, and to every perion who entered the apartment. ( 231 ) faid : There, is not this a fair lafs } file will captivate the hearts, I fear, of not a few. Ah ! flie will make more conquefts than flie cares for !..., Our dinner paffcd gaily ; Monfieur Saint Brice's health was drank ; but with an air of irony which neither ef- caped my father's notice nor mine. We danced ; I was followed, praifed, ador- ed by all ; but I really fliould have been unhappy amidft all this enthufiaf- tic flattery, if Saint Ange had not ftili been my conftant companion, or had not charmed me by propofals Icls flat- tering but more true. Yet Saint Ange did not appear (o gallant nor fo polite as uiual. He fpoke to me in a man- ner rather free, and I obferved feveral times a fmile on his countenance, as he archly viewed me from the corner of his eye. Alas ! they had told Saint Ange alfo the -abfurd ftory that I was ,, . , ( 232 ) the miftrefs, and not the daughter of the financier Dormon, &c. and the credulous Saint Ange had beheved all thefe horrible calumnies. The ball ended, a fupper was now ferved up, fo elegant, and fo tedious,' v/here the wines were circulated in fuch abundance, that, towards its conclufion, all the guefts found they had drank too much. Duvillier and Lornevil were in the moft dreadful ftate of intoxication : my Saint Ange was more than half gone, and I had the forrow to fee my father himfelf, he who was fo much addicted to fobri- ety, fuddenly fall afleep, overpowered by what he had drank. I felt in my turn a ftrong propenfity to fleep ; and, fuppofing it natural, 1 afked leave to re Lire. No, my angel, faid Madame de Linval, who had alone preferved her realbu; no, if you pleafe, you ( 233 ) muft not go alone ; you muft flcep in my chamber to night. Look at all thefe men?....0 mv God! lam fo frightened at drunkards! I fliould ne- ver fleep ? you will do me a favour; I pray you, now ? — Madame, my fa- ther.... What if heiliould be indifpof- ed in the night : I would rather not leave him. — That would be very natu- ral, if there was no one elfe to wait on him, but he has Comptois, Lewis, and he fliall have Champenois to watch by his bed-fide ! Oh ! fear not, he is a moft faithful attendant, and you mav rely on his affiduities. Come, my dear. I infiftcd on feeing my father con- ducted to his chamber. This \Nas granted me ; but prefently my eye- lids grew heavy, and I could no longer act or fpeak. Oh I Jcannette, the barbarians had ( 234 ) pi^tanto my drink a pov,'der worfe than narcotic: the effect of it was fuch, that itgave to fleep all the quietude of death, without ft' pping the circulation of the blood, or injuring the principles or fundions of life. In this ftate of infen- fibility, they conducted me to an apart- ment adjoining Madame de Lmval's, where they put me to bed. They then left my chamber door open, and aban- doned me to the infults of all the young lij^ertines to whom Madame de Linval had given permiffion to difhonour me. Yet, by the intervention of divine juftice without doubt, which would not, fuffer innocence to become the pr^y^ of fuch crimes, thefe wretches were fo deeply intoxicated that it was impoffible for them to recover from their ftupor: Duvillier, Lornevil, and their worthy comrades fnored and flept uutil the next morning. One onlj ...,, ( 235 ) Jeannette ; ought I to confide to yo,u this circumilance ! One only, - the young Saint Ange, notwithftanding his iiuoxlcation, which was however leis exceflive than the others, w ander- cd about, a.> he has fince ilild, to de- fend me from infult ; for he knew the fchcme of vengeance intended to be Infllcled on Dormons girl, and, far froiTi entering into it with alacrity, had oppofcd it. Saint Ange ; ah, Jeannette ! .Saint Ange found the door of my apartment open ; he enter- ed, guided by the hght they left in it; and the cruel youth, far from defend- ing, and protcclhig me when in a ftatc of utter infenfibihty, fuffered hinifelf to be led away by his pafTions ; the place, the hour, the ftlllncfs O Jeannette ! Stupified as I was by the deadly nar- cotic that had been given me, I ( 230 ) ancied that night in a dream that I be- held Saint Ange by my fide : he fpoke to me of his love, and even a kifs he had the temerity to give me thrilled with rapture my whole frame. This is all I can recall, Jeannctte, of that night of diflionour, when agiddy youth, almoft deprived of reafon, convinced moreover that I was a vile proftitutc, and whofe pcrfon already had been abufcd by many, dared. ...But leC me think no more of it let me follow the tilTue of my ilid adventures. ( 237 ) CHAPTER XVIII. The Confequences, It was late before I awoke the next morning ; and, if it had not been for another drug, I believe, which was brought me in bed, I felt fo exhaufted, I could not have rifen. I was not fur- prifed at finding myfcif in a ftrange apartment ; I knew that on the pre- ceding evening, Madame de Linval had expreflcd a wifli to have me near her ; but my firft enquiry was rcfpccl- ing my father's health. I was told he was well, and that he had already en- quired for me, as he was impatient to fct out. I haftened in fearch of him ; he exprcfled his regret at having ( 238 ) fafFered himfclf, the night before, to be overcome by fleep, and efpeclally at my having paffed the night fo far from him. I, who never fufpe(5lcd the treachery that had been ufed, affured him that in an apartment near Madame de Linvafs I had flept in fafety. My kind father fhook his head, not to in- timate he did not believe me, but only to exprefs his opinion that I fliould have been fafer near him. He trailed moreover to my principles ; and for my part, I could have fworn to him I was the moft innocent aud purefl: creature in the world. We went down to take our leaves, and found Saint Ange with Madame de Linval, who was loudly laughing : nor did our prefence put a Hop to her mer- riment, which I thought was even car- ried to a degree of rudenefs; as to Sairvt Ange, he retired blufliing deeply. Ma- ( 23<«) ) dame dc Linval called to him: where are you gouig? well! this is childlih indeed! Madame de Linval embraced me, with an ironical air, faying to mc : Farewell, my fweet girl ; Heaven grant you may yet have to remember your refidence here. ...She did not perhaps at the time fuppolc flie prophecied fo truly. She then coldly faluted my father: You are now going to Paris, I prefume. — No, Madame, to Dunkirk. — What any more taxes to ralfe there? Ah! pardon me, I was thinking of the financier Dormon. — Madctme, you promifed me to have done with this jefting ! — Well, fir, I fhall fay no more. I falute you, and vviili you both a pleafant journey. Afarcaftic fmile accompanied this wlfh, and we prefently left the maniion to afcend into our carriage. While my i'ather was giving feme orders, Saint ( 240 ) Ange drew near. At length, whifpered he, in fpite of yourfelf, I have been the happieft of men. — What do you mean, fir ? — That I fliall ever adore you, fmce, I have never beheld any one fo w^orthy of adoration. — This light behaviour^ fir, does not become you ; it is more fuita- ble to the young Ubertines you call your friends : and if you continue to ufe it to me, it will diminiih, I confefs, the re- gret I fhould otherwife feel in leaving you. Saint Ange changed colour, and af- fiiming a more refpe£tful tone, replied: What! Mademoifelle, will you deign to honour with your regret one who fin- cerely loves you. — I was never fo un- grateful as not to feci for the intereft another takes in my happinefs. — Ah Mademoifelle ! why are you not what you feem to be! I paid little attention to this excla- ( 241 ) mation, which I explained thus, after theobfcurity of a lover*s language : why is not your heart as fenfible to love as the accents of your voice feem to fhew! My father now came unexpedledly on us, and our converfation was interrupt- ed. My fpirits failed me when I be- held Saint Ange leave me, and he him- felf turned back feveral times regarding me with eyes filled with tears. Ma- dame de Linval was alfo there, who fmiled, looked at Saint Ange, then im- pertinently furveyed me, and could hardly contain her malignant joy. As to the other libertines, God be praifed J they were ftill afleep, and I was thus faved from their adieus. We got into our carriage, and Ma- dame de Linval again addrefled my-^fa- ther and me with fome equivocal ex- preffions, which convinced us this falfe and perfidious woman had flill aded . VOL. I. U with diffimulation, an^ was un&cdved regarding the fidtitious Dormon."^'*"' My father regretted his long ftk;^^'{h this difcreditable manfion, in compli- ance with the wiflies of others ; and as for me, if I bore in my heart the image of Saint Ange, time foon proved ihit I alfo exported, from this feat of ncilft'a /ruitful fource of tears and fufferings, to feal mydilhonour, -r^up There happened to us nothing extra- ordinary until we reached Boulogne, where lay one of my father's ancient cftates. This, like the refl:, was loft to us, but we flopped with an intention of paffmg a few months at the houfe of a rich acquaintance cf my father. Va- lence, this was our friend's name, was a worthy and kind man ; and his wife, as modeft as fhe was wife and virtuous, devoted her attention to the education of her two children who were as yet ( -'-'3 ) very young. How diScrcnt was the economy of this family tp that of Ma- dame dc Ivinvals... Here were plcamres not nolly, but irreproaehable ; a focic- ty. fmall in number, but fclcQ: ; friends In whom we could confide ; a fairlicr'of ^ family, aclive, induitrlous,' thbugli cafv in his circumftanccs, and a'ber)cyo- lent mother, wlio tredtea mc as her own child; taking ciire o; my health, quciVioning me vvitli regard to every lit- tle circumftancc, and difplaving to me ,the tendered afFcdion. Madame Va- j.lcnce had been the • liend of my moiher, ^whom you know, Jciunctte, I ex- ^^^trcmcly rcfcmble, and fliewed to the fdaughtcr the finnc attachment ihe had felt for the mother. .^,r We paffed fix months in this manfi- on, but, my poor Jcannette, the latter ones w^ere far from being fo happy as the former ; an extraordinary dcranjie- M 2 ( 214 ) ment of my health at firft fingularly alarmed me. I, with extreme fimpli- city, revealed tliis circumftance to Ma- dame Valence, who, on hearing it, knit her eye-brows, and at laft was fo unkind as to call in queifton my virtue. This unjuft fufpicion pained me fo much that I burft into tears. Madame Valence, convinced by my proteftati- ons, which candour and my extreme ignorance of the conftitution of my fex dldated, was neverthelefs fo prudent as not to reveal my fituation to my fa- ther. She fent privately for fome me- dical men, who all agreed that I was pregnant. Pregnant ! you may conceive my furprife, Jcannette, and the fnnplicity of my queftions ! Pregnant! good hea- vens ! and by whom ? how ? at what time? Madame Valence would not jcafonably give credit to my aflertions. ( 2.'5 ) You perceive, Jeannette, I could re- veal nothing, fuice 1 was ignorant how this condition, which I called an lUnefs, was come upon me. However, at length convinced, as well as the phy- ficians and Madame Valence, that I was pregnant, I endeavoured to con- vince them that this ftate muft be na- tural, and they ^ere all confequently very ignorant. The grave doctors for once were growing very angry, if my kind friend had not interfered and ap- peafed them : neverthelefs this friend, without leflening her attachment to- wards me, withdrew partly her confi- dence ; end when I carried mine fo far as to confefs to her that my heart ac- knowledged a charming youth, named Saint Ange, Madame Valence did not doubt, in fpite of my obftinate filence, that this charming Saint Ange was the M 3 ( 246 ) father of the child I fhould foon bring into the world. I neverthelefs begged her not to fpeak of the affair to my father ; Ihe promifed fhe would not, and kept her word : but Ihe told me I fhould find it very diffi- cult to conceal the circumftance when the natural period arrived that I Ihould become a mother. She regretted (he could not have me at her houfe at that critical time ; it was in vam I entreated •my father to pafs with his friends the rigorous feafon of winter : he was in- exorable ; we left our kind entertainers at the fixth month of my pregnancy, which already grew very vifible to every one, except, luckily for me, my father, who was indeed leafl: likely to remark it. We now departed for Calais, where my father had fome old friends to vlfit. I trembled left I fhould not find them fo indulgent as thofe I had ( 247 ) quitted ; but good fortune attended mo in this affair, and I found friends as ar- dent as I could wifli. Monfieur de Scrvol was an old officer who had paid already his duties three times at the foot of hymen's altar. Two of his wives were no more ; and the third, who was not more than twenty- three years of age, was the moil amiable and benevolent woman I had ever known. Madame de Servol had been acquainted with my mother as well as Madame Valence, and Hiew- ed to me the livelieft affedion. I felt liifRcient confidence in her to reveal my fituation, afluring her I was abfolutely ignorant how it could happen : fhe fmiled, would not belireve me, but had too m:j- li delicacy to prefs me to reveal this fccret as flie called it. Madame de Servol promifed to give me her utmoft affiftance in concealing from every eye ( 24& ) the refultof an imprudence flie declared I had committed, and from this time my mind was more eaiy. Conceive my condition, Jeannette ! Put jourfelf in the place of a young fe- male, innocent and modeft, who be- held herfelf a mother without being able to affign the leaft caufe. Can you imagine a fituation more dreadful, more grievous ? For indeed I who ab- foluteiy knew nothing but of my own fex, who had never left my paternal manfion, how could I fufpeft my mif fortune took its rife from that unhap- py night when I left my father's apart- ments. But I had flept all the night, or at leaft fancied fo. It never once entered my mind that any accident could have happened to me this fatal night, which feemed not more fufpici- ous than any other; yet it was not long before I learnt the caufe of my misfor- ( 249 ) tune ; and now, Jeannette, will you perceive fome traces of the noble and truly virtuous foul of him who had in- deed committed an error which was the fource of much fuftering to me, but which the place, the time, his condi- tion, and the depraved fociety with which he had lately aflbciated, might in fome degree excufe. One morning when we were at breakfaft with M. de Servol, his wife, and children, a fervant entered to an- nounce the commander of Mellery and his nephew. At this unforefcen inti- mation, I grew pale; my heart beat violently, and I thought I ihould have^ fainted. Soon, however, the certainty of feeing again a friend, whom I had ne- ver ceafcd thinking of (ince my depar- ture fromOrncval, reirefhed my fplrits, and reftored me ftrength and courage^ As to my father, he was quite delighted { 250 ) to fee again his old commander, the only man who had interefted him among the fociety of Madame de Lin- val. What ! faid he to M. de ServoT, are you acquainted with the comman- der of Mellery ? — Acquainted with him ; he has been my friend thefe for- ty years ! JBut here he is I... The commander entered, andwhile^ he embraced his old friend, Saint Ange perceived me, and flew to me, exclaim- ing : Mademoifelle Saint Brice ! Ah, Madcmoifelle! how many wrongs have I to repair in regard to you !....Thej cruelly deceived me ! As he faid thefe v/ords but, Jcannette, the hour grows late : while I relate my flory to you, I feel not fa^ tigue, and time flies away. To-mor- row, Jeannette, to-morrow evening* I will conclude the relation of adven- tures not lefs Angular than thofe I have ( 251 ) already comrquiiicated, but my ftory now draws to a clofe. Cecilia and Jeannette prefently Tefl ^nto the fweet repofe of innocence and virtue, and the next evening Cecilia refumed her intercfting narration in the following words. M TO THE LITERARY WORLD, H. COLBURN, (FROM EARLE'S,) RESPECTFULLY SOLLICITS THE ATTENTION OF THE PUBLIC TO HIS CIRCULATING LIBRARY, Which is centrally situated at No. 48, Con- duit Street, New Bond Street, and which he has established on the largest Scale, and contains ■^ery Work of Merit in the English and French LanguageS^^ as also a choice Collection of Ita- lian and German Books. The Proprietor, grateful for the very liberal Pa- tronage he has received, has only to add, that Subscribers may depend on experiencing the "best possible Accommodation, in respe6l to the New Publications, of which there will al- ways be such a Number of Copies in Circulation as will prever\t the disagreable Necessity of repeat- edly applying for the same Work. Stationary of Superior Qualities. S. Rousseau, Printer, Wood Street, Spa Fields,