This Lady being a very experienc'd Lover, was the firſt that diſcovered the Amour of the Chamber-Maid, and the Curat's Nephew, and was ſo far from oppoſing it, as ſome proud ill-natur'd Miſtreſs would have done, that ſhe favour'd their Intrigues, by taking frequent Walks into the Garden, and the Fields; and making Diana partaker of that pleaſure, gave her the opportunity of meeting John Le-Brun almoſt every day, and took ſingular delight to ſee theſe Country-Lovers Court and make Love; but made as if ſhe knew nothing of the buſineſs, nor took the leaſt notice of it to Diana. But the good natur'd Maid, thinking her ſelf obliged by theſe favours from her Miſtreſs, (to let her know ſomething) ſhe took the occaſion as they were ſitting under a Tree, diſcourſing of Love, to diſcover to her a Secret of mighty importance (wherein ſhe pray'd her advice) that the Curat's Nephew had a great paſſion for her, and that ſhe found her ſelf pretty well inclined, but apprehended ſome Conſequences which perplext her mind, that ſhe knew not what to reſolve on. Her Miſtreſs ſmiling, and with an aire of kindneſs, laying her Arm over her Neck, deſired her to tell her truly if ſhe were gone no further. Diana bluſht, not knowing what Anſwer to make.

The Miſtreſs taking advantage of the Confuſion of the Lover, told her ſhe had too good an opinion of John Le-Brun, to believe he had ſo long left her in a Condition to doubt in this point; and that if ſhe would confeſs the truth, ſhe muſt acknowledge, ſhe asked Counſel too late about that particular, that ſhe need not hide it from her, being already aſſured ſhe Lov'd him, and willing to ſerve her in any thing for her advantage. So much Compleaſance, and ſo extraordinary Kindneſs from a Miſtreſs, in whoſe power it was to do very much for her, did ſo charm Diana, that it engaged her at the ſame time to ſpeak a little more freely of the affair: So that the Lady, who was very dextrous at pumping out Secrets, made her confeſs that what at firſt ſhe had term'd a bare inclination, was in truth a ſettled Paſſion. That if John Lov'd Diana, ſhe Lov'd him no leſs; and deſcending by degrees to matters of fact, they diſcours'd of ſome favours ſhe had not had the power to deny him.

The pretty Maid (in the end) ingeniouſly confeſt they were come to ſome cloſe Familiarities of Love, but ſhe would take care he ſhould find it a hard matter to proceed any further, unleſs he would Marry her.

The Miſtreſs, who had never deſcended to thoſe fondneſſes of Love, but where ſhe deſign'd to grant her Lover all he could wiſh, knew well enough what to think of the buſineſs, yet was unwilling at that time to preſs that point any further, but had the Curioſity to know the beginning and progreſs of the Amour, and fully informed her ſelf of the ſmalleſt trifles and fooleries which gave her a very pleaſant divertiſement, till at laſt ſhe perfectly learnt the whole ſtate of the affair, their Rendezvouz and places of Aſſignation, to the very Concluſion.

The eaſie Diana knew not what a perſon ſhe had to deal with, and to whom ſhe had imparted her Secret. There is nothing whereof a Woman ought to be more diſtruſtful, than of another Woman, eſpecially in matters of Love; there being nothing in the World whereof a Woman is more jealous, than of the good Fortune of another. This was not the firſt time, that the Miſtreſs became Rival to her Maid. The Lady was not only of a very ſuſceptible Nature, but had already caſt her Eyes on the Illuſtrious John Le Brun; who, for Handſomneſs and Wit, was (without Contradiction) the Flower of the Village. But the many Meaſures ſhe was to take, the hazzard ſhe was to run in truſting a Raw young Fellow, a meer Novice in Love; and the perpetuall Watch of her Husband kept over her Actions, ſo ſtartled her Reaſon, that till then, they had moderated (if not ſmother'd) the Tranſports of her Amorous Soul. But the Inclination this Gallant had entertain'd for a Chamber-Maid, had highly fomented in the Heart of the Miſtreſs thoſe Seeds of Rebellion, and Revolt from her Duty, long ſince implanted there. And the Story ſhe had newly heard of the ſtate of their Amour, made her abſolutely reſolve to make uſe of the occaſion, for ſharing with her Maid in the Pleaſure ſhe had to ſee John Le Brun.

You may eaſily believe, the Lady deſign'd not to engage in the Conqueſt of her Chamber-Maids Gallant; but was very willing Diana ſhould have the Honour of it, allowing her Miſtreſs a ſhare in the uſe of it, to ſatiſfie Nature, and no more: And Nature is commonly content with the Uſe, not troubling her ſelf about the Property.

We have all our Infirmities; and thoſe of this Temper are the more pardonable, in that it is almoſt impoſſible to maſter them: and this paſſionate Lady was not diſpoſed to offer any Violence to her Inclinations. She thought of her Pleaſure, and the Joy that attends it, not troubling her ſelf with ſcruples and doubts; and had formed in her Mind a thouſand Deſignes to obtain her Deſires.

John was lookt upon in the Caſtle, as Diana's Servant; which gave the Lady a fair occaſion to laugh, to ſpeak, to walk with him when ſhe pleaſed, without any ſuſpition, if Diana were in Company. But the old Gentleman, whether ſearing the Amours of theſe two Lovers would ſet his Wife alonging, or that he was jealous of all the World, as of her, began to diſlike the great Familiarity and Freedom John uſed in his Houſe. He went to the Curate, and told him, It was pitty a young Man as his Nephew, who had ſo good Parts to make him uſeful in the Church, ſhould loſe his time as he did: And that, being lookt upon as worthy to ſucceed him in his Benefice, and be one day the Paſtor of his Flock, ſhould think of nothing but making of Love: That this proceeding did not edifye at all: That he muſt begin betimes to implant in him a Contempt of the World, and an Affection for Retyredneſs. In a word, that Prayer and Study ought to be the principal Buſineſs of the Nephew of ſo honeſt a Gentleman as he was: That he told him this as a Friend, and hoped his Advice would be well taken.

This Sermon being ended, the Curate gave his Worſhip humble Thanks for the Favour he did him, and his Nephew; and when time ſerved, both ſhould acknowledge it: But he knew well enough where his Worſhip was pinched. He had not kept his Jealouſie ſo cloſe, but the Curate knew the Diſeaſe he was troubled with; and might very well judge, That his Nephew (Young and Handſom as he' was) could not ſpend his time ſo conſtantly in the Caſtle, without giveing him ſome Umbrage. However, he forgot not to give his Nephew a Lecture when he came home at Night; and to forbid him (on pain of his Diſpleaſure) to go any more to the Caſtle, for Reaſons not to be made known at preſent; but received from ſo good a hand, there was no cauſe to ſear he that gave them could be miſtaken. John knew not what this meant; but meeting Diana on the Morrow (having watched above an Hour for an opportunity to ſpeak to him) ſhe told him the News, that clear'd all doubts: acquainting him, That her Maſter had charged her Miſtreſs, and her, to ſee him no more, nor take him along with them to walk; his Uncle having made it is Requeſt, ſearing his Nephews hankering after Women, might hinder him in his Vocation; and as for him, he was reſolv'd it ſhould not be ſaid, he was ſpoyl'd in his Houſe.

John Le Brun was not a little aſtoniſht ſo ſee himſelf deprived in a moment, not only of the ſight and Converſation of his Miſtreſs, but of the lovely Company of his Lady; who had already diſcovered ſome good Inclinations, which (cultivated with Care) promiſed him more Good than could be expected from the Love of a Chamber-maid. The Vanity of his Nature, and the good Opinion he had of himſelf, made him apt to flatter himſelf on any occaſion: and, as to this Lady, he had certainly reaſon enough for it: For, the kindneſs ſhe expreſt for his Perſon, accompanyed with that obliging Behaviour ſhe ſeaſoned it withall, gave him ground enough to hope for ſome Favour. But then, when he thought himſelf the happieſt of Men, or (at leaſt) in a fair way to be ſo; he received the ſad News, which blaſted his Pretenſions, and made all his Hopes vaniſh. You might have expected to find him Irrecoverably ſwallowed up by Deſpair; and he had certainly been ſo; had not the ſimple Diana bid him not trouble himſelf for the matter; and told him, Her Miſtreſs, and ſhe, had thought of a way to ſee him; if not by Day as formerly, it ſhould be at Night: That ſhe had for that purpoſe, been that Morning betimes with one of her Friends, a Lock-Smith, and carried him in Wax, the print of the two Keyes, to the Back-gate of the Caſtle; and that, before Night, ſhe would give him an account of them, if he would but take the pains to be at that Place about Nine in the Evening. The Spirits of our afflicted Gallant were not a little raiſed by the hopes ſhe gave him; and you may believe, he promiſed faithfully not to fail the Agſſination.

The poor Girle was in earneſt, and thought her ſelf extreamly obliged to her Miſtreſs; who all this while, laboured nothing more than to do her the worſt Office one Woman can do another in Love; which is, to rob her of her Lover. But it was her Folly not to ſee, that the Concernment her Miſtreſs expreſt for Johns miſfortune was too great, to be free from Suſpition. She had not made ſuch haſt to find the means to let him into her Houſe by Night, but that ſhe was Particularly and Perſonally concern'd. And it was apparent enough, that, running an equal Riſque in all Dangers with Diana, ſhe did in Juſtice expect to ſhare in her Pleaſures.

The Lock-Smith made ready the Keys the ſame day; and was payd ſo nobly, as to oblige him to keep their Counſel. John was at the place of Rendezvouz at the Hour Diana had appointed him, who was as punctual as he; and told him, All was well, and that ſhe juſt came from trying the Keyes; and that, at Eleven a Clock, when the Old Gentleman was a bed: He had no more to do, but come to the Back-gate, which ſhe would then open for him.

This Gate opened to a back Stair to the Ladies Apartment, where the Gallant might attend without any danger: At Eleven a Clock he ſtood Centinel, as appointed, and was introduced. John, who perhaps was a little cloy'd with the eaſie Poſſeſſion of Diana, when he found her Miſtreſs lookt ſo kindly upon him; yet, raviſhed with the opportunity, found the Fire within him kindled ſo ſtrongly at his being ſo near her in the Dark, with her Slippers under her Arms; that he could not ſtay till he came into the Chamber, to let her know how much he loved her; but put off his Shoes, to find ſome other Warmth for his Feet.

The Lady, who expected them, growing impatient at their ſtay, would needs go ſee what ſtopt their coming: She went to the Stair-head, without Shooes or Light; and hearing nothing of them, had a mind to go down to the Gate. The two Lovers were careful not to make a Noiſe, being not well aſſured it was ſhe, or elſe to conceal from her the Trade they then drove. They ſcarce breathed; ſo that, the Lady, whom the ſpirit of Curioſity puſht on to her Ruin, in going down Stairs, unfortunately made a falſe Step, and tumbled over them down ſeveral Steps. And how little ſoever ſhe was beholding to Love for the Accident, ſhe was certainly much obliged to Fortune, in that ſhe eſcaped ſo well from ſo dangerous a Fall. You may imagine, what a peck of Troubles John and Diana were now in: The Noyſe her Miſtreſs made in her Fall, was enough to raiſe all the Houſe, but that it was in a Lodging, a part from thoſe of the Servants: much more might it have awaked the good Man, where the greateſt Danger lay, but he had the good Quality to ſleep very ſoundly; and, by good Luck, heard nothing at all.

The firſt thing John did, was to get to the Gate for fear of misfortune; and, almoſt at the bottom of the Stairs, he found the Unfortunate Lady; which, had he had a Candle, would doubtleſs have been a very rare ſight. Diana came to help her up the Staires, which ſhe had ſo nimbly gone down. She had happily ſaved her Face, which gave her ſome Comfort: but for the reſt, there was not a part of her Body but was ſenſible of her Fall.

The Gallant, judging they had buſineſs enough for that Night, to apply Remedies for the Bruiſes, without further uſe of him; with-drew ſoftly, and went his way Home: He had Newes at his Riſing, that the Lady was better; and that ſhe was not ſo ill, but ſhe deſired to ſee him again that Night. He came the ſame Hour to the Gate; which being opened, he reſolved not to loſe time with Diana on theſe unfortunate Staires, for fear of another ill Accident, but went ſtrait, where the Lady expected him: She had told her Husband a fair ſtory of her Miſ-adventure; and made that advantage of it, that ſhe obtain'd leave to lye alone for three or four Nights, in a Chamber near his. The good Man could not have imagin'd, that his Wife, in the Condition ſhe was in, could think of Love: But this Paſſion takes away the ſenſe of any other Affliction.

John Le Brun was Conducted to the Chamber, where he found the fair Lady dreſſed in her Bed, like a Goddeſs: Some of the Servants were yet up; and Diana was ordered to hold them in talk, till they went to their Chambers, for fear they ſhould come and hearken. Unleſs you will believe, the Miſtreſs found out this ſleeveleſs Errand for Diana, that ſhe the while might have the Liberty, to ſpeak a Word in Private to the Curate's Nephew. Well, John, (ſaid ſhe, with a Smile, as ſoon as the Chambermaid was gone) you ſee what we do for you; We expoſe our ſelves to be talked of: We give our ſelves trouble for you: We almoſt kill our ſelves for you, and you (perhaps) haeve not the leaſt Senſe of it. You ſhould do me wrong, Madam, (anſwered the Crafty Nephew) to accuſe me of that: I was grievouſly troubled at the unhappy Accident befell you laſt Night: It is, impoſſible any Man could be more concerned than I was: I ſwear t' you, I could not ſleep a Wink all Night; and this Morning, as ſoon as 'twas day, I burn'd with Impatience to hear Newes of you. Say what you pleaſe (Replyed ſhe) I will not believe you; you are a Diſſembler, and this is not the firſt day I knew you ſuch: But let that paſs. Do you know (ſaid ſhe, letting fall her Voyce, as if ſhe would have told him a Secret) that I have had a great Quarrel for the Love of you. For the Love of me, Madam, (ſaid he, much amazed at her Diſcourſe!) Yes (Replyed ſhe) for the Love of you: My Husband hath been told, that you were in Love with me; And further, that you were not hated. I, (ſaid John, with very great Humility) I Madam; ſhould I, the Nephew of your Curate, lift up my Eyes, and fix them on the Wife of his Lord? Ah Madam, if there were cauſe, I could eaſily juſtifie my ſelf: I know too well the Reſpect I owe you, Madam.—Reſpect (Replyed ſhe) is nothing in this Caſe; Poor Shepheards have been in Love with Queens, and Queens with Shepheards. You are Young, Handſom, and Witty; 'tis too well known. I am not ſatisfied with a Husband I was forted to Marry againſt my will: And the conſtant Reſort you have for ſome time had to our Family, was more than enough to raiſe a Jealouſie in the Parties concerned, you came upon deſign. But, Madam, (Reply'd the Gallant, charm'd with this obliging Newes) 'tis very well known, I came for Love of Diana. Diana (ſaid ſhe) Alas poor innocent Soul! 'Tis eaſie to judge, a Youth ſuch as you, if at Liberty to make his Court where he pleas'd, would ſooner addreſs himſelf to me, than to her. I thank Heaven (added ſhe, bluſhing a little) you ſee, I want not what may render me amiable; and what is ſuch a Girle good for, but to ſerve for a Colour when I am in place?

John had by this time an eager deſire to draw ſome advantage from this pleaſant Diſcourſe: Till now he ſtood in the Chamber, like a dutiful Vaſſal, in Preſence of his Lords Wife, his Hat under his Arme, and at three or four Paces diſtance from the Bed: But the kind Lady was pleaſed to make him draw nearer, and ſit upon the Bed, that (as ſhe ſaid) ſhe might not be obliged to ſpeak ſo loud, for fear of awaking the good Man. The Door was ſhut, and no cauſe of Fear on his ſide; but rather on Diana's, who might chance to be frighted at ſo much Familiarity between John, and her Miſtreſs; who, notwithſtanding, never troubled her ſelf for it, knowing Diana could not return very quickly.

John having taken his place at the Beds-Feet, after twice or thrice bidding, and abſolute Commands reiterated for doing ſo: And who, think you (ſaid ſhe) hath done you this ill Office with my Husband? Alas Madam (anſwered he) how ſhould I know? There is no want of wicked People in the World, and I have enough in the Village, that envy my Happineſs. It would ſurprize you (ſaid ſhe) to be told it is my Chamber-maid. Who Diana (anſwered John, aſtoniſht to hear it)? Ah Madam, it cannot be; I know her too well, to believe her capable of ſuch Treachery. Make not ſo much haſt (Replyed the Lady) to take her part: You have not, perhaps, more reaſon to defend her than I. Conſider if ever I had cauſe to ſuſpect her: She was alwayes my Confident; I truſted her with all my Secrets: And though I knew you frequented my Houſe for Love of her, I could not but let her underſtand, I loved your Wit, and took pleaſure in your Converſation. I did more; and, perhaps, was guilty of too much Imprudence, when I bid her aſſure you from me, that I had Kindneſs for you, and that you might depend upon me as your Friend: That I deſired very much to do for you, and advance you: That you could not want the thing I would not furniſh you with for asking: And that I would have you ſpeak to me freely. 'Had ſhe been your Friend, ſhe would not have concealed from you the kind and advantageous thoughts I had for you: But I ſee well enough, 'twas her Jealouſie hindred her, and made her Reveal the Secret to ſome one of the Houſe; who, without doubt, hath told it my Husband. The Gallant, who clearly ſaw what this Diſcourſe tended to, anſwered, I aſſure you Madam, ſhe never did me the favour to acquaint me with theſe obliging Evidences of your Goodneſs; otherwiſe, I had not been now to thank you for them: and now, me-thinks, I begin to believe what you ſay. The Lady, Raviſh'd with Joy that John was of her mind, puſht on her Amorous Deſign; and made him abſolutely believe Diana guilty of what ſhe was accuſed; and that the beſt way to revenge her, was, to make a Fool of her. I know (ſaid ſhe) you love me: [John durſt not ſay other-wiſe] and, though you never told me ſo, I have perceived it by your Eyes: But to make our beſt of this buſineſs, Diana muſt not know any thing I have told you; but uſe her as formerly, and you ſhall find you cannot be unhappy: To prove what I ſay, (added ſhe, ſhewing him a Purſe taken from under her Pillow) here are fifty Piſtols for you: Aſſure your ſelf, while you love me, and are diſcreet, you ſhall want for nothing. What Heart of the Temper of John's, could have reſiſted ſuch a Favour? Never did a Miſtreſs in Romance acquit her ſelf better: Ladyes that dare not rely on their Charms of Beauty for Conqueſt, if they make uſe of this courſe, ſhall never want Lovers. The Gallant was ſo tranſported with the Preſent received, that (forgetting the Reſpect due to the Lady) he embraced her Knees a thouſand times through the Bed-Cloaths. She, out of Modeſty, would have put him off; but it was, that he might apply himſelf elſe-where. The Gallant, though naturally bold, durſt not at firſt venture any farther: Yet he had the boldneſs to ſteal a Kiſs, which he took, finding her ſo nigh him, that ſhe ſeem'd to offer it him. 'Tis enough (ſaid ſhe, with a languiſhing Voyce); However, do not think, though I give you the Liberty to ſee mee by Night, to be alone with me in my Chamber, and to ſit on my Bed without Witneſs or Danger, that I will grant you any more. John Le Brun was too Intelligent, not to comprehend the Meaning of theſe Words; But Diana coming in, interrupted the courſe of this ſweet Converſation.

There paſt nothing more at that time worthy Relation: John retiring preſently after, ſo incenſed againſt poor Diana, he had not the Patience to Careſs her in the leaſt, taking leave at the Gate, whither ſhe accompanyed him to lock it. But how could he longer Love a Chamber-maid, which had given him at moſt, but ſome Knots of Ribband, and two or three Cravats, or ſome other Triſles of inconſiderable Value; when he had ſound a Miſtreſs, who, for her firſt Complement, honoured him with a Purſe of fifty Piſtols.

He had never been ſo Rich in his Life; nor could he take any reſt that Night, for thinking with what grace of Addreſs ſhe had made him that Preſent, and how he ſhould lay it out: All theſe Fancies vaniſh'd at the Approach of Day; and he was no ſooner up, but he wiſht with Impatience, that Night were come. His Thoughts were wholly taken up with the Charms of the Lady: He could not ſufficiently admire, with what addreſs ſhe had made him underſtand ſhe loved him, and deſired that he ſhould love her again: But that which Charm'd him moſt, was her Grace in performing a Generous Action. He was ready to dye with longing to ſee her again, as if all his Viſits were to be paid with ready Money. He knew very well to make uſe of Opportunity, which, at this Day, is the beſt Science in the World, and the true uſe of Things. Night came at laſt, but it was long to Eleven a Clock; and in Conjunctions of this kind, Moments are tedious.

Diana, who knew not the reaſon he had entertained her ſo coldly the Night before, waited with as much Impatience as he, to ſee him again: But he was ſo cruel, that he made no more account of her this, than the former Night; nor would be perſwaded to ſtay a moment to hear her; and when ſhe reproacht him for it, he anſwer'd her with Slights. The Poor Girle was amazed at the Change, and could not imagine any thing leſs than ſuch a Perfidiouſneſs, eſpecially in her Miſtreſs.

John entred the Ladyes Chamber, whom he found on a Bed of State, finer than ever he had ſeen her. Poor Diana was ſent again to amuſe the People of the Houſe, though there was not the leaſt need of it: But the truth is, they had no need of her there, and were willing to amuſe her. Never till then did ſhe know what Jealouſie was, having loved in peace, and in a full Tranquility; in Confidence, her Gallant had loved her as faitfully: The Indifference of a Lover, is an apparent Mark of Perfidiouſneſs. The Diſtaſte we have of one Object, is commonly the Effect of Pleaſure taken in another. Love is an incurable Diſeaſe; and he that hath been once in Love, will ever be ſo with one thing or other.

The dejected Diana went muſing with her ſelf, what cauſe ſhe had given her Lover to uſe her thus: But the more ſhe thought on what was paſt, the more ſhe found he had nothing to reproach her with, but too much Love; and that the Change ſhe obſerved in him, muſt be a pure Effect of his Inconſtancy, which inclined him another way. This put her upon examining who ſhould be her Rival: Is it (ſaid ſhe) the Stewards Daughter? No. Is it the Scrivenars Daughter? No. Is it ſuch a ones Neece? or ſuch a ones Siſter? No, no. [Thus ſhe ran over all the handſome Girles in the Village, without finding any juſt Ground of Suſpition.] Did he Love any of thoſe I am thinking of? Or had be ſome new Inclination, where I cannot imagin; What had he to do here? And yet, What cauſe can he have to uſe me, as he does theſe two dayes past? 'Tis but three dayes ſince he ſwore to me, it were Death to him, to let him go to Bed without a ſight of me; And this Evening he runs away from me; he will not ſpeak to me; he will not ſo much as hear me: Whence comes this cruel proceeding? If he loves me no longer, why comes he ſo punctually to the Gate? He waited there before the time appointed; and as ſoon as he ſaw me, he thought no more of me. O Heavens, me-thinks I ſee the beginning of all this diſorder: He is in Love with my Lady. I obſerve, ſhe hath of late more Care than ever of her Perſon, and Dreſs; eſpecially at Night, when he is to come; ſo much Dreſſing, ſo much Curling, ſo much Patching, ſo much Powder, ſo many Scents, are not for nothing. I am ſent hither; What to do? Heavens! How innocent am I? My Love of him, and Confidence in her, have blinded me quite.

Theſe were ſtinging Reflections for a Girle in Love, to fancy her ſelf not only betray'd, but made a Fool. She needed no more to make her leave the worthy Employment they had given her; and to go ſoftly, to ſpy through the Key-hole, the Poſture of thoſe ſhe ſuſpected: She ſees her perfidious Lover, and her honeſt Miſtreſs ſo cloſely joyned, ſhe had reaſon to think them both of a piece: What a ſight was this for the poor Diana! She wiſh'd her ſelf blind, and was ready to dy for Grief; and in this diſtreſs, fetched two or three deep Sighs, which thoſe within might eaſily have heard, but that they were buſie about ſome-what elſe. This turn'd Diana's Grief into Deſpair; and now, nothing but Revenge can give her Satisfaction; which ſhe might ſoon obtain, by giving the old Gentleman notice of what was a doing, and inviting him to ſee the Comedy in Action: This ſhe reſolved upon; but had ſcarce given too Knocks at his Chamber-door, but ſhe relented into a tenderneſs, that moderated her Fury: [An Irreſolution to which Perſons in Love are uſually ſubject, amidſt their higheſt Tranſports.] She conſidered her Lover ſhould be utterly undone, if the Old Gentleman found him with his Wife; and that it would be a means to loſe him for her ſelf, as well as for her Miſtreſs: This Conſideration prevailed over her Reſentment: She pittyed him, and thought it ſufficient to go, and make them aſhamed, by reproaching them to their Faces, for their Infamous Treachery.

The good Man, who had half heard the laſt Knock, not knowing whether he had heard, or only dreamt of a Noiſe; to be ſatisfied, goes to the Door; and hearing ſome Body go back very ſoftly, thought there were Thieves in the Houſe. He runs to his Sword, which had not been drawen ſince the Warrs of Paris, where he had ſerved in Perſon: He takes his Captains Pike in his Hand, and puts his Helmet on his Head; which carryed before, a ſufficient load of his Wives putting on.

Diana in the mean-time, groping on the Wall; and conſidering how to take John and her Miſtreſs in the Act, that they might not have any colour of Denyal; met a Man, whom ſhe preſently took for her Perfidious Lover. Are theſe your tricks Iraytour (ſaid ſhe▪) Canst thou think ſuch Falſeneſs can eſcape unpuniſhed? If none elſe, Heaven will Revenge me. The Old Gentleman, in the Emotion he was in, never minding on what ſide he had heard the Noyſe of the Thieves, Ran in his Shirt without any Light, towards where he heard Diana's Voyce; holding his Pike at full length, and before him; and making a Noyſe with it enough to raiſe the whole Houſe: Who goes there, cryed he, as loud as poſſible; which ſo frightned Diana, that, quitting him ſhe had laid hold on, she went to hid her ſelf, for fear her Maſters Anger ſhould all light upon her, if found with her Gallant. Who is there, ſaid he once more: No Perſon ſtirred. In the mean time he brandished the Pike the one way, and the other, till at laſt he felt ſome-thing under it: Then did he double his Fury, and with a thundring Voice, Speak (ſaid he) who is there? or you dye. Ah Sir (anſwered the Wretch that was caught, with a lamentable Tone) Pitty your poor Curate, and do not kill him. No Curate, Replyed the Cholerick old Man, who, in the trouble he was in, underſtood not what was ſaid, nor perceived that it was the Curate that ſpoke; but cryed out, Thou ſhalt dye like a Robber as thou art: Confeſs quickly, that I may diſpatch thee: This he ſaid, ſeconding every Word with a Blow.

John Le Brun, and the Lady, frightned with this buſtle, thought it high time to look about them: They knew not whether the Noyſe were raiſed about them, or on ſome other occaſion; But the Gallant, for more Surety, held it beſt to ſave himſelf: They put out the Candle; and, opening the Door ſoftly, he thought to ſlip away through the Croud in the Dark; but (unfortunately) fell foul on the good Old Man, and laid him along on the ground, Pike, Helmet, and all. Then did he cry out to purpoſe; Thieves, Thieves; Help, help▪ I am dead! All the People of the Houſe (having already heard part of the Noyſe he had made) ran to him thick and three-fold: His Lady too, having had Leaſure enough to alter her Dreſs (making as if ſhe were in mighty haſt in her Night-Gown); no ſooner ſaw the Light, but ſhe came to know what the matter was: Amazed to ſee her Husband guarded round with all his Domeſticks in Arms, from the Kitchin; which made ſuch a Clattering, that they underſtood not one another. But that which was moſt pleaſant to ſee, was. The Old Man (like a Statue) laid flat on the Ground; his Helmet on his Head, his Pike in his Hand, a Belt over his Shoulder two Inches thick, a Rapier at his Side four or five Foot long; and all this in his Shirt only, which was an excellent Equipage, to draw a Pourtrait in ridicule by. None of the Servants, but had a Moneths mind to Laugh; But the Lady Acted her Part beſt: She cry'd, the wept, ſhe afflicted her ſelf for the unhappy Accident beſain her dear Huſband, not knowing what Viſion had appeared to him. The reſt did their Maſter the beſt Service they could; ſome taking off his Helmet, others his Belt, others his Sword. The good Man took on grievouſly, extreamly concerned leſt the Thieves ſhould eſcape; and Commanding his Servants to purſue them; telling them, there were (at leaſt) half a dozen in the Houſe, and that had ſeen them, though all this while in the Dark. But his Wife having long ſince repreſented him, and made him paſs for a Man much ſubject to Fancies, and Vagaries; his Servants, who knew what he affirmed was impoſſible, could not look at one another without Laughing.

Juſt thus (ſaid the Lady) when I fell the laſt Night, I thought there were Spirits in the Houſe. Death (anſwered the old Man, in a Rage) theſe were no Spirits; witneſs my Pike, with which I have killed one, or (at leaſt) miſſed but little of killing him; for, he called for the Curate to take his Confeſſion. This Diſcourſe ſet all the Folks a Laughing; which ſo vexed the Old Man, that, handling his Pike again, he threatned to be Revenged of them all, as ſo many Thieves within doors, holding Correſpondence with thoſe without, unleſs they would purſue them. To ſatisfie him, they took upon them to make ſearch for them in the Caſtle: But whether it were that the Lady reſerved her own Quarter to be free from ſearch, or imploy'd them at diſtance, no notice was taken of; the back-gate being the Place of Rendezvouz.

Diana, at length appeared before her Maſter; and, though much out of Humour, forgot not her Duty in making faſt the Gate: This done, ſhe went up to her Ladies Chamber, where ſhe lay: Here was Acted the Scene that diſcovered the whole Plot. The Lady Laught, and wondered Diana was ſo ſad: And both being laid, What (ſaid the Lady) you are troubled I warrant you, that your Lover is gone without ſeeing you? Fool, thou ſhalt ſee him to Morrow: Would you have had him ſtay till they had ſearch'd my Chamber? Ah Madam (anſwered Diana) I would to God they had found him here. And why, (replyed the Lady, much ſurprized at the Anſwer) Why (ſaid Diana) You know well enough; and that he came not hither for my ſake. The ſubtle Lady, fell a Laughing; and Embracing Diana, told her, She now ſaw ſhe loved John in good Earneſt, ſince ſhe was jealous of him, and upon her account, whom of all the World, ſhe had leaſt cauſe to fear; but ſhe would pardon her unjuſt Suſpition. Diana unwilling to be altogether fool'd, replyed, That her Suſpitions were too well grounded: And ſeeing her Lady continue Laughing at her, What Madam, ſaid ſhe, (with that Ardor and Vehemence Truth uſually inſpires into thoſe who maintain it) have not I ſeen you with John in ſuch and ſuch Poſtures? Did not you tell him this? did not you tell him that?—Which the Lady hearing, How now Inſolence (ſaid ſhe) are you a Spy on my Actions? May not I do what I pleaſe in my Chamber for you? Who in the middle of the Garden—and pauſing at that Word, ſhe afterwards proceeded, Witneſs the Cherry-Tree. Diana grew paler, and more confounded than ever: But knowing they were but equally match'd one to one, ſhe recovered her Courage; and with as much heat as her Lady, gave her ſtory for ſtory; and reproach'd her with all the Gallantries of her Life paſt, which ſhe had the goodneſs to relate to her. The Lady, not able to endure it, without a tranſport of Rage, beyond what is allow'd to Perſons of Quality of her Sex, was not content to make uſe of her Hands (finding Diana as good at that Sport as her ſelf) but ran for a ſtick, which ſhe had in the Chamber. Diana perceiving it, thought it time to with-draw into a place of Safety; and finding no other than the Bed, as ſhe was going under it, ſhe ſees a Mans Leg, and then another; and by degrees, the reſt of the Body, dreſt after the old Faſhion: What a fright was ſhe in? Her Miſtreſs running after her, ſtumbled on the Feet of the Spirit, and fell to the Ground: Thus was the Anger of theſe Female Combatants appeaſed on the ſuddain; and they look'd one on the other, to inquire who the Man ſhould be; and how he came thither: Have you ever ſeen two Enemies joyn Forces at the Appearance of a Third, ſtronger than both? Juſt ſo did theſe Rivals agree in a Corner of the Chamber, where they durſt ſcarce breath; taking the ſight of this Object, for an Effect of Divine Juſtice: and believing it could be nothing elſe, but an Evil Spirit, ſent from the other World to put them in mind of their Sins. At laſt, this Spirit ſpoke; and putting off an old Gray Hat he had upon his Head, Madam (ſaid he) you muſt pardon your poor Curate, unhappily expoſed to the Hazard both of Life, and Reputation; the Loſs of both could not have been prevented, if (by good Fortune) he had not found your Chamber-door open; where he came to hide himſelf, when you were gone forth. The two Females, hearing the Voyce and Name of their good Friend, the Curate, recovered a little Courage, but durſt not yet adventure going nigh him; becauſe Spirits are apt to Lye: And they had reaſon to fear, this ſame had a mind to abuſe them; it being not propable, that Mr. Curate ſhould be in their Chamber that time of Night, and in ſuch an Equipage: But finding him at length a very peaceable Spirit, they ventured to go nigh him, and knew him. It was ſo ſurprizing, and ſo pleaſant a ſight to ſee him in a great Gray Waſtcoat, and a Hat dreſt like a Sow-Gelder, that they could not forbear Laughing. 'Tis indeed a Laughing Buſineſs, ſaid he, (ſome-what angry for the ſmall Compaſſion they had for him); but you have your ſhare as well as I, in the Adventure: 'Tis true, I bear the Blowes; But unleſs you would have me diſcover all, do your Endeavour to help me out from hence, that I may go Home. Mr. Curate (anſwered the Lady) what is written is written: You have been Young as we are; and you know, you ſhould do ſo to others, as you would they ſhould do to you. We have every one his part in what hath hapned this Evening. I have too much to my ſhare (ſaid the Curate), and I feel it I am ſure. Therefore (ſaid the Lady) let us keep one anothers Counſel: Diana ſhall go open you the Gate; But let us know firſt what Misfortune brought you hither, where you have ſo little Buſineſs. 'Tis true, Madam, (anſwered the Curate) I might very well have let alone the Buſineſs I had here; but the too great Affection I have for that Rogue, my Nephew, hath brought me to the fine Condition you ſee me in: For, three or four Nights laſt paſt, I obſerved he went out of his Lodging at an unſeaſonable Hour, and returned very late: The Care I have alwayes had of his Education, and the Charitable Remonſtrance I lately had from my Lord your Huſband, made me think my ſelf obliged to follow him this Night, to ſee where he went. I ſaw him enter the Castle, at the Back-Gate; and intended to wait his Return, to ask him, What he had been doing? But growing impatient at his ſtay ſo long, I took the Pains to get up hither by the ſame Gate: And now I cannot but think it was by the Inſtigation of the Devil: For, as I came groaping along the Rooms, I met Diana, who put me into a bodily Fear, and miſtook me for my Nephew: Preſently after, came in my Lord, your Huſband, who frightned me to the purpoſe; For, not knowing whether to flye, I threw my ſelf like a ſimple Sott under his Pike, with which he thought to kill me: At last, Madam, to conclude in a word, (ſaid the Curate, Smiling when he ſaw them Laugh) I came, I ſaw; but the Miſchief is, I was over-come, and ſoundly beaten.

The Curate had a pretty Faculty at Railing, which gave the Lady occaſion to ſhew him ſome Kindneſs; and pray'd him, He would not ill uſe his Nephew. As to that, Madam, (anſwered he) I know what I have to do: I am willing for your ſake to forget what is past; but muſt intreat you to take order for the future, that no Miſchief come of it. Could my Nephew pay you his Reſpects without Conſequence, and that my Honour were not concerned as well Yours, I ſhould give him up to your diſpoſe, to do with him what you pleas'd: But 'tis a wild Youth, who, in the end, will Ruin Ton, and Me; and 'tis (abſolutely) neceſſary to let him go and Travel for ſome time, and learn to get his Living in another Country. The Lady would preſs him no further, hoping the Affection he had for his dear Nephew, would make him alter his Reſolution.

The Curate in the mean time takes his leave; and, Diana having opened the Gate for him, he went Home, where he found the Gallant in a very ſweet Sleep: But his good Uncle having awak'd him, he was amaz'd to ſee him at that Hour in his Chamber; and ask'd him, What he pleas'd to have? I come to tell you (anſwered the Curate) That my Lord would fain ſpeak with you. Speak with me (replyed John!) Yes, with you, (ſaid the Curate) about ſome Froliques that have been done this Night in the Caſtle, for which a Freind of yours had like to have been well beaten. John was not a little ſurprized at the Diſcourſe; but however, he ſwore and proteſted, He knew nothing of the Matter; That it was three Dayes ſince he had been in the Caſtle; and they did him wrong to charge him with their Diſorders. They have done you wrong indeed (replyed the Curate) but it was, in letting you eſcape as they did. Tell me, you Arch-Rogue, Went not you into the Caſtle by the Back-Gate, at Eleven a Clock this Evening? You think no body has ſeen you play your Pranks with the Lady; You came not out of her Chamber at the Noyſe made by the old Lord, whom you thought to have diſpatched: All this, I know to be falſe; therefore, get you up, and clear your ſelf before him; 'Tis Hanging matter if you do it not. The unhappy Nephew was ſufficiently troubled; not able to defend himſelf from Conviction, where the Proofs were ſo clear: He knew the Kindneſs his Uncle had in ſtore for him, throwes himſelf at his Feet, confeſſes all, and begs his Pardon. There is but one Remedy (ſaid the Curate) you must put on your Cloaths, and be gone immediately for Paris, where they will teach you more Wit; for if you ſtay till Day, it will be too late; there is a Warrant for Apprehending you.

John, who was very willing to be fairly quit of the buſineſs, and go Travel, took this as a Favour, rather than a Baniſhment from his Uncle: He gets up, makes up his Pack, takes a little Money, and gets into Paris; where he ſoon made himſelf known. He reſolved to ſet the beſt Side outwards; takes a Boy, changes his Name from Le Brun to Le Bel: And, having laid out part of the Money he had from the Lady to put himſelf in Equipage, he viſited the great Ones, and went every Day into the beſt Companies; And had Wit and Impudence enough to bring him off well; being not ſo Raw, as to be taken for a Country Squire.

He ſoon gain'd conſiderable Acquaintance of the one Sex, and the other: But he was a little Knaviſhly given; and had in his Nature, an Inclination to Cheating, he could never get rid of, which ſpoyl'd all.

He had many Adventures, both good and bad, Paris being a place proper for that; But the Adventure of his Lodging, was the worſt of all, and ſent him packing out of Town. You ſhall hear it in few Words:

After ſeveral Cheats he had Acted here and there, his Money growing low; and, finding himſelf no longer in a condition to viſit the Ladies, and keep the Company he had done at firſt, he was forced (for maintaining his Gallantry) to ſubmit to make Love to his Landlady: She was a Woman not Unhandſome, and had pleaſed other Men. He was in her Debt; and in what Reſpect ſoever he conſidered the Conqueſt, he could not but think it of advantage. Women of her Character, are quickly familiar; their Calling obliges them to allow Men ſome Liberties, which make them believe, They will deny them nothing.

Mr. John Le Bel, who, after the good Fortune he had met with in the Village, thought nothing ſo Impregnable, but it muſt yield to his Charmes; found ſo much Kindneſs from his Landlady, from the firſt Day he ſpoke to her of Love, that he thought the Buſineſs done; and that ſhe was deeply in Love with him; and that it was not for his purpoſe to be ill-conditioned to her. His Chamber was neer that of his Landlords, and he could hear him go out to Market every Day, as ſoon as 'twas Light, and leave his Wife in Bed, to take her Morning Reſt: The happy Monſieur Le Bel thought it the moſt favourable Occaſion in the World: He gets up one Morning, puts on his Night-Gown; and, without farther Ceremony, goes to his new Miſtreſſes Chamber, and was at her Bed-ſide before ſhe awakt: He ſlips boldly into Bed; what he did there, I know not, it is not written in his Story; but certain it is, he was there above half an Hour with her, and no Noyſe at all; without doubt, ſhe took him for her Husband: But at laſt (having known him I cannot tell how) finding her Miſtake, she cryed out withall her Force. It was in truth a great piece of Folly, and our Gallant paid dearly for it; For, the People of the Houſe running in, armed Cap-a-pe, ſome with Broaches, ſome with Forks, ſome with Knives, and other Arms from the Kitchin-Magazin, enough to frighten a more dangerous Pallet, than the ſieur of John Le Bels; Scarce gave him time to take his Breeches, and his Hat, the Blowes flew ſo thick about his Ears: And this was that Jolly Combat, which he publiſhed ſo much for his Honour where-ever he went; and got him the Sir-Name of Monſieur du Joly Combat.

He was glad to get to the door without Stockings, or Waſtcoat; but, by Good Luck, he was not far from a Broakers, where, with the little Money remain'd, he bought a few Cloaths, to ſet him out as well▪as an ill Suit could do, for a ſecond Adventure; and, at the ſame time, chang'd Quarters, for fear of new Aſſaults.

Paris is large; and thoſe who would hide themſelves, may eaſily do it: Monſieur Le Bel ſtood in need of ſuch a Place; not only in regard of his Landlord, but of thoſe Perſons of Quality he had had the Honour to be acquainted with; being not then in a condition to maintain the Port he had appeared in. However, he muſt live; and every Day will not furniſh us with the kind Lady of the Caſtle: But Folks ſometimes meet with croſsgrain'd Landladies.

By good Luck, there was hard by his new Lodging, a Bath-keeper, who wanted a Boy: The Employment was ſomewhat mean; but thoſe in Neceſſity, ſtand not much upon Terms and Punctilos of Honour. He offers his Service, and is entertain'd: And changing his Condition, would alſo change his Name, and calls himſelf, Champagne.

And now John Le Brun, and John Le Bel, is become Champagne, a Bath-keepers Boy: He was naturally Ingenious, and very fit for that Trade, and might have done very well in it, but that he thought it beneath him: He did but wait the Hour to bid his Maſter adieu; and as ſoon as the good occaſion was offered him of a Gentleman belonging to Court, that came to Bath himſelf at his Maſters; he took the pains to ſeize all his Cloaths, leaving him his Rags in Exchange. You may believe, that, being new rigg'd by this Shift, he made haſt out of his Lodging, and travers'd the Streets a pretty round Pace: He had not then formed any Deſigne. Cavaliers of his Order, commit themſelves to Fortune, Eſpouſe all Adventures, and think every Country their own: But meeting, as he paſt along with a Stage-Coach; and ſeeing a handſome Lady in it, he asked the Coachman, What Place he was bound for? He told him, For Amyens. As Lucky as may be (anſwered our Gallant) 'twas the very thing I look'd for; and, without more adoe, ſteps into the Coach. Then did he begin at leaſure, to examine the Prize he had new taken; but found it not ſo Rich, as he had promiſed himſelf. The Gentleman whoſe Cloaths he had borrowed, was a Man of Eſtate; but had newly loſt all at Play, to Champagnes great Grief; who ſcarce found in his Pockets, enough to carry him to Amyens: But the worſt Luck now, the better another time. The Lady in the Coach, was none of the leaſt Beauties: There was but they two, and he was in hopes, his good Mein might Charm her to bear the Charge of his Journey, while they travell'd together.

He ſet himſelf out, he play'd the Wagg, he talked of Love; and perſwaded the fair Lady (who was an Honeſt Picard) ſo far of his particular Merit, that ſhe believ'd what he pleas'd: But, as ill Luck would have it, ſhe was a Perſon more beholding to Nature than Fortune; and had the ſame Deſigne upon him, he had upon her: So that, having felt one anothers Pulſes, they ſoon perceived, they muſt Club for their Journey: Having found out this Secret, their Love grew cold, and they parted at Amyens with a great deal of Indifference on either ſide.

This Gallant, whom I dare no more call Champagne, Habited as he was, failed not to Lodge at the beſt Inn in the Town, and to Eat with ſome Officers who were all Perſons of Quality; and among the reſt, the Count De Brion.

The Dreſs he was in, became him huge well; and no Man but would have taken him for a very honeſt Gentleman: But having neither Baggage, nor Servant, and no more known in the Town, than at his Lodging; the Innkeeper, who had learnt not to truſt any Paſſenger three dayes after his Arrival, came to bid him Good Morrow, and tell him, He was going to Market. The Cavalier preſently underſtood what the Complement meant; and beginning to Huff, asked, How much he wanted for Proviſions for his Houſe? That if fifty Piſtols would do, he ſhould ſpeak the word, and have them within an Hour, down upon the Nayle. In ſhort, That he ſhould give himſelf no trouble; That he would juſt dreſs himſelf, and pay him what he owed him. It was alwayes his Maxim, to promiſe luſtily, though he knew not how to perform; eſpecially, at this time, when he could go neither backward nor forward to furniſh himſelf.

The Count De Brion Lodged in a Chamber hard by him: He was a generous Perſon, and one whom our Gallant had Courted above the reſt, with deſigne to make uſe of him in caſe of neceſſity. He never ſcrupled to Complement him, and let him know, he was a Gentleman ill uſed by Fortune; and had Recourſe to him, as a Perſon to whom he would chooſe to be oblig'd rather than any other. Count Brion took pitty of him; and having bid him not trouble himſelf for ſuch a Trifle as what he ow'd his Hoſt, offer'd him a Place in his Troop; telling him, A young Man as he was, ſhould not loſe the Occaſion of this Warr to advance himſelf, but endeavour to make his Fortune: As for him, he would ſerve him with all the Credit he had; and aſſur'd him, he ſhould never want as long as he ſaw him do his Duty.

Mr. Champagne was no great Lover of Warr; He was not born under the Planet of Mars: However, for Honour, or rather, for Neceſſity, he accepted (with much Joy) the place offered him by the Count De Brion; and within two Dayes, went along with him towards the place of Rendezvouz, for the Kings's Army.

That Champagne, though Glorious as the reſt for that great Monarch, proved unfortunate for Count Brion, who was killed that Year. John Le Brun, as if he had been unwilling to Serve longer in the Warr, after the Death of his Captain; or rather, aweary of the Service, as too hard for him, thought of nothing more, than how (handſomly) to run away: He was then in very ill Equipage; but Heaven provided for him.

One who waited on Count Brion in his Chamber, and after his Death, had Liſted himſelf in the Troop; having ſome Cloaths of his Maſters, as he was going out on a Party one Morning, delivered them to Monſieur Champagne, to keep for him. Our Cavalier would not let ſlip the Occaſion, but faſtens his Portmantle behind him; and, in a time, when it Rain'd as if Heaven and Earth would come together, falls off from the Army, and gets into Valenciennes; where he was very wellcome, as all French Deſerters are. From thence, he paſſes to Gaunt, where he Sold his Horſe to furniſh himſelf with Money, to carry him to Bruſſels. He goes into the Boat; And knowing of what Conſequence it was to gain an Eſteem in the Place, by the Habit he ſhould appear in at his Arrival, he took out of his Portmantle one ſo very fit for him, as if it had been made for him; beſides clean Linnen, he found there a Belt, Silk Stockings, and every thing he wanted, ſave only a Hat; his own being not ſuitable to the Habit he wore, It was his good Fortune, to find in the ſame Boat a Merchant, who furniſh'd him with a very fine Hat for ſome things he gave him in Exchange.

Our Cavalier once more new fitted, entered Bruſſels in Tryumph, and as fine as a Bridegroom; And, according to his Cuſtom, took up a Lodging in one of the beſt Inns in the City; having his Port-mantle carryed after him, by a Boy he met caſually in the Street: He made his Entry into his Lodging, under the Title of A diſcontented Officer of the French Army. He preſently called a-loud for a handſome Chamber: Then he began to enquire, Whether there were in the Town any French Taylors to make him Cloaths, and Drapers, and Hoſiers, and Shoomakers? He ſent for ſome of all theſe Trades, and ſet them all to work, as well for himſelf, as his worthy Valet; giving them order to have all ready in three Dayes; that he would give them Content, and pay them with Intreſt.

All the Diſcourſe that Day in the Inn, was of the French Officer: He had already gained the Reputation of a Perſon of Quality, that was come to ſpend ſome time at Bruſſels. Beſides, the Gallant had made it his Buſineſs, to enquire of the Perſons of Quality there; and to inform himſelf of thoſe in particular, who would give a Civil Reception to Perſons of Merit and Birth like himſelf; with ſuch other Particulars, as are neceſſary to be known by them who intend to viſit the Great Ones. He had one of the beſt Rooms in the Inn; and the Ordinary he Eat at, was a Patacoon a Meal, which was ſome-what high for an ordinary Officer.

But our Gallant made a Buſtle after the rate of a thouſand a year: But the Maid going up at Suppertime to make his Bed, had the Curioſity, (or it may be a deſign, to finger ſome Spare Utenfill or other for her uſe) to Ranſack his Portmantle, which ſhe found open, and to ſee the fine things he had there: But was very much Surprized, to find it only a poor Soldiers Wardrope, containing onely an old Gray cloſe Coat Lin'd with blew, worn thred-bare within and without; a Greaſy pair of Leather Breeches, a pair of Riding Stockings, all botched up with white Thred; an old Leather belt, and a black Taffity Cravat, with a Ribband of ſo extraordinary a Colour, that none knew what to call it then, though it had probably been formerly, a ſtraw-Colour or ſcarlet. The Maid found none of theſe rich Accoutrements for her turn; but was ſo Officious, to bring her Maſter the Newes of the diſcovery ſhe had made; who preſently went up to take a View of theſe Goods, and eaſily gueſt how matters ſtood with our Officer; having before had to do with ſome Officers of the ſame kind; and having dearly bought his experience, he had no mind to be Cheated any more. He Let him ſup quietly; but as he roſe from Table, he took him aſide, and pray'd him Civilly, To pay him for the two Meals he had eaten there, and to take another Lodging more Convenient for him; telling him, he had expected that Evening a perſon of quality, who had hired for a year the Chamber he had taken; and that when he came, he could not deny it him; that he was much troubled at it, but knew not how to help it. If that be all, (anſwered our Officer, without ſtanding on point of honour to be put out of his Chamber, to accomodate another) we muſt Comply; have not you other roomes in the Inn? You are honeſt people; And I ſhould be ſorry to Leave you; becauſe I am to ſtay a pretty while in this Town. I am obliged to you for the favour (replyed the Hoſt) but let it be, if you pleaſe, at ſome other time when we are not ſo full. What (ſaid he, ſmiling) would you have me go ſeek a Lodging at this time of night, when I know not as much as the Streets of the Town? Tis no matter Sir (anſwered the Hoſt) my Sheets are too fine, and I am not ſuch an Aſse to let them be Stolen. Your ſheets, (replyed the Officer Knitting his browes,) What's the meaning of that? Whom do you take me to be? I take you, anſwered the Hoſt ſomewhat loudly, to be a diſcontented Officer, who may go to ſeek a Lodging elſewhere, with your beggarly Wallet, and your Port mantle full of Rages. How now inſolence, replyed the Officer, is this your courſe to Ranſack my Boy's Clothes. The Hoſt was ſo provoked at his Calling him inſolent, that he ran for a ſtick; at the ſame time the Officer ran for a Fine Silver Sword, that was upon the Bed, and not only ſtood upon his Guard, but fell upon his Landlord ſo briskly, that he wanted the help of his Servants, who Coming in to his reſcue, the Buſtle increaſed. Never did Monſieur Le Bel appear ſo Courageous, as on this occaſion; but the reaſon is, he was newly come from the Army. The Gueſts of the Houſe ran in to ſee what the matter was, but ſound ſuch a Confuſion among the Men and the Maids, (crying out for being hurt, or for fear of being ſo) they knew not what to make of it. In the midſt of this buſtle, our diſcontented Officer, whom Fortune never fail'd at a dead lift, took his opportunity, and got away with his Silver Sword naked; having loſt nothing in the skirmiſh, but his Hat, without any harm but a few dry blows of no Great Conſequence. This Jolly Combat was better than his former, having come off here with honour, and a good Sword for a trophy: The fear he was in of being purſu'd, made him take Shelter in a houſe, where he Spyed the door ſtanding half open; where, without more ado he boldly went in, Hoping to find a way to paſs further; or at leaſt, a place of refuge from his Enemy: There he could ſee but one little Stair-caſe, which he got up ſoftly; and found in the Chamber, a very handſom Lady, ſitting all alone, and leaning on a Table, with a Book before her. The fair Lady was ſo ſurpriz'd at his unexpected Arrival, that ſhe fell down half dead at his Feet: Ah Sir, (ſaid ſhe) do what you pleaſe, only ſave my Life. This Action cauſed no leſs Aſtoniſhment, than Pitty, in our Hero: And letting fall his Sword to the ground, like a Perſon diſarm'd, he took up the Lady in his Arms; and Embracing her with a great deal of Reſpect, lift her up from the Ground▪ Your Life, Madam, (ſaid he) is too precious, to be in danger with a Man of Honour: Had any one a Deſigne upon it (added he, taking his Sword into his Hand) he ſhould ſoon find, I ſtand here in your Defence. But Madam, to put you out of the pain of gueſſing the occaſion of my being here (which I am very ſenſible, cannot but ſurprize you, ſeeing me in your Chamher at this time of Night, with my Sword in my Hand); give me leave to acquaint you, I am a French Officer, of Quality, as you know well enough, that in France, they imploy no other but Perſons of Merit: I was taken Priſoner the laſt Engagement; And, having this Evening found ſome of my Guard aſleep, after their Bellies full of Wine I had given them in the Day, I ſeized their Officer's Sword; and, having forced my Way through the midſt of the reſt, I ſaved my ſelf, as you ſee. I have left them my Baggage, my Money, and all that I had; which, though very conſiderable, you may eaſily believe, I value not at all, when compared with my Liberty; which now, Madam, is in your Hands: It is in your Power to ſave, or to ruin, me: For, in the Effort I made to get out of their Hands, I know well enough, I have wounded two or three; and I fear, I have left one dead on the place. The Lady being a Perſon of Quality, and of a Generous Nature, would have been very glad to have done a Gentleman a Kindneſs on ſuch an occaſion; but ſhe was juſt taking her Leave, and told him, It was not in her Power to do him any Service, but Recommend him to a Gentleman, her very good Freind; whoſe Faithfulneſs he might rely upon. Ah Madam, (anſwered our Officer) now you are leaving this Countrey, give me leave to bear you Company: It will be the far ſurer Way for me, than to go back again for France; and to ſtay here, were to run too great a Hazard of being taken. If your Buſineſs require it (Replyed the Lady) I ſhould be very glad of it: For, though I be of this Countrey; yet, perhaps, I may be in a better Condition elſewhere, to ſerve you: But (added ſhe, ſmiling) you know not whither I am going. Go to what part of the World you pleaſe (anſwered our Cavalier) it matters not at all; I ſhall ſend for what is neceſſary to put me into Equipage. You do not know me (Replyed the Lady); and, it may concern you to conſider, how you engage to Travel with a Lady, who (perhaps) may be imployed in ſome dangerous Buſineſs: For, in the Diſorder you ſee me, you may eaſily believe, that this is none of my Houſe. Ah Madam! As for Danger (Replyed the Officer) I fear none but from your Eyes; As for any other, I have ſufficiently learnt at the Army, not to value my Life; and ſhould eſteem my ſelf Happy, to find an occaſion to loſe it in your Service. A Diſcourſe ſo Generous, and obliging for the Lady, produced abundance of Thanks; which the Hero anſwered with as many Congees down to the Ground.

The Lady was Handſom and Witty, and had the Appearance of a Perſon of Quality; well acquainted with the Great Ones, and bred up amongſt them. Monſieur John Le Bel our Officer, newly eſcaped out of Priſon, thought her worth the looking after; and lookt upon her already, as his Miſtreſs; or rather, one he reſolved to make a Fool of, by putting a Trick upon her. She was in a looſe, but rich Dreſs; which, with his finding her Door open, made him believe, She expected ſome Bodies coming; of which, he made no very good Conſtruction: But having Complemented her a freſh, of the Neceſſity he was under, to uſe the Liberty he had taken; he thought himſelf obliged, to intreat her, to permit him to with-draw into ſome other Room of her Appartment, if his ſtay in her Chamber were troubleſome: She told him, No: That in truth, ſhe expected a Viſit from a Gentleman, her Friend; to whom ſhe had ſent her Foot-Boy, who careleſly left the Door open; but that ſhe believed, he would not come that Evening, having ſtayed away ſo long: However, he might find time enough to go into another Chamber: And ſo, ſhe pray'd him to take a Seat. I know not Madam (ſaid the Officer, to raiſe a Diſcourſe) what a Perſon you took me for, when you beg'd your Life of me on your Knees, as I entered your Chamber; but I will aſſure you, No Action I ever met with, ſurprized me ſo much, I confeſs Sir, (anſwered ſhe) you put me into a terrible Fright, with that naked Sword in your Hand: I took you for one I had reaſon to be afraid of; but you ſee, I ſoon altered my Opinion: And to tell you the truth, You look not like an Aſſaſſin. An Aſſaſſin Madam, (cry'd the Officer!) What Villain could harbour ſuch Thoughts againſt ſo Beautiful a Perſon? There-upon, he renew'd his offers of Service, with greater Proteſtations than before; telling her, with an Air of Bravery, That her Enemies muſt be very ſtrong, to do her any Out rage, while he ſhould be ſo near her. Then preſſing her to tell him the truth of the matter, he received from her the following Anſwer:

Though the Confidence you have in me, in your particular Concerns, had not obliged me to impart Mine to you; yet they have made ſo much Noyſe in the World, I could not think fit to conceal them from a Perſon, whom (beſides the Advantages of his Quality) I take for a Man of Honour, and Diſcretion. The Officer having return'd the Complement in a very Reverend Bow, ſhe proceeded to tell him; I am a Lady of this Town, and of a Family conſiderable enough, both in the Court, and the Camp, to give me the Advantage of appearing in this Court with ſome Splendor: But the ill Underſtanding between my Husband and Me, hath made me ſo unhappy, that there is no ſtaying for me here. Marriage, which ſerves for a Cloak to many others, hath robb'd me both of Honour and Eſtate. I never Loved my Husband, which is a great piece of unhappinefs; and he hath Loved me too well, which proves a greater Miſchief than the other. You cannot but be ſenſible, what Swarms there are of troubleſome Husbands in out time; and, conſequently, how great the number is of Diſcontented Wives: And, let it not ſurprize you, to let you know, I am one of Them. I have been reputed Handſome, and ſo many have told me ſo; that, though I had not been inclined to believe it; yet the multitude of thoſe who affirmed it, muſt needs have perſwaded me to think ſo: But what is Beauty good for but the Pleaſure of being Beloved? I ſhould account her a Fool, that ſhould tell me, She put it to better uſe: gentle or ſimple, honeſt or kind-hearted, We are willing to pleaſe; And there are wayes to pleaſe the Severe and Moroſe, as well as the Airy and Free: I have had Tryal of both: But this pleas'd not my Husband. But what came I into the World for? To live as in a Nunnery? He hath done all in his Power to make me leave Bruſſels, and go live in the Countrey: But miſſing of his Aime, he reduced me out of pure Spight, into ſuch a Condition, that it was not in my Power to entertain a Gallant: But there is a Salve for every Sore: All the Bustle he made, did but increaſe his Diſgrace, and proclaim him to be that, which every Wiſe Man ſhould conceal to his Power. I confeſs, I loſt a little Reputation among thoſe they call, The Vertuous Ladies; but thoſe of the contrary Title are ſo numerous, that for one that Condemns me, there are a hundred to Excuſe me: And perhaps, every Woman, that 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 hath a Husband like mine, is excuſable for all the little Follies ſhe Commits. This very Day, a Gentleman his Friend, ſent me word, He had ordered two Soldiers of the Army (where he hath a conſiderable Command) to come hither, and Murther me: Judge you Sir, if after this News, I had not reaſon to be afraid, when I ſaw you enter my Chamber: Upon this Intelligence from my Friend, I took my Meaſures; and by his Advice, left my own, to retire into this little Houſe for ſome few Dayes, till I can order my Affairs, and take my Leave of this Country. Juſt as ſhe was ſaying this, ſhe heard a Noyſe at the Gate; which made her believe, the Gentleman was come, as in truth he was: She made the Officer preſently withdraw; telling him, That one pair of Staires higher, he ſhould find a Chamber open. He got up thither, and ſaw (though without a Candle) ſeveral Cloaths, and other things, lye on the Table and Stools there, which might ſerve for a reaſonable Prize: But being in hopes of better Fortune in time, this could not tempt him. But he had the Curioſity to inform himſelf a little, what Diſcourſe there might paſs between the good People below, who viſited one another at ſuch an unſeaſonable Hour. He had no very good Opinion of the Matter; and thought, if he could once diſcover the Secret, it would be enough to render him neceſſary for the Lady: He went down, and ſtood cloſe by the Door, being more than half ſhut; where he heard the Gentleman ſpeak to this purpoſe; I have taken the Liberty, Madam, to ſend your Boy to one of my Friends, to intreat him to lend me a Sword, having newly loſt my own by a very pleaſant Adventure: There came (ſaid he) this Mornning to our Inn, a Young Frenchman; who made as if he were a Perſon of Quality, with a Lacquey at his Heels, carrying a huge Port-mantle full of nothing but Rags: Our Hoſt at the firſt ſight; believ'd him what he was willing to be taken for, and entertain'd him accordingly: But in the Evening (by what Chance I know not) he diſcovered, that this Honest Man, who pretended himſelf A Diſcontented Officer of the Army, was but a Deſerter; and civilly pray'd him to go out of his Houſe: The Officer took it as an Affront: This occaſioned high Words between them, and from Words they fed to Blowes: Our Host had a Cudgel in his Hand; and to my ſorrow, the Officer finding my Sword in the Room, laid hold upon it: We ran in to ſee what the matter was; and as we were buſie about parting them, the French Cavalier went away with my Sword, and I came off with the Loſs: Mine Hoſt having ſeized on his Hat, and his Baggage; though ſo inconſiderable, 'twill ſcarce pay his Score. The Lady amazed at this Story, thinking the Diſcontented Officer, very near akin to the Officer eſcap'd out of Priſon; askt the Gentleman, What kind of Perſon the Frenchman was, and what Habit he had? which he deſcribed to be ſo like the Man, and Habit, ſhe had newly ſeen in her Chamber, that ſhe doubted no longer, but he was the very ſame: But whether out Prudence or Charity, ſhe ſaid nothing of it, (being willing to ſave from further trouble a Wretch, who had fled to her for Refuge; and fearing the buſtle the Gentleman would make about it, being very paſſionate; and hoping to help him to his Sword again; which, though he ſhould have loſt, was no great matter to him) ſhe did but Laugh heartily at the Story.

But the Gallant, who had heard all this Diſcourſe, did not think fit to ſlight an Information of ſo much Importance: He preſently gets up Staires again; and in a very ſhort time, makes up his Pack, which he takes under his Arm, and ſtraight-way goes down the Staires; and being unwilling to leave any thing behind, that was ſo juſtly his own, he ſlip'd away with his naked Sword in his Hand: But, juſt as he was opening the Street-Door, he meets the Ladie's Boy with a Sword in his hand; who, you may well think, might be ſurpriz'd, to find a Man like our Officer, coming in that Poſture out of his Miſtreſſes Houſe: But our Officers Wit was ſo ready, that he preſently asked the Boy, If that were not a Sword he carryed to a Gentleman, who was there above Stayres? To which the Boy having anſwered, It was: Friend (ſayes the Officer) you have no more to do but deliver it me; the Gentleman hath found his Sword, I have it here in my Hand, and am going for the Scabbard to his Landlord at the Inn: The Boy was Young, and the Trick ſo neat, it might have catch'd an old One: He gave him the Sword; and, at his new Friends Requeſt, lent him his Hat till his Return from the Inn, whither he was going for the Gentlemans Scabbard.

Monſieur Le Bel being thus got out of the Bryers, the Boy gets up Staires; The Gentleman preſently ask'd him for his Sword: The Boy anſwer'd, He had given it the Man without a Hat, who had the other Sword in his Hand. What Man, (Replyed the Gentleman?) The ſame (ſaid the Boy) that is gone to the Inn for your Scabbard. The Gentleman knowing nothing of what the Boy meant, thought he was in Drink: But the Lady, who preſently apprehended the Matter, and that the Diſcontented Officer had not been Content with one Sword; fell a Laughing ſo heartily, that the Gentleman, not knowing the reaſon, was ſome-what diſpleaſed; and pray'd her to tell him, (if ſhe knew) What was become of his Sword? The Lady, with much adoe forbearing to Laugh, anſwered, The ſame Rogue that had taken his First, had Cheated him of his Second, Sword. How, Madam, (Replyed he) the Frenchman? Yes, the very ſame, (ſaid ſhe) your Diſcontented Officer. But why, Madam, d' you tell me ſo? How ſhould you know it? You do but Raily: Let's hear what manner of Man this Man without a Hat was? The Boy Deſcribed him ſo much to the Life, it could not be doubted, but he was the Diſcontented Officer: The Gentleman more aſtoniſht than before, turns him to the Lady, and asks her, How ſhe came to know this very fine Gentleman? Sir (ſaid ſhe) Give me time to breath, and I will tell you the Story: Then did ſhe relate how he came to her Chamber; and the Tale he had told her of his being eſcaped out of Priſon, which moved her to pitty him; being not able (on ſo preſſing an Occaſion) to deny Refuge to a Perſon of Quality, as he ſeemed to be: The Gentleman anſwered, All this was well; but that ſhe ought to have told him of his being at her Lodging; that it had, at leaſt, ſaved him one of his Swords; and that, having underſtood ſo much of him, ſhe might have concluded him a Rogue, that deſerved not her Favour: She excuſed her ſelf with the Conſiderations we have mentioned; being a Perſon of ſo tender a Soul, and truly good Natur'd, ſhe could not find in her heart to do the worſt of Men any harm. Madam (Replyed the Gentleman) were it your caſe, would you be ſerved ſo? Sir (ſayes ſhe) I fear I have loſt more than you; and that my Compleaſance hath (by this time) coſt me very dear: For, when you came in, I ſent him up into a Chamber, where all my things lay at Six and Sevens: But the beſt of it is, he had not any Light. The Gentleman fell a Laughing at the Ladies Ingenuity, as if Thieves wanted Light to find out their Booty; and told her, Such Peoples Eyes were in their Hands, and that their Fingers were their Candle. They asked the Boy, If the Man he had given the Sword to, carryed any thing with him? Nothing (ſaid the Boy) but a Bundle under his Arm: This Alarmed the Lady; and the Gentleman had his turn of Laughing at her. They went up to the Chamber, and found he had carryed away in Cloaths, and other things, to the value of a hundred Piſtols: The Lady was ſome-what comforted, thinking he could not be gone far for want of a Hat: But the Boy preſently told her, He had lent him his; which made them more Sport: So that in truth, they had no more to do, but ſit down by the Loſs; having all had their ſhare (not excepting the Foot▪boy) in ſuffering by the Cheats of the pretended Officer.

Some Moneths after, this Lady (for whom Fortune had prepared new Adventures with our Here) went for England; and ſoon after her Arrival there, viſited a Perſon of Quality, with whom ſhe had Contracted a very intimate Acquaintance at Bruſſels: She was received with Expreſſions of the higheſt Joy and Affection; the Lady being extreamly glad, at the Hopes of an Opportunity to pay her at London, the Civilities and Kindneſſes received from her in Flanders.

They paſt from Complement, to Diſcourſe of their Friends; and from that, to the News at Court. The Stranger having a Deſigne to continue ſome time in England, was very deſirous to inform her ſelf particularly, of the ſtate of Affaires, and have ſome Knowledge of the Country; and was very well ſatisfied, ſhe made her Addreſs to a Lady very knowing in thoſe Points; and one who failed not to give her a Relation, both general and particular, of all the fine Ladies, and their Gallants, in that Court. Her Diſcourſe might have paſt for a Chronicle in Epitome; containing, in ſhort, The Hiſtory of the Gallants of either Sex: As well the Ladies, who (by their good Conduct) preſerved their Reputation, as thoſe who had utterly forfeited and loſt it: And of the Gentlemen, as well thoſe who were worthy the paines of being Loved, as thoſe who were look'd upon, as the Scandal of Ladies. She proceeded yet further; and being antient Acquaintance, gave the ſtrange Lady ſome Maximes, and Rules of Conduct in that Court; which with a little Practice, ſhould make her able to give Inſtruction to others.

After this long Diſcourſe, the Stranger, who knew that the Lady, her Acquaintance, being a very beautiful Perſon, had alwayes had her ſhare of the Gallantries in Faſhion where-ever ſhe dwelt; asked her ſimiling, Whether ſhe continued ſtill, the courſe of her Conqueſts? She anſwered ſomewhat Coyly, That ſhe bore no part in the Comedies now Acted on the Stage of the World, but was only a Spectator; not that ſhe was become inſenſible, or that thoſe who have been in Love, can ever ceaſe to be ſo: but to ſpeak truth, whether it were the weakneſs of her Fancy, or the goodneſs of her Judgment, ſhe had no Inclination (at leaſt) for thoſe of this Country: That ſhe was for Strangers, and eſpecially the French, whom ſhe moſt affected. You are not an Engliſh-Woman then (Replyed the Stranger.) Not by Inclination (anſwered ſhe,) though Born in the middle of England: Did you but know (added ſhe) the Ayre, and the Grace, the French have in Gallantry: but I need not tell it you, who come from a Court intirely French. There is one here whom I ſee ſometimes; He is in no ſmall Eſteem among the Beauties. That may be the reaſon, Madam, (anſwered the Stranger) you are not altogether Impartial, as to thoſe of this Country. You are my Friend (Replyed ſhe,) and I confeſs ingenuouſly, I have ſome Eſteem for him; but that's all: He is a Perſon of Quality; he hath Wit; he is Handſom, and viſits me oftner than others; which is enough to gain an Eſteem from me, who am Naturally no Hater of the French. He might have got an Intereſt in a far handſomer Lady; and I know thoſe who Aſpired to the Conquest of his Heart: But his Stars, or perhaps ſome ſmall Merit of mine, hath made him yield to thoſe ſmall Charmes I carry with me. You ſhall ſee him here, it will not be long ere he comes; you ſhall give me your Judgment of him. The French (anſwered the Stranger) have certainly a good Meine, and are Witty; and to ſpeak generally, ſurpaſs all other Nations in Gallantry, and are their Maſters therein: But to tell you the truth, We are to take heed of them, eſpecially in a ſtrange Country: You ſhall have a poor Farmer's Son, ſhall give himſelf the Title of Marqueſs of the Place he was Born in: Another, who never was better qualified than a Valet De Chambre, ſhall call himſelf by his Maſters Name; the better to Cheat ſome Shop-keeper or Tradeſman: There is ſuch a Swarm of ſuch Gallants in the World; that I believe in good Earnest, that People of Quality muſt for the Future, carry with them Authentick Testimonials; or must be content to lye under Suſpition of not being what they juſtly pretend to. I can tell you a Story, Madam, what a Trick I was ſerved ſome Moneths agoe, for my willingneſs to Pleaſure a Frenchman of this Character: Then ſhe gave her an account at large, of all the Particulars concerning the pretended Officer at Bruſſels; at which the Lady Laught very heartily, and confeſt it was a notable Cheat: But, that Right muſt be done to Perſons of Quality; and that there is a Difference between thoſe that are Men of Honour, and thoſe who are not. The Perſon I ſpeak of (added ſhe) carries in his Countenance, the Character of Honesty; and hath in all his Actions, an Ayre Remote, and altogether different from any thing of Baſeneſs and Meanneſs: That he may very well paſs for a Pattern of Generoſity and Vertue. He came hither with a Perſon of Quality: In a word, It is the Count Brion. Count Brion, Madam, (Replyed the Stranger?) If I be not miſtaken, I have Read in the Gazett, He was Dead. Yes, the Elder Brother (anſwered the Lady) but this is the Younger, who is come to a great Eſtate by the Death of his Brother. And, to the Advantages of Fortune and Birth, hath added that of the higheſt Merit: Some matter of Honour, as I underſtand by others: A Duel fought much to his Advantage, hath been the Cauſe of his flying hither for Refuge. He is not altogether unhappy, Madam, (anſwered the Flemmiſh Lady) ſince Baniſhed his own, he finds in this Country, ſome place in your Eſteem; which cannot but be a very pleaſant Refuge. You are alwayes obliging, Madam, (Replyed the Engliſh Lady) I have not Vanity enough, to flatter my ſelf with an Opinion, of being able to ſerve Count Brion in his Misfortunes.—She had hardly done ſpeaking when the Count entred; who, having heard the laſt Words of the Ladies Diſcourſe, anſwered Smiling, If any thing can leſſen the Misfortune you ſpeak of, it muſt certainly be the Honour of your Eſteem. I cannot call my ſelf unhappy, ſince the Day I believed you have any Value for me. Tis true Sir, (Replyed the Lady) did your Happineſs depend on that, you ſhould have no great cauſe to complain of it; for, I ſhould be ſure to do you Juſtice: This I averr in Preſence of this Lady; who, though a Stranger, is long ſince acquainted with the Sincerity of my Heart. The Count, who had only a ſlight View of the Flemmiſh Lady in paſſing by, finding by the Diſcourſe that ſhe was a Stranger, went up to her to Salute her: But having fixt his Eye upon her, he was not a little aſtoniſht: He eaſily knew her by her Countenance, and was at a ſtand; and twice or thrice changed Colour. He knew not what to ſay, and had ſcarce the Confidence to Salute her. The Lady as much ſurprized as he, advanced not a ſtep to do him that Honour; and indeed, had ſcarce the Patience to endure it. The Engliſh Lady, having obſerved all theſe different Actions, the Trouble of the one, and Coldneſs of the other, knew not what to think of it; and ſeeing there paſſed not a Word between them, ſhe asked, If they knew one another? And, being no leſs aſtoniſht than they, added, Were you not both my Friends, I know not what I ſhould think of this Buſineſs. I confeſs, Madam, (anſwered Count Brion, endeavouring to Recover himſelf) this Lady is ſo exactly like a Perſon of Quality, I formerly had the Honour to know, and be extreamly obliged to, that I could not ſee her without Remorſe for my Ingratitude towards her; whereof I own my ſelf Guilty, and ſhould think a thouſand Lives (if I had them) well beſtowed, to Expiate my Offence. The Fault muſt have been Great (Replyed the Engliſh Lady) and I cannot believe you a Man capable of ſuch a Crime. 'Tis great indeed, Madam; And had I not hopes of Pardon from her Goodneſs, I ſhould dye for very Grief and Shame. And what ſay you to this, Madam, (anſwered the Engliſh Lady, addreſſing her ſelf to the Stranger?) Does this Matter concern you? There must be ſome Cauſe for that Diſorder and Trouble I obſerved in your Countenance on this Occaſion. Madam, (Replyed the Stranger) the cauſe of my Surprize is just like that of the Gentlemans; A Perſon very like him, behaved himſelf towards me not ſo well as he ought; and I took him for the Man. There is ſomething Extraordinary in this Adventure (anſwered the Engliſh Lady;) and you must excuſe me, if I believe neither of you in what you have ſaid: I am very well aſſured, Madam, you came but Yeſter-day to Town, and that the Count was never at Bruſſels: So that, I cannot comprehend where you could have ſeen one another, but here. Pray clear this doubt, and tell me freely, What is the buſineſs. The Gentleman (Replyed the Stranger) can do it far better than I. There are ſome things (ſaid the Count) not fit to be ſpoken at all times; And then riſing up; I ſhall leave all (ſaid he) to the Diſcretion and Generoſity of this Lady, and with-draw for the preſent; being not very well: With that, taking Leave of the Ladies, he went his way.

If ever Perſon was in Pain, if ever Woman had the Curioſity to know any thing, you may believe the Engliſh Lady, ſo affected on the preſent Occaſion: For, having really had, and as frankly own'd, an Eſteem for the Count, ſhe was very much concern'd for him upon all Accounts; and, particularly, thoſe where any other of the Sex appeared any way concern'd for him. Well, Madam, (ſaid ſhe, to the Stranger) will not you tell me what the Meaning of this is? Shall I not know the Adventure brought you acquainted with the Count? I never had Reſerve for you; Your time is come to requite my Freedome. The Lady refuſed a long time, out of ſcruple to Ruin the Reputation of a Man, who might (perhaps) be a Perſon of Quality, and forced by Neceſſity to do what he had done: But fearing he was nothing leſs; and that her Friend might be abuſed by her good Opinion of the Count, ſhe made her firſt Promiſe not to ſpeak of the buſineſs; and then told her plainly, This was the Officer ſhe had told her of, who had Eſcaped out of Priſon. Who, Count Brion, (anſwered the Lady, with a Tone and Action that ſufficiently declared her Surprize!) Is he the Honeſt Man who ſtole your Cloaths, and the two Swords from the Gentleman your Friend? Yes, Madam, (anſwered ſhe) the very ſame. It is not poſſible (Replyed the Engliſh Lady), nor ſhall you make me believe, though you make ſee it with my Eyes. What you pleaſe (ſaid the Stranger); but I aſſure you, I know him on no other Account: And if you will take the Pains to examine and reflect on what he ſaid to me, you may gueſs whether this be true or not. Heavens! (cry'd ſhe) is it poſſible, that a Man of his Quality, ſhould be reduced to the neceſſity of Acting ſuch a Cheat? He had reaſon to tell me, He had never been at Bruſſels. However, he is ſtill a Man of Birth, and of Parts; and I might have ſaid, of Merit too, but for this unhappy Adventure. 'Twas but a Trick of Youth (ſaid the other) and ſo may be pardon'd: You know, Men are but Men; and France being at Wars with us, he thought (perhaps) Robbing me was but Plundering the Enemy: But now, that he is in a better Condition than formerly, he may make me amends, and expreſs his Sorrow for the Fact, by making me Reſtitution. Yes, Madam, (Replyed the Engliſh Lady) I will undertake he ſhall do it: For, beſides the Generoſity of his Nature, he is a Perſon of Honour; and will not fail to appear ſo, on ſuch an Occaſion as this: If ſuch a thing ſhould be known of him here, where he has the Eſteem and the Love of ſo many Perſons of Quality, What would become of him? I would not for the World it ſhould come to their Ears: For, as he Viſits me ofner than any other, I muſt expect to have the greateſt ſhare in his Diſgrace. Let me beg of you, Madam, it may go no further. The Lady promis'd it; and having other Viſits to make, took her Leave to go to the Lodging of another Lady, of her Acquaintance; Where, Entering the Chamber, ſhe found her at ſome Difference with another Perſon; who, upon her coming in, quitted the Room.

The Fair Flemming was received at this Viſit, with the ſame Joy and Honours ſhe had found at the firſt: And having paſt the firſt Complements of Civility; and obſerved before, that when ſhe came in, the Lady was in buſineſs with her who went forth, ſhe thought her ſelf obliged to make her Excuſe for diſturbing them, and interrupting their Diſcourſe. You may believe, Madam, by our Actions you ſaw, that our Diſcourſe was none of the Pleaſantest; and I verily think, you did both of us a Pleaſure; For, had you not come in, we ſhould have certainly quarrelled: She was a French Lady, who came to demand Money of me, for two pair of Embroydred Bodyce I had of a French-man, in Payment for Money I won of him at Play, about two Moneths agoe; She tells me, The Bodyce were her • , and that ſhe had only truſted the French-man with them, to Sell them for her. I anſwered, I knew nothing of that, and that I had honestly bought them; and that ſhe was to look after payment from her Commiſſioner: The Stranger fell a Laughing at the Title of Commiſſioner; and asked, Who that honeſt Gentleman might be, who pay'd his Debts with other Peoples Goods; and to diſcharge what he ow'd one Lady, borrowed the Bodyce of another? This (added ſhe) is a new piece of Gallantry, not very much in Mode among the Perſons of Quality. Yes, (Replyed the Engliſh Lady) this French-man would paſs here for a Gallant by Profeſſion; and calls himſelf, The Count De Brion: But I never look'd upon him, as other than a Valet De Chambre Traveſty; having neither the Wit, nor the Manners, nor the Sentiments, non Carriage, of a Perſon of Quality: Nor do I ſee what Ground there is for that Eſteem ſome Perſons have for him here, unleſs it be, for that he is a Stranger. He hath apeared at Court, under the Auſpice of a French Lord; whoſe Favour alone, might gain a Man Credit: And that, I believe, hath Contributed moſt to the Honour a Man ſo little deſerving, hath received there. But there are many who have changed their Opinion of him; and think with me, that he is not the Man he pretends to be: Beſides, there are a number of People, who knows the Houſe of Brion; and aſſure us, there was but one Son of the Family, and that he dyed in the Army. It may be, Madam, (ſayes the Flemmiſh Lady) the Gentleman you ſpeak of, may be ſome near Relation of the Counts. No, no, (replyed the other) he ſayes, He is the Count Biron's own Brother and Heir, and would paſs for ſuch at Court.

I was Yeſterday with a Lady of my Acquaintance; and as we were talking of ſome of his Cheating Tricks, he happened to come in; and told the Lady, That a Dutcheſs (he named) having ſeen the fair Diamond Pendants at her Ears, had a great Deſire to have ſuch another pair made for her; and knowing he had the Honour to be acquainted with her, had ſent him on purpoſe to intreat her, to lend her her Pendants for an Hour: The Lady preſently caſt her Eyes upon me, and I Mine on her; both looking on one another, but in ſuch a manner, that each of us underſtood well enough, how Suſpicious this Embaſſie appeared to the other. My Friend having too much Wit to be catched in ſuch Traps, excuſed her ſelf with ſaying, She was engaged that Afternoon to make ſome Viſits of Conſequence, and could not then ſpare her Pendants, being at her Ears; but that on the Morrow, ſhe would return him his Viſit, and afford him a ſight of them: This Day we ſhall know the Truth, it being not probable, that Lady would have ſent ſuch a Perſon as he, on a Meſſage of that Nature. But I entertain vou too long, Madam, with this Subject; yet the Gentleman I ſpeak of, being one who is very much talk'd of, you may (perhaps) be glad to know him; and the Deſcription I have given you, is much to the Life.

The ſtrange Lady thanked her for the Favour ſhe did her; telling her, She took ſo much Pleaſure to hear her, that it might paſs for a Kindneſs, to have a further Account of what ſhe knew of this Count; which, perhaps, ſhe might requite her for, by finding a time to Entertain her with Relations of a very like Nature.

You ſhall not be long here (Replyed ſhe) but you'l ſee him; and in a few Dayes, you may expect a Viſit from him; being indeed, the moſt Impudent of Men, and one who intrudes into all Places, where Perſons of Quality may be ſeen. He is not Unhandſom; and, could we judge of Men's Birth by their Shapes, we might believe him well Born: but this is not the firſt time, we have known the Man handſomer than the Maſter: And as for me, I will never be perſwaded he is any other than a Serving-man: All his Actions are mean and baſe; his Words having nothing in them, that carries the leaſt Taſt of a Noble and Elevated Wit: And were it not for the Diſcourſes he makes of his Perſon, which he boaſts to the Skyes, on the account both of Gallantry and Bravery (which, I muſt tell you, he maintains but very poorly by his Actions) 'tis the pittifulleſt Fellow for Converſation, that ever I met with. His beſt Talent is Impudence: He calls himſelf, the Friend or Relation of all the People of Quality in France. In a word, He made two Gentlemen believe, he was with them at the Academy, though neither of them could remember he had ever ſeen him before: But that which will chiefly ſurprize you, is, The Impudence he expreſt about a Letter he found on a Ladies Table, of my Acquaintance (where I was at Play); He took it with him to the Play-Houſe, to ſhew it three or four Gentlemen; who verily believed, the Letter was addreſt to him: And the Perſon who had Written it, being very conſiderable for Merit and Birth; the Gentlemen ſeeing he treated the Count De Brion ſo obligingly, had a better Opinion of him than formerly: But it happned, that one of theſe Gentlemen going from the Play-Houſe, went to the Lady to whom the Letter belong'd, being directed to her; and knowing the Familiarity between her, and the Perſon who writ it, asked her, What Acquaintance the Count Brion had with her Illuſtrious Friend?

Not any, I believe, (ſaid ſhe) and I think ſo the rather, for that he hath lately made uſe of my Intreſt with him, to procure him a Letter from him in his Favour, to a Miniſter of State, with whom (he ſaid) he had Buſineſs of Importance. I know not what to think of it (Replyed the Gentleman,) but can aſſure you, I just now ſaw a very obliging Letter he hath written to the Count. A Letter (anſwered the Lady!) You ſhall find it was mine he found on the Table, and gives it out for his own.

The Ladies having ended their Diſcourſe of Count Brion, ſpoke of other things; till at laſt, the Stranger having other Viſits to make, took her Leave; and was ſcarce got down Stairs, but ſhe found the Lady ſhe had made her firſt Viſit to, Diſputing Somewhat hotly with two Chair-men. The ſtrange Lady took the Liberty to ask her, What the matter was? The other made Anſwer, That Count Brion having return'd to her Lodging, had Lent her his Chair, and that the Chair-men would make her pay for it; which was no uſual thing: The Count in the mean-time comes in; and enraged at the ſight of the Abuſe offer'd the Lady by the Chairmen, he took up his Cane, and gave them three or four Blowes: But he ſoon found as good as he brought; for, the Chair-men thinking the Baſtonado intolerable, return'd him Blowes with Uſury: Two to one was not ſo even a Match for Beating as Carrying. The Ladyes were much troubled, but knew not how to help him: But, by good Fortune, a Gentleman came by, with another behind him, who parted the Fray: The Man I laſt mentioned, was a French-man, who being newly arrived from Paris; and having caſt his Eye on Count Brion, came up to him to Salute him:

Friend (Replyed the Count, Interrupting him) you miſtake your ſelf, I am Count Brion. I do not miſtake my ſelf (ſayes the other), and by this very good Token, That you ſtole away the Cloaths of a Perſon of Quality, which I was forced to pay for:

He ſpoke this ſo loud, that all who ſtood by, heard him what he ſaid. The Count was glad to take him by the Hand, to draw him aſide; telling him, He was miſtaken: The other as ſtifly maintain'd, He was not; and threatned to have him Arreſted, if he would not pay him for the Cloaths. But I am Count Brion (anſwered he, much more troubled with this one French-man, than he was with the two Porters. You may be what you pleaſe (ſayes he) when you have pay'd me for my Cloaths; but till then Champagne, Champagne, and no Count Brion. While they were engaged in this Fine Dialogue, the Gentleman who had parted the Count, and the Chairmen when they fought, entertain'd himſelf in Diſcourſe with the two Ladies; but ſeeing a new Quarrel like to ariſe, he ſtept aſide, and ask'd them what the matter was? Nothing (ſayes the Count) but an Inſolent Fellow loves to hear himſelf talk, and will needs take me for I know not who: He is certainly Drunk; and were it not for Reſpect to you, I ſhould make him know who I am. The Man was going to Anſwer; and had doubtleſs ſaid worſe than he had hitherto done, but the Gentleman perſwaded him to with-draw; and ſo, did the Count a great Piece of Service. After this the Count ſent in ſearch of the French-man, and did all in his Power to perſwade him, He was not Champagne; and ſubmitted how-ever, to pay for the Cloaths in Queſtion: But all to no purpoſe.

This, with many other Reaſons, made him reſolve to leave London; having Reigned there too long, to continue any longer. His Fortune was at the Height, and he apprehended the Danger; that, if he endeavoured to Climb any Higher, he might chance to take the Way to Heaven in a String.

The Lady of Bruſſels, and the Man of Champagne, were the Evil Starres that boded him a Storm of Baſtonades. It is the Prudence of Man kind, to prevent ſuch Tempeſts. CHEATS, who have Wit, are very ſenſible how ſubject their Life is to Dangers of that kind. He eaſily ſaw a Cloud of Misfortune gathering over his Head, for his Inſolence and Impudence at London; and that it was time to with-draw: Every thing hath its Seaſon; and he, the better to know the proper Hour for packing away, went to a Watch-maker; who, taken with his good Meine, truſted him with two Gold-Watches; with the help of which, he took the Lucky Moment ſo right for getting away, that neither Landlord, nor Draper, nor Taylor; nor Tradeſman whatever, nor any other Creditor (for he had of all ſorts) dreamt of his Journey; only the Chair-men had him in the Wind, being (as the Story goes) told of it by his Footboy; who then were pay'd more than their due. But to conclude his Cheats here, and that he might go out of England ſo as he came in, that is, at other Mens Charges; when he came to Harwich, he went to a Merchant, and told him, He had a Letter from one of his Friends, to deſire him, to procure him with all ſpeed a Veſſel for France; but that he had unhappily loſt it. The Merchant Seeing him a handſom Man, and in very good Equipage, told him, A Letter was needleſs; and preſently found him a Veſſel, bound for France, & agreed for ſix Pieces; and with very much Ceremony, ſaw him Embarked.

The Gentleman gets into France; and having no deſire it ſhould be at his own Charges, he found a way to differ with the Seamen; who having agreed with the Merchant of Harwich for ſix Pieces, the Count would pay them but ſix Piſtols: which the Mariners being unwilling to accept of; he ſent them with a Billet to him, with whom they agreed; and ſo got out of their Clutches.

So much may ſuffice for the Acts of Count Brion: And now that he hath changed Country, he muſt alſo change Name: He gives him ſelf the Title of The Baron of Vachere; which, it is reported, was the ſame he paſt under in his Voyage for England. The New Title was attended with New Adventures: But we muſt haſten to find him at Paris; where his Planet having alwayes had very ill Influence on him, made him fall into the Hands of a Gentleman, with whom he paſt from Diepe to Harwich; who finding himſelf ſome-what concern'd in the Inſolencies of this pretended Count, cauſed him to be taken, and clapt up in Priſon: He deſign'd to ſend him into England; but upon a Ladies Interceſſion, was content to ſee him Condemn'd to the Gallies; where, it is ſaid, he doth Wonders.

A ſorry End for the Hero of a Rom ance: It had been better for him to have been a Country Curate: But who can reſiſt his Fate? And who knowes but worſe might have befallen him? Leading the Life he then led, he had reaſon to expect to Hang one Day between Heaven and Earth; and hath reaſon to think himſelf happy, he is now out of Danger of cutting Capors at Tyburn.