he knew, incur everlasting contempt; yet, were the Germans less proud? but then Mr Weimar was an elderly man, accountable to no one, lived in the country, detached from the world, and could do as he pleased. In short, he saw insuperable difficulties attending an attachment to Matilda from himself, and the certainty of it gave him more pain than in prudence he ought to have indulged. He had forgot himself, his long reverie surprised his friends, the Marquis interrupted it by asking his sentiments on the story he had heard? He said it was impossible for him to form an opinion; the account, with respect to her birth, was uncommon. yet nevertheless it might be true, such things had happened, and were not impossible; but if Mr Weimar was just in every particular, although he had a claim upon her gratitude, he could not see he had any to her person, contrary to her inclinations. The Marquis said, 'Your sentiments exactly coincide with mine, therefore the young lady must determine for herself; for my own part I have little doubt but her birth is noble; her person, her figure, the extraordinary natural understanding she possesses confirms my opinion that so many graces seldom belong to a mean birth or dishonest connexions.' 'There may be some truth in your observation,' said the Marchioness, 'but we have seen and heard of many instances where a noble soul has been inclosed within a vulgar body, and honour, fidelity, integrity, and attachment are seen in a thousand examples among people of the lowest class, though I grant not in common to be met with; but then every one has not had the cultivation nor accomplishments of Matilda.' 'Ah!' cried the Count, 'your remarks are undoubtedly very just; but there are so many natural graces in this lady, that I think with the Marquis, they never could spring from a mean or improper connexion.' 'I think so too,' replied she, 'but be that as it may, she shall always command our friendship and protection.'
She had scarcely said this before a servant entered with a letter, she looked with surprise at the post-mark, and withdrew to the window, she had no sooner opened it and perused two or three lines, than she exclaimed, 'Gracious Heaven! in England, O, my Lord, the Countess is safe in England?' The Count De Bouville instantly took leave, nor did they attempt to detain him, but engaged his return in the evening, with his mother and sister, if they were disengaged. He had no sooner left the room, than she eagerly read the contents of her letter as follows:
My dearest sister will, I know, rejoice when I tell her I have escaped from the worst of evils, perhaps from death, and am safe in the protection of a charming English Lady, Mrs Courtney, at her villa about three miles from London. The uncertainty whether you have left France, or on your journey to England, prevents me from being more explicit; if you have not left France, write under cover to Mrs Courtney, Harley-street, Cavendish-square. If this letter is sent after you, hasten to me, dearest sister, - O, what happiness I promise myself in embracing my dearest friends. I hope Miss Weimar is with you; the uncertainty has given me great concern. Do not delay an hour to satisfy your affectionate sister and friend.
VICTORIA
'Good God! I thank thee,' cried the Marchioness, 'this is blessed news indeed.' 'I rejoice with you, my dearest love,' said the Marquis, 'but pray communicate the news to your lovely protégée.' She hastened to Matilda; she was reclining on her arms, thrown across the table, and weeping bitterly. 'My charming girl do not give way to sorrow, heaven, in its own good time, will send you relief; here is an instance to prove it,' (giving her the letter.) Poor Matilda raised her drooping head, and hastily looked it over, clasped her hand with joy, 'O, my dearest madam, this is happiness indeed - let me not be so selfish to mourn on a day of joy like this.' 'Let this, my dear young friend, be a lesson to yourself, never despair; to misfortunes and contradictions to our best wishes, we are all liable, and all must expect; none are exempt from the calamities incident to human nature; to bear those inevitable evils with patience, to acquire resolution and fortitude under them, and to look forward with hope, that you may one day be delivered from them, will blunt the arrows of affliction, and enable you to support them with resignation.'
'My beloved, my charming monitress,' cried Matilda, 'I will try to profit by your advice; the Countess and yourself shall be my great examples - dear lady, how kind to think of the poor Matilda; I wish I could see her, but alas! - ' 'No sighs,' said the Marchioness, 'you must and shall be cheerful this day; hope, my dear girl, and all may be well yet.'
They descended to the parlour, and in the afternoon had the pleasure of hearing Joseph was just arrived with the servant. 'Let him come in,' they all cried, as with one breath. He entered; poor fellow, he fell on his knees and wept, it was difficult to say whether with joy or sorrow - he felt both; the sight of Miss Weimar remembered him of Bertha's dreadful fate, though he rejoiced to see her safe. The Marchioness and Matilda ran to raise him. 'Welcome, my good Joseph,' said the former, 'you are come on a happy day.' 'My dear friend,' said the latter, pressing his hand, 'do not give way to grief; we have all our sorrows, but we have our pleasures too, and I have news for you, Joseph. Our good lady is alive, and safe from the power of her enemies.' 'Heaven be thanked,' said the old man, wiping his eyes, 'this is blessed news indeed; and to see you safe too, my dear young madam, makes me happy, though I can't forget poor Bertha: alas, your ladyship, she was a good and faithful wife; she knew nothing about my lady - poor soul, she kept no secrets from me.' He seemed to feel a reproach for his secrecy.
My honest friend,' said the Marquis, 'your kindness and fidelity to our dear sister deserves reward; in this house you may rest free from care the remainder of your days, and I will settle two hundred livres on you yearly besides.'
Joseph again dropt on his knees, 'God bless your honour! God bless the dear ladies!' And he hurried out of the room, tears of thankfulness running down his cheeks.
'Good creature!' cried Matilda, wiping her eyes, 'may the rest of your life be peaceful and happy.'
They now again recurred to the subject of the Countess and her letter. The Marchioness expressed her wishes to set off with all possible expedition to England, and within ten days it was fixed they should depart. Matilda heard this determination with a sigh, which did not pass unobserved, though they forbore to notice it; they concluded however she should be left to herself until the next morning, that their opinions might not appear to influence her. For herself, the idea of her obscure birth was a severe mortification; she considered her friends De Bouville and De Bancre as so much her superiors that she could no longer treat them with that easy familiarity she had been accustomed, though she little thought the former was acquainted with her whole story.
In the evening came the Countess of Bouville and her family, with Madame De Nancy and her sister. After the first compliments, 'Bless me!' cried Mademoiselle De Bancre, 'what in the world, ladies, have you done to Mademoiselle De Fontelle; I met her this morning, and pleading an engagement here as a reason for refusing her invitation, she flew into a violent rage, accused the Marchioness of treating her with rudeness unpardonable; and for Miss Weimar, she lavished such a torrent of abuse on her, that had I not known her fixed aversion to all handsome women, and a small predilection in favor of a certain person, whose attentions she is fearful of losing, I should have been at a loss to account for her acrimony.'
'If the lady has any dislike, or fears respecting me,' answered Matilda, with evident confusion, 'she does me great injustice: 'tis impossible I should ever injure her, or clash with any views she has formed.' There is no saying what her views may be,' said the Count, 'but I will venture to assert, there can be no divided opinion concerning the merits of Miss Weimar and Mademoiselle De Fontelle; and the jealousy of a mean mind, when conscious of its deficiencies, is natural enough.' 'Come, come,' said the Marchioness, 'no scandal, my good friends: we cannot be hurt by malice, any more than we can be gratified by undue praises at the expence of others.'
The uncommon spirits of the Marquis and Marchioness attracted observation, as well as the dejection of Matilda, which she attributed to ill health. The Count and his sister sympathized with her, and the former was so agitated for the event of the following day, that he did not dare ask himself why he was so much interested.
Matilda rejoiced when the evening concluded and she could retire to herself: she was far from well; her anxiety in what manner she should answer Mr Weimar distracted her mind; she felt the strongest repugnance to become his wife - she was sure she could not be happy with him; if she had wronged him, he never could, she thought, cordially forgive, nor should she ever look up to him with confidence. She past a restless night, and arose ill and unrefreshed. She entreated her friends to be