baron de Palfoy, now convinced that all he had been informed of was true, was more incensed against her than he had been on the mistaken supposition of her being influenced in favour of monsieur de Coigney: he had no sooner left Horatio than he flew to her apartment, and reproached her in terms the most severe that words could form.--It was in vain she protested that she never had any design of giving herself to Horatio without having first received his permission.--He looked on all she said as an augmentation of her crime, and soon came to a determination to put it past her power to give him more than she had already done.
Early next morning he sent her, under the conduct of a person he could confide in, to a monastry about thirty miles from Paris, without even letting her know whither she was about being carried, or giving her the least notice of her departure till the coach was at the door, into which he put, her himself with these words,--adeiu Charlotta, expect not to see Paris, or me again, till you desire no more to see Horatio.
CHAP. X.
The reasons that induced Horatio to leave France; with the chevalier St. George's behaviour on knowing his resolution. He receives an unexpected favour from the baron de Palfoy.
While Charlotta, under the displeasure of her father, and divided, as she believed, for ever from her lover, was pursuing her melancholy journey, Horatio was giving way to a grief which knew no bounds, and which preyed with the greater feirceness on his soul, as he had no friend to whom he could disburden it. The baron's estrang'd behaviour was no small addition to his other discontents, and he lamented the cruel necessity which had enforced him to disoblige a person to whom he owed so many favours, and whose advice would now have been the greatest consolation.
He could not now hope Charlotta would be permitted to come to St. Germains, and doubted not but her father would take effectual methods to prevent her visiting at any place where even accident might occasion a meeting between them: he knew the watch had been set over her on the account of monsieur de Coigney, and might be assured it would not now be less strict, and that it would be equally impossible for either to communicate their thoughts by writing as it was to see each other.
He was in the midst of these reflections when he heard, by some people who were acquainted with the baron de Palfoy, that he had sent his daughter away, but none knew where: this, instead of lessening his despair, was a very great aggravation of it:--he imagined she was confined in some monastry, and was not insensible of the difficulties that attend seeing a young lady who is sent there purposely to avoid the world; yet, said he to himself, could I be happy enough to discover even to what province she was carried, I would go from convent to convent till I had found which of them contained her.
It was in vain that he made all possible enquiry: every one he asked was in reality as ignorant as himself.--The baron de Palfoy had trusted none, so could not be deceived but by those persons who had the charge of conducting her, and of their fidelity he had many proofs. Yet how impossible is it for human prudence to resist the decrees of fate.--The secret was betrayed, without any one being guilty of accusing the confidence reposed in them, and by the strangest accident that perhaps ever was, Horatio learned all he wished to know when he had given over all his endeavours for that purpose, and was totally despairing of it.
He came one day to Paris, in order to alleviate his melancholy, in the company of some young gentlemen, who had expressed a very great regard for him; but his mind being taken up with various and perplexed thoughts on his entrance into that city, he mistook his way, and turned into the rue St. Dennis instead of the rue St. Honore, where he had been accustomed to leave his horses and servant.--He found his error just as he was passing by a large inn, and it being a matter of indifference to him where he put up, would not turn back, but ordered his man to alight here.--I forgot where I was going, said he, but I suppose the horses will be taken as much care of at this house as where we used to go. I shall see to that, replied the fellow. Horatio stepped into a room to take some refreshment while his servant went to the stable, but had not been there above a minute before he heard very high words between some people in the yard; and as he turned towards the window, saw a man in the livery of the baron de Palfoy, and whom he presently knew to be the coachman of that nobleman. He was hot in dispute with the innkeeper concerning a horse which he had hired of him, and, as the other insisted, drove so hard that he had killed him. The coachman denied the accusation; but the innkeeper told him he had witnesses to prove the horse died two hours after he was brought home, and declared, that if he had not satisfaction for his beast, he would complain to the baron, and if he did not do him justice, have recourse to law.--There was a long argument between them concerning the number of miles, the hours they drove, and the weight of the carriage.--Among other things the innkeeper alledged, that he saw them as he passed his corner, and there were so many trunks, boxes, and other luggage behind and before the coach, besides the company that was in it, that it required eight horses instead of six to draw it. Why then, said the coachman, did it not kill our horses as well as yours; if they had been equally good, they would have held out equally.--I do not pretend mine was as good, replied the innkeeper, I cannot afford to feed my horses as my lord does; but yet he was a stout gelding, and if he had not been drove so very hard, and perhaps otherwise ill used into the bargain, he would have been alive now.
All this was sufficient to make Horatio imagine it was for the journey which deprived him of his dear Charlotta, that this horse had been hired, so tarried in the place where he was till the debate was over, which ended not to the satisfaction of the innkeeper, who swore he would not be fooled out of his money. As soon as the coachman was gone, Horatio called him in, and asked what was the matter, and who it was that endeavoured to impose upon him? on which the innkeeper readily told him, that on such a day this coachman came to him and hired a horse in order to make up a set to go to Rheines in Champaigne, my lord-baron having three or four sick in the stable at that time.--Two days after, said he, my horse was brought home all in a foam, and fell down dead in less than three hours, and yet this rascally coachman refuses to pay me for him.
Horatio humoured him in all he said, and let him go on his own way till he had vented his whole stock of railing, and then asked him what company were in the coach. The innkeeper replied, that there was one man and two women, but did not know who they were, for their faces were muffled up in their hoods. This was sufficient for him to be assured it was no other than Charlotta, with her woman, and some friend whom the baron had sent with them. The day mentioned, being the very same he had been informed she was carried away, was also another confirmation; and he had not only the happiness of knowing where his mistress was, but of knowing it by such means as could give the baron no suspicion of his being acquainted with it, and therefore make him think it necessary to remove her.
Having gained this intelligence, which yet he was no better for than the hope of being able to get a sight of her thro' the grate, which he was resolved to accomplish some way or other, he resumed his design of going into the army of the king of Sweden. As a perfect knowledge of the many excellent qualities of the chevalier St. George, made him regard and love him with an affection beyond what is ordinarily to be met with from a servant to his master, he felt an extreme repugnance to quit him, and yet more in breaking a matter to him which, while it testified a confidence in the goodness of him whose assistance he must implore, he thought, at the same time, would be looked on as ingratitude in himself; and he was some time deliberating in what manner he should do it; and it would have been perhaps a great while before he could have found words which he would have thought proper for the purpose, if he had not taken an opportunity, which, without any design of his own, offered itself to him.
The chevalier St. George took a particular pleasure in the game of Chess; and Horatio having learned it among the officers in Campaine, frequently played with him: they were one evening at this diversion, when the lover of Charlotta having his mind a little perplexed, placed his men so ill, that the chevalier beat him out at every motion. How is this, Horatio, cried he; you used to play better than I, butt now I have the advantage of you.--May you always have it, sir, replied he with the utmost respect, over all who pretend to oppose you.--Chess is a kind of emblem of war, where policy should go hand in hand with courage; and there is