kept asunder, an offer would be made of this kind; and after hearing calmly all he had to say, in order to induce him to give his consent, he told him, that he was very sorry he had asked a thing which it was impossible to grant, because he had already determined to dispose otherwise of his daughter. Monsieur de Coigney then asked to whom. I know not as yet, replied the other, but when I said I had determined to dispose her otherways, I only meant to one who is of blood at least equal to her own, and who has never, by any public debaucheries, rendered himself contemptible to the discreet part of mankind.
De Coigney knew not how either to put up or resent this affront; he knew very well that his son had behaved so as to give cause for it, yet thought he had other perfections which might over-balance what, by a partial indulgence, he looked upon only as the follies of youth; and as for the reflection on his family, he told the other, that whatever he was he owed to the merit of his ancestors, not his own, and that he doubted not but his son would one day raise his name equal to that of Palfoy. In fine, the pride of the one, and the vanity of the other, occasioned a contest between them, which might have furnished matter for a scene in a comedy had any poet been witness of it: the result of it was that they agreed in this to be mutually dissatisfied with each other, never to converse together any more, and to forbid all communication between their families.
The baron went immediately to his daughter's chamber, and having ordered her maid, who was then doing something about her, to leave the room, I have wondered, Charlotta, said he, with a countenance that was far from betraying the secret vexation of his mind, that you have never, since your coming to Paris, expressed the least desire of making a visit at St. Germains, tho' the duty you owe a princess, who seems to have a very great affection for you, might well have excused any impatience you might have testified on that score; besides, you owe a visit to mademoiselle de Coigney.
The princess merits doubtless all the respect I am able to pay her, answered she; but, my lord, as it was your pleasure to remove me from that palace, I waited till your command should licence my return; as for mademoiselle de Coigney, the intimacy between us will excuse those ceremonies which are of little weight where there is a real friendship.
These words confirming all the baron's suspicions, he thought there was no need of farther dissimulation, and the long-conceived indignation burst out in looks more furious than the trembling Charlotta had ever seen in him before.--Yes, degenerate girl! said he, I have but too plain proofs of the friendship in which you have linked yourself with the family of the de Coigney's;--but tell me, continued he, how dare you engage yourself so far without my knowledge? could you ever hope I would consent to an alliance with de Coigney?
De Coigney! cried she, much more assured than she had been before the mention of that name, heaven forbid you should have such a thought!
The resolution and disdain with which she spoke these words a little surprized him: what, cried he, have you not encouraged the addresses of young de Coigney, and even proceeded so far as to make his father imagine there required no more than to ask my consent to a marriage between you!
How much courage does innocence inspire? Charlotta, of late so timid and alarmed while she thought Horatio was in question, was now all calmness and composure, when she found de Coigney the person for whom she had been suspected. She confessed to her father, with the most settled brow, that he had indeed made some offers of an affection for her, but said, she had given him such answers, as nothing but the height of arrogance and folly could interpret to his advantage; and then, on the baron's commanding her, acquainted him with every particular that had passed between that young gentleman, his sister, and herself, touching the affair she was accused of.
She was so minute in every circumstance, answered with such readiness to all the questions he asked of her, and seemed so perfectly at ease, as indeed she was, that the baron could no longer have any doubts of her sincerity, and was sorry he had taken her so abruptly from St. Germains: he now told her, that she was at liberty to visit there as frequently as she pleased, only, as he had been affronted by old monsieur de Coigney, as well as to silence all future reports concerning the young gentleman, he expected she would break off all acquaintance with mademoiselle. She assured him of her obedience in this point, and added, that she could do it without any difficulty; for tho' she was a lady who had many good qualities, and one for whom she once had a friendship, yet the taking upon her to forward her brother's designs had occasioned a strangeness between them, which had already more than half anticipated his commands.
Monsieur the baron de Palfoy was now as well satisfied with his daughter as he had lately been the reverse, and she was allowed once more all those innocent liberties which the French ladies, above those of any other nation in the world, enjoy.
It is not to be doubted but that the first use she made of liberty was to go to St. Germains: she had heard from mademoiselle de Coigney, when she came to visit her, that Horatio had been very much indisposed, and at that time was not quite recovered, and was impatient to give him all the consolation that the sight of her could afford; but fearing she should not have an opportunity of speaking to him in private, she wrote a letter, containing a full recital of the reason which had induced her father to take her from St. Germains, and the happy mistake he had been in concerning de Coigney; concluding with letting him know he might sometimes visit her at Paris as an indifferent acquaintance, not the least suspicion being entertained of him, and the baron now in so good a humour with her, that it would not be easy for any one to make him give credit to any informations to her prejudice. The whole was dictated by a spirit of tenderness, which, tho' it did not plainly confess an affection, implied every thing an honourable lover could either expect or hope.
On her arrival at St. Germains, where there was an extreme full court to congratulate the princess Louisa, on the great victories lately gained by Charles XII. the brave king of Sweeden, to whom she had been some time contracted, she passed directly to her highness's apartment; and the Chevalier St. George being then with her, those of his Gentlemen who had attended him thither, were waiting in the antichamber: among them was Horatio: the alteration of his countenance on sight of her, after this absence, was too visible not to have been remarked, had not all present been too busy in paying their compliments to her, to take any notice of it. He was one of the last that approached, being willing to recover the confusion he felt himself in, lest it should have an effect on his voice in speaking to her. She, more prepared, received his salute with the same gay civility she did the others, but at the same instant slipped the letter she had brought with her into his hand.
Any one who is in the least acquainted with the power of love, may guess the transports of Horatio at this condescension; but, impatient to know the dear contents, he went out of the room as soon as he found he could do it without being observed, and having perused this obliging billet, found in it a sufficient cordial to revive that long languishment his spirit had been in.
At his return he found her engaged in conversation with several gentlemen and ladies: he mingled in the company, but could expect no other satisfaction from it than being near his dear Charlotta, and hearing her speak. The Chevalier St. George soon after came out, and he was obliged with the rest of his train to quit the place, which at present contained the object of his wishes. She went in immediately after to the princess, so he saw her no more that day at St. Germains.
All that now employed his thoughts was a pretence to visit her at her father's house; for tho' she had told him in her letter that he might come as an ordinary acquaintance, yet knowing that the continuance of their conversation depended wholly on the secrecy of it, he was willing to avoid giving even the most distant occasions of suspicion.
Fortune, hitherto favourable to his desires, now presented him with one more ample than any thing his own invention could have supplied him with: happening to be at Paris in the company of some friends, with whom he stayed later than ordinary, he was hurrying thro' the streets in order to go to the inn where his servant and horses waited for him, when he heard the clashing of swords at some distance from him: guided by his generosity, he flew to the place where the noise directed him, and saw by the lights, which hang out very thick in that city, one person defending himself against three who pressed very hard upon him, and had got him down just as Horatio arrived to his relief: he ran among the assaillants; and either the greatness of his courage, or the belief that others would come to his assistance, threw them