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 present; they at first objected, but she was so extremely unhappy at their refusal, that they at length consented to come in after his appearance, if she sent for them.
His name was at length announced, and he absolutely started at the alteration in her countenance. 'The solemnity of your air, my charming Matilda, gives me great uneasiness; how great will be my transport to remove every cause of sorrow from your heart, and see cheerfulness restored to your features. Have you acquainted your friends here with my communications?' 'I have, Sir,' replied she, endeavouring to collect some firmness, 'but they decline giving any opinion; have you any objection to their being present now?' He hesitated; 'I see no necessity for it - but as you please.' She then rung the bell, and requested the Marquis and his lady would do them the favor of their company. They entered, and after mutual compliments, and they were seated, Matilda addressed herself to Mr Weimar. 'At the time, Sir, when you permitted me to believe I had the honour of being your niece, although sensible of your kindness, and conscious of my obligations to you, for the care of my infancy, I have often taken my heart to task, and upbraided its want of gratitude; what must I accuse myself of now, when I am informed that to your charity alone I am indebted for the advantages I possess. O, Sir, never, never can I return what I owe you - least of all, by becoming your wife; 'tis an honour I do not deserve - ' 'Pardon me for interrupting you, my dear Matilda: I disclaim the name of obligation; you owe me no gratitude but for my affection; consider how many years you have been the delight, the darling of my heart, and now, when my love is stronger than ever, am I to be thrown off at once; have you no feeling for the wretchedness you doom me to for the remainder of my life?' 'Oh! Sir, what can I say,' answered Matilda; 'impressions once strongly conceived are difficult to eradicate; the conversation I overheard is ever present to my mind, and could I forget that, then my reverence for my uncle would return, and I should shudder at the idea of a nearer connexion. When I think of it, and indeed, Sir, I have endeavoured to think of it, an unaccountable repugnance makes the idea horrible to me; yet after all, if you persist in wishing me to become your wife, I do not think myself at liberty absolutely to refuse, but I tell you candidly, I never can love you, that though I will obey you, and do my duty, I know I shall be miserable, and in that persuasion surely 'tis impossible I can make you happy.' 'I am sensible,' said he, 'that my age is against me, I cannot expect to be loved like a young fellow, but my unremitting attentions to please will make me deserving your esteem.' 'Well, Sir,' said Matilda, hastily, 'it is fit you should prefer your own happiness to mine, I have no right to refuse, nor any way of discharging the obligations I owe you for the care of my early life, but by the sacrifice of the maturer part of it.'
Unable any longer to struggle with the grief and horror that opprest her, she burst into tears. Her friends felt for her, but were as yet silent. Mr Weimar took her hand and kissed it, 'Cruel Matilda, is this the return for all my tenderness; but I do not prefer my own happiness to yours; consider, pardon me if I say, consider your situation; with all the charms you possess, such is the cruel prejudice against those who have neither friends nor family to protect and provide for them, that in France you could not hope or expect any proper establishment.' 'Hold, Sir,' said she, with indignation, 'do not insult me; I know what I am, and since I am unworthy of an establishment in France, I never will have one in Germany. No, Sir, you have now convinced me, if I cannot honour you I ought not to degrade you. I will retire to a convent: I will become a lay sister, 'tis perhaps the line Providence intended for me; be that as it may, you have convinced me I ought not, nor I solemnly declare I never will be your wife.' She spoke with a force and spirit as surprised them all. 'Do not be rash, Matilda; I offer you a handsome fortune; you shall no longer be confined in the country, as my wife, you shall have a house at Berne, at Lausanne, or where you please; every pleasure shall attend you; the Marquis himself shall secure your future fortune: do not be offended for trifles, and what never was intended as an insult; trust to my love to create an interest in your heart.' 'No, Sir,' answered she, 'the die is cast; a little while since I thought, if you desired it, I ought to be yours; but if you can stoop to degrade yourself by a connexion with a friendless deserted orphan, I never will owe the obligation to any man, nor have the chance of being upbraided, that I belong to nobody. Pardon me, my good friends, the trouble I have given you, a few days hence I will hide myself for ever.' She arose to leave the room. 'Stop, madam,' said Mr Weimar; 'since nothing can prevail on you to accept my hand, at least permit me to tell you, you have no right to dispose of yourself without my permission; you were committed to my care, doubtless by your parents; you may one day be reclaimed; I am answerable for the trust reposed in me, and with me I shall insist upon your remaining till those to whom you belong appear to claim you.'
Matilda sunk back in her chair, overwhelmed with horror; he looked furious with passion; the Marquis and his lady were perplexed and chagrined, at length the former said, 'Without the smallest intent of contesting your rights, Sir, I have patiently attended to what has passed between this young lady and yourself; the Marchioness and I have been scrupulously exact not to give our opinion, much less advice on the subject; but now, since she has resolutely made up her mind, you certainly have too just a sense of what is owing to yourself, to persist in addressing her; taking that for granted, and that you think it improper she should become a Nun, I request it as a favor, that Miss Matilda may be permitted to spend a few months with us; should any person appear to claim her, I trust it will be no dishonour to have her found in my protection; and I pledge my honor she shall form no marriage or engagement under our care, but return to you as she now is.' 'My Lord,' returned Mr Weimar, 'I must consider of this request, and she will do well to consider and repent her rash determination; if she does, I will receive her with open arms. I trust her to your honor, and shall to-morrow wait on you with my decided opinion.' With a polite, but general bow, he left the room.
The Marchioness was supporting Matilda's head upon her shoulder. 'Look; up, my dear girl, be composed, he is gone.' 'Thank heaven!' said she, 'but my head is very bad, and with your leave I will lay down an hour or two.' 'Do so, my dear,' replied her friend; and calling the servant to attend her, she was conducted to her apartment.
When she left the room the Marchioness said, 'Mr Weimar's conduct appears very strange, and unbecoming a man of his years; I know not what to think; had he not injudiciously mentioned her birth she would certainly have accepted his hand, though I own it would have given me pain had she done so.'
'For my part,' answered the Marquis, 'I marked him well during the whole scene; that he is excessively fond of her, I believe, but I am not perfectly satisfied, although I know not, what part to blame of his conduct; nevertheless she has now taken her resolution, and only force shall compel me to withdraw my protection from a friendless orphan, whose situation is really deplorable. If the circumstances he related of her birth are true, I have no doubt but one time or other a discovery will take place to her advantage; all I wish at present is, that she may accompany you to England.' 'Do you not think, said the Marchioness, 'the Count De Bouville is very fond