yes, let's go, the sooner the better, say I.' 'But,' said Joseph, 'you must not say a word to the Count, or any body, for the world.' She promised secrecy, and they began to contrive about taking away their little matters, and setting off in a day or two. That night Joseph thought to get some rest, though his fears still remained, and kept him waking for some hours: about midnight he dropped asleep, but was soon awakened by a great smoke and a terrible smell of fire. He hastily got up, and opening the door, the flames burst in upon him; he ran to the bed and called Bertha to follow him; she jumped out, as he thought, for that purpose: he got into the court, and saw the other wing also on fire, and presently the building he came out of fell in. He called Bertha; alas! she was smothered in the ruins. The whole building was now in flames. He ran to the stable, got the horse, and riding through the wood as fast as possible, a contrary way from the town, he stopt not till he came to the foot of a mountain; with difficulty he crept off his horse, and threw himself on the ground. 'Bertha! my dear Bertha, I have lost thee for ever; I am now a poor forlorn creature, without a friend in the world: why did I fly, - why did I not perish in the fire with my wife? What a coward I am! O, that cursed Count, this is all his doings; I expected he would seek my death, but poor Bertha, she was unconscious of offence to the barbarian, yet she is gone, and I am left desolate who ought to have been the sufferer.' Exhausted by grief and lassitude the wretched old man lay almost motionless for some hours when Providence conducted a carriage that way, with a lady and gentleman in it, and two attendants on horseback. Seeing the horse grasing and an elderly man lying on the ground, the gentleman stopt the carriage, and sent a servant to him: he explained his situation in a brief manner, which when the domestic informed his master of, he ordered he should be brought and put into the carriage, and the horse led on by the servant to their seat.
We will now return to Matilda, who with her faithful Albert, arrived at Paris without meeting any accident. They soon found the Hotel de Melfont, and Matilda writing a short billet to the Marchioness, reposed herself a little after the fatigue of her journey.
In less than three hours the Marchioness arrived in her carriage, and entered the room with that delight in her countenance which plainly testified the pleasure she expected to receive in the company of her young friend; she flew towards her, and embraced her with a warmth that affected the grateful heart of Matilda to tears. 'Welcome, a thousand times welcome, my dear Miss Weimar; the friend of my poor sister must be the friend of my heart! Charming girl!' said she, gazing on her, 'that countenance needs no recommendation; what do I not owe my Victoria. Matilda, in returning her caresses, involuntarily started and repeated Victoria! 'Yes, my love, that is my sister's name; you know her only as the unhappy Countess of Wolfenbach, I suppose: but let me see your faithful Albert, to whom I hear you are greatly indebted.' 'I am indeed madam,' replied Matilda, 'my whole life at present is and must be a state of obligation.' 'Dismiss that idea, my dear Miss Weimar, and feel that you have the power of obliging in your society those whose study it will be to convince you how grateful they are for the favour you confer on them.' Matilda bowed and kissed the hand of the Marchioness, with an expression in her eyes that spoke volumes to the heart. Albert now entered the room; My good friend, said the Lady, 'I hope you are well; I wished to see you, to thank you for your services to this young lady. I humbly thank your ladyship cried Albert, 'but I have only done my duty, and when you know my mistress you will think so, for she deserves all the world should serve her.' 'I doubt it not,' replied the Lady, 'and after my first care to render your mistress happy, my second shall be to make the remainder of your days comfortable.' Neither Matilda nor Albert could refrain from tears. Come, come,' said the Marchioness, 'let us be gone; my carriage waits; the Marquis is impatient to see you, and I have a thousand questions to ask about my dear sister.' All! thought Matilda, how shall I unfold the dismal tale - how must I wound a bosom so tender and affectionate! This reflection threw her into a melancholy reverie, as the carriage drove off The Marchioness observed it, and taking her hand, 'We are not strangers, my dear Miss Weimar; I have only been to meet my younger sister and introduce her to my husband, already prepared to love her.' Matilda, overcome by a reception so kind, cried out, whilst sobs spoke the genuine feelings of her heart, 'Dear madam, you oppress me with your generosity and goodness: O that I may be found, on further knowledge, to deserve your good opinion.' 'I am persuaded of it,' replied the other, 'and if you please,' added she, with a smile, 'here ends the chapter of favours, obligations, and such kind of stuff, as I have an utter aversion to.' By this time they were arrived at the hotel, and the Marchioness led her young friend to the saloon, where the Marquis sat expecting them. 'Here, my Lord, permit me to introduce to you my younger sister; I bespeak your affection for her, and think you will find no difficulty in bestowing it.' 'You judge right, my beloved Charlotte: your sister claims a double share of my esteem from her own merit, legible in her countenance and your introduction.' Having saluted and led her to a chair: 'I am charmed,' added he, 'that our dear Victoria has procured us such a delightful companion; she must have sacrificed a great deal to give us pleasure, in losing your society.' Matilda unable any longer to repress her feelings, burst into tears. Both were alarmed j the Marchioness, taking her hand, Dear Miss Weimar, you have something in your spirits; tell me, pray tell me, did you leave my sister well? you have, I think, avoided mentioning her ' 'Ah! madam,' she replied, 'I am very unfortunate that my intrOdUCtion to you must occasion pain and sorrow; yet I trust the dear lady will be the care of ProvidenCe, though alas! I know not where she is. Not know where she is?' exclaimed the Marchioness, 'good heavens! has she then left the castle?' Matilda then entered into a detail of every event that had happened at the castle, the death of the attendant, and the absence of the Countess. Perceiving the agitation and distress of her auditors, she added, 'I have little doubt of the poor Lady's safety, from a persuasion that if any ill was intended towards her, they would have destroyed her, as well as the servant.' 'You judge very properly, my dear Miss Weimar: be comforted, my Charlotte; your friend's observation is founded on truth and reason; I hope, e'er long we shall hear from the injured sufferer, or else,' said he, raising his voice, 'by heavens! neither oaths nor promises shall prevent me from publicly calling on the Count to produce her.' This threat alarmed his Lady, and suspended her grief. 'Tell me, my sweet girl, are you in her confidence - do you know my sister's story?' 'Indeed, madam, I do not; Joseph, whom I have mentioned, is the only one acquainted with her woes, and he is bound by oath not to reveal them without her leave; unfortunately I postponed a recital which otherwise might have been a clue to trace her now.' 'Dear unhappy sister!' cried the Marchioness, 'how severe has been your punishment! Another time, my beloved Miss Weimar, I will acquaint you with all I know relative to her situation: I trust heaven will protect her, and therefore I will not sadden your heart now, nor give you only sighs and tears for your reception, when we wish to make you cheerful and happy.' With a deep sigh, which she endeavoured, though in vain, to repress, she conducted Matilda to the apartments appropriated for her, and embracing her, 'You are dearer to me than ever; the child of misfortune, as you just now styled yourself, and the friend of my sister, has entire possession of my heart; love me but half as well as I feel inclined to do you, and I shall be very happy.' Matilda replied in the most affectionate and grateful terms. The Marchioness insisted upon her taking a few hours rest, previous to their meeting at supper.
When she was alone she began to reflect on her situation; a recollection of past distresses impeded the satisfaction she must otherwise have felt for the fervent reception she had met with. An unhappy orphan, thought she, without a single claim on the world, from affinity or natural affection - a dependent on the bounty of friends, even for my daily subsistance, and of which I am liable to be deprived by a hundred accidents; is it possible any one can be more unfortunately circumstanced than myself? Yet, when I left my uncle's house, could I have hoped for such a protection as I am now under? O, I will not despair, heaven will preserve me, if I persevere in virtue and integrity; if I can acquit myself of wilful error, and dare appeal to the rectitude of my sentiments, when misfortunes and distresses befall me, I will kiss the rod of correction, and submit with resignation to the Almighty will.
Composed a little in her mind, she dropt asleep for above three hours, and then rose, refreshed and with recruited spirits. She was received by her good friends with the greatest and most flattering marks of kindness, and her grateful heart impelled her to return them by every attention in her power. The Marquis said, it was time, from Albert's age, that he should be laid up to rest; his honesty and affection to Miss Weimar deserves reward, I shall therefore allow him something above the wages he has had, and only request he