The History of the Countess of Marignan.

I Shall tell you nothing, Madam, of the Beginning of my [...]ife, because we spent it together ; and I doubt not but you remember how much against my will I married the Marquis of Mondanar: but your going into the Country some time before that fatal Match, obliges me to let you know what preceded it, that you may the better understand what follow'd. As soon as the Ar­ticles of my Marriage were sign'd, all the Marquis of Mondanar's Re­lations visited me; and among the rest, he presented the Count of Ble­sinac to me, as his best Friend, and desir'd me to look upon him as such. What a folly it was in such a Man as Mondanar to ingage his Mistris to be kind to Blesinac? The first, as you know, Madam, was above [Page 3]threescore years old, and the Infir­mities he lay under, rendred his Age very decrepit. His way of dressing himself did not at all repair the Defects of his Person; and, to open my Heart wholly to you, I confess his Humour and his Mind were yet more displeasing than all the rest. He was covetous, rigid, contradicting, and know [...] no otherwise than to avoid the [...] of it himself, and to forbid others whom he had any power over. In short, my Destiny was to marry this Man, for whom I had almost an invincible aversion. But Parents do not reason as we do, when they think of setling us, as they call it, in the World. The Marquis his Qua­lity and great Estate made mine not consult me at all in a Match so con­trary to my Inclination: They took care I should have a good Portion and Joynture, and that was all they look'd after.

Though the Marquis was assaul­ted [Page 4]with his usual Pains, yet he would not delay our Marriage, which was celebrated at night. My old Spouse went back to his own House, and I return'd with my Mo­ther, very well satisfied to part with him; but the whole Family was strangely surpris'd at it, and their astonishment encreas'd, when next day he told my Mother, I must go into Languedoc with him. Then he came into my Chamber, to ac­quaint me with the doleful News. Well, Madam, said he to me, are you ready to go into the Country with me to morrow? The Word to morrow frighted me so, that I could not help changing Colour. What is the rea­son, added he, that you blush so? Do you think I will stay and ruine my Estate in Paris? No, Madam, I am sick, and I do not like the Place: Once more I bid you prepare to go along with me. I told him with a sorrow­ful Heart, I was ready to do what he pleas'd. Then he chuck'd me [Page 5]under the Chin, kiss'd my Forehead, and went to give order for our Journey; so that I saw him no more that day. This fantastical Proceed­ing made my Mother guess I should not be happy. The good Woman repented she had consider'd the For­tune more than the Person of the Man, and desir'd the Count of Ble­sinac to give me all the Consolation he could. You may imagine how it fretted me to leave Paris.

Blesinac went along with us; and I perceiv'd, that in consenting to this Journey at my Husband's re­quest, he complied perfectly to have the satisfaction of accompanying me. When we were a little out of Town, the Marquis made the Coach stop upon a rising Ground, from whence I might have almost an in­tire View of it: Then with a cruel Tone, Madam, said he, look well up­on Paris, for this is the last time you are like to see it while I live. I too well knew how dangerous it is for me [Page 6]to let you live there any longer; and I must tell you, a Woman of Honour ought to look upon the Town as the worst Shelf her Vertue can split up­on. I answer'd not one Word to what he said, contenting my self to think what Common Sense sug­gested upon such an occasion. You make me no Reply, continued my Husband, perhaps because you fancy you shall return thither. I am not so far from thence yet, said I, to think of going back again. No, you had not best, answer'd he, let me advise you; for if you did, it should be to no pur­pose. As the Coach jogg'd on, he reckon'd up what the Journey would stand him in, and then was vex'd at the charge of it. The Count was in such constraint to hear all this impertinent Discourse, that he durst not look upon me. But I often made excuses to get out of the Coach, sometimes to ease the Horses, and sometimes for fear of overturning, only to avoid [Page 7]my Husbands tiresom Company.

I remember one day I alighted to walk, and the Count led me; I thought of nothing but his Kins­man's ill humour, which with the little inclination I had to be merry, put me into a deep musing. He could not forbear asking me the rea­son of it. I have, said I, so lately quitted the Persons I love, and my mind is possess'd with such a wretched prospect of the future, that I cannot chuse being melancholy, either when I reflect upon what I have left behind, or think what my Duty obliges me to in my present condition. I confess, Madam, said Blesinac, Monsieur de Mondanar does not understand his own happiness, and makes but ill use of a Blessing which is capable of ren­dring the best man in the World in­tirely happy. I cannot agree with you wholly, answered I, but I am perswaded, whether I make him hap­py or no, he will make me very mise­rable. I never wish'd, continued I, [Page 8] to live drown'd in Pleasure; but I al­ways apprehended misfortunes, and I would not have desir'd more of Hea­ven, than a quiet peaceable life, which now I find will not fall to my share. I grant, Madam, said Blesi­nac, that a Calm is delightful; but it may also be interrupted by thoughts no less pleasing. Were that tranqui­lity, said I, once in my power, I know no body that could comfort me, should I lose it. And for my part, answered Blesinac, I should be sorry not to lose that quiet which I pre­serv'd till I had the honour to see you. Accuse me not, said I, of doing you so much mischief, for I fear I could not make you amends, and tru­ly, I design not to do you any. But I find by your Discourse, you do but seek to excuse your self from comforting of me, and you quite forget my Mother's request to you. No, Madam, reply'd the Count, I do not forget it, but what can you expect from a miserable Creature, who suffers for you, and [Page 9]himself too, and stands more in need of consolation than you do. I had such a dreadful notion of a Dclara­tion of Love, as if it were a Mon­ster, but in this I found nothing but what was Respectful, and Noble, and could not find in my Heart to be displeas'd at it. As good luck would have it, we just came to the place where the Coach staid for us, for I did not well know what answer to make him.

Next day an accident befel me which increas'd my aversion to the Marquis, and more plainly disco­ver'd the Counts affection to me. We were overturn'd, and I hurt my Head very much in the fall; besides which, I had the displeasure to hear my Husband take no notice of my pain, all his sorrow was for the breaking of his Coach. So that he had no manner of care of me, but the Count of Blesinac gave me all the Assistance he could. And for all my hurt we were fain to go on to [Page 10] Chateauroux as soon as our Tack­ling was mended.

I should never have done, if I should tell you all the reasons I had to complain of the Marquis this Journey. But still Blesinac repair'd all his faults by some mark or other of his Love. At last we came to Mon­danar, where we had a sorrowful welcome. The Count staid there a fortnight, during which time I often said to my self, that sure it was no Crime in me to love him, seeing I had no other remedy to sweeten my misfortunes. What would you have done, Madam? Our Hearts seldom want Reasons to perswade them to abandon them­selves to a Passion they are inclin'd to. I accustom'd my self by de­grees to hear the Count assure me of his affection, and fidelity. I suf­fer'd him also to believe I was not insensible of his merit. Well, Ma­dam, would he say to me some­times, are you still for tranquility, [Page 11]and are you not sensible with what a pleasing pain Love fills the Heart? I understand it so little, answered I one day when he was talking thus to me, that I can hardly distinguish what I think; but considering the Hu­mour I am of, I believe I shall be ex­treamly subject to what you describe. For I begin now to apprehend not on­ly absence, but being forgotten too by the man who says he loves me. I fear you will be false, and inconstant. Judge then, pursued I, if such thoughts as these afford my mind much repose.

Blesinac was very assiduous in ob­viating all my fears, and he no less dreaded absence than my self. He sang pretty well, and I had a tole­rable Voice, so sometimes we sung together; but as soon as my Hus­band heard us, he told me very rudely, Singing would not do the business of my Family. In short, he could not indure it, and forbid me this Divertisment, as if it had been [Page 12]a Crime. He gave his Kinsman al­so to understand he should take it ill if he left not his House, upon which the Count went away next morning. All the miseries of Ba­nishment are short of what I suf­fered by the Marquis his Whimseys, and the absence of Blesinac. I had still the liberty to think all day on the only Person, the re­membrance of whom could any way alleviate my afflictions; but I was not so happy as to preserve this freedom long. My Husband had a Sister who died, and left an only Daughter for him to take care of. Before he brought her to me, he was so cautious as to forbid her concerning her self in any thing to my advantage, and I can assure you, she has been always very far from it. She was perfectly like her Uncle in his Humour and Be­haviour, and much more violent than he. Her out-side was so dis­agreeable, that the sight of her [Page 13]choqu'd me, and it was a punish­ment to me to look upon her.

The Death of my Sister-in-law was a pretence for Blesinac to come to our House, and though Crisante, so was my Husbands Niece call'd, was altogether rude, and wild, yet she began to be more gentle to the Count. She look'd on him so gree­dily, one would have sworn she had never seen a Man before. I cannot better express the odd row­ling motion of her Eyes. She knew nothing of the World, and there­fore no wonder she behaved her self so indecently. I would have given her good Counsel, but she obstinately refus'd it.

I know not how it came into Blesinac's Head one day to tell her, she had good Teeth. She believ'd him, and because no body had said so much to her before, she fancied he thought her a fine Woman. This ridiculous Opinion, with her Coun­trey carriage, made her a pleasant [Page 14]Figure: but I was not dispos'd to di­vert my self with her, she was so di­stastful to me upon other accounts, that I could not indure her. She was a good Fortune already, besides the expectation of being Heiress to my Husband; which caus'd the Count's Father to propose a Match between her, and his Son. The Marquis at first easily consented to it; and to speak sincerely, I was not against it, because she was incapable of rob­bing me of the Count's Heart. It was not easie for me to perswade him to it, he reproach'd me with want of Love, since I was willing he should marry. At last the Match was so considerable, that he over­came his dislike, and declar'd himself Crisante's Servant. It is true, it was a visible constraint upon him, to say any thing to her that was obliging. After all, to our general astonish­ment, my Husband was so fantasti­cal, that he would not conclude the Match. Blesinac's Father urg'd him [Page 15]either to finish or break off, because he had another Woman in his view that was as good a Match for his Son as the Marquis his Neece. I had particular Reasons too to wish Blesinac married to Crisante, but all was to no purpose. The Marquis was positive, and when a Relation of the Count's told him, it was time to Sign the Articles, he said he would not, for he had chang'd his Mind.

This refusal made me very me­lancholy, and you may believe, troubled the Count much more. He complain'd loudly of it, and my Husband and he quarrell'd, so that they saw one another no more. Though I was vex'd, I would not shew it, but let Crisante's violent humour work, who if I would have open'd, would hardly have let me speak a Word. Blesinac fan­cy'd I was not so much of his side as I ought, and that I might have spoke more effectually for [Page 16]him than I did. But I convinc'd him how unjustly he complain'd, by shewing him, that if I had been more zealous, it would have made my Husband Jealous of me, which was the way to ruine our corre­spondence. He approv'd my Rea­sons, and we parted very good Friends. However I perceiv'd there was an Intrigue between the Count and Crisante, but I could not see the depth of it, and things conti­nued in this posture for some time.

Blesinac's Relations gave out, he was to marry a Neighbour's Daugh­ter, who was rich, and very hand­som: But this News did not at all alarm me, because I firmly believ'd he would resolve on nothing, with­out consulting me first. Yet it seems he had contriv'd a Design which I had not the least suspicion of.

My Husband being taken with his usual Pains, I sate up late with him, and wonder'd to see his Niece [Page 17]go out of the Room before me; yet I could not imagine there was any thing more in it than Rude­ness; for she did not understand her Duty enough to comply with it as she ought. I believ'd then her ne­glect proceeded from her vexation that her Match was broke off, and so went to bed without any more reflexion. At break of day they wak'd me out of a sound Sleep, to tell me the Castle was on fire, but they knew not which way it came so; that the Bridges were down, and the Gates open. I presently sent to Crisante's Chamber, who was not there; we look'd for her every where to no purpose, for she was gone away. I confess, Madam, not­withstanding the fright I was in at the Fire, I was really angry with Blesinac for not letting me know his Design; for I did not question but he was concern'd in Crisante's Flight, and had carried her away with him. I rose presently, and [Page 18]acquainted my Husband, who was as much inrag'd at it as might well be expected, and prosecuted Blesinac so home, as to get the Parliament of Tholouse, which is very severe in Cases of Rape, to condemn him to lose his Head, which was no diffi­cult thing for him to effect.

Till now I was slighted in the Family, and it feems this Accident open'd my Husband's Eyes, to see how he had wrong'd me, and made him repent of living after such an odd way with me. It was certain­ly to be reveng'd of his Niece for her Disobedience, and to shew how little he valued Blesinac, that he treated me much more civilly than usually. I received sufficient proofs of his Kindness; and I believe, had not my Heart been preingag'd to Blesinac, I might have been happy. But alas! I could not, as angry as I was that he conceal'd his Design from me, I could not help loving him more than ever; nor was I [Page 19]able to shake off my Sorrow, tho' the Marquis did all he could to di­vert me. I had now no cause to find fault with his Carriage to me, but I observ'd his Pains encrease, and his Health diminish every day: His Death I believ'd would bring me into a great deal of trouble; and indeed I took all the care that was possible of him. But at last he fell quite sick, and died, leaving me all his Estate, to prevent all Differen­ces with those who might pretend to be his Heirs, and to exclude his Niece who ran away, and married without his Consent.

I had not so much as a condoling Complement from Blesinac upon this Occasion; quite contrary, his Father declar'd against me, and without consulting me, took those indirect ways to compass his Ends, as he thought would be most to my disadvantage; but in stead of pre­judicing, this further'd my Affairs. Perhaps, Madam, you may imagine, [Page 20]a Rich Widow, as I was then, might be inclinable enough to be merry; but if you do, you are deceiv'd: my Mind was in such disorder, that I was never so melancholy in my Life. My Husband's Kindness in leaving me so well provided, made me sincerely deplore the Loss of him: Besides, I fancied Blesinac did not care for me; I had no ground to think otherwise; or, if I had, it was to no purpose, because he was married. These Thoughts kept me from rellishing the Pleasure of my Freedom. Whatever I saw at Mon­danar did but improve my Melan­choly; and therefore I resolv'd to go back to Paris: and when I came thither, I was as uneasie as in Lan­guedoc; for my Disease accompa­nied me; and though I thought I had taken the best Course to settle my Mind, by getting as far from Blesinac as I could, yet I found it would not do. A Heart, Madam, that is once really ingag'd, cannot [Page 21]presently be indifferent; and one may hate and love forty times sooner than arrive at that blessed Insensibility.

The Reputation I had of being Rich, and behaving my self pru­dently when I was married, brought me a great many Suitors of consi­derable Quality: but I entertain'd none of their Proposals, and led so reserv'd a Life, that People believ'd I was resolv'd not to change my Condition. Sometimes I visited the Marquess of Montaigre, because she declin'd Company as I did, and hardly saw any body besides the Chevalier de Marignan her Brother. We spent whole Hours together, which few People do, without say­ing one Word: She loved to read, and I was as much delighted to hear her: and doubtless that which di­verted us, would have soon tir'd any of the Women of the Town. Her Brother came but seldom to see her, because he loved Mirth, which [Page 22]he was sure to miss of in our Com­pany. But at last by little and little he us'd himself to our Method of Life. He told me, I had rescued him from his trifling santring Con­versation, and inspir'd him with Thoughts which till then he had been a Stranger to. I was so little inclin'd to believe him, that I pro­pos'd a Match for him to his Sister with a Kinswoman of mine: But he would not hear of it, persisting still to give me fresh Evidences of the value he had for me. I fancied at least that now I perfectly hated Blesinac, and should plague him damnably by marrying again. Up­on this account I gave Marignan no discouragement; but yet I had a mind to try whether Interest or Love were most prevalent in him; which I did this way. I got a Let­ter written to me, as if it came out of Languedoc; the Contents were, That some of my Husband's Relations had set up a Title which [Page 23]would strip me of all he had left me. For all this, the Chevalier did not cool at all; and what convinc'd me most that he really lov'd me, was, that after his elder Brother, whose Estate came to him, was dead in the Army, he press'd me more than ever to give my Consent. He di­scours'd with my Friends about it, and married me through [...] Kindred dissuaded [...]rell'd with his Sister [...] who was as averse to the Match as any body else.

I believ'd, Madam, that I lov'd him, and I had good reason to do so; yet I was no sooner married, but I began to scruple it. What, said I to my self, should Blesinac's Fault have inspir'd me with any thing but sorrowful thoughts? Ones Heart may be once in ones Life ingag'd; but it is an inexcusable weakness to give way to a second Affection. What then have I done! Can I forgive my self believing I could live happy with any [Page 24]but Blesinac? Well, I did all I could to quiet my Mind, but I could not possibly get rid of these afflicting Thoughts. I was not born to be ever at ease; and if it has been your luck to be always beloved, it has been mine to find in my self an inexhaustible Spring of Troubles and Disquiet. What care soever I took to conceal it, my Husband di­scover'd it; yet he was so civil, as to take no notice of it, and endea­vour'd rather to cure my Disease, than to let me see he was acquaint­ed with it. He gave me all the Di­vertisements which he thought ca­pable of dissipating my Melancho­ly; but it was grown so habitual to me, that he was fain to accustom himself to it. He had always known me in sorrow, and so I had the less difficulty to persuade him it pro­ceeded from my Constitution. That which accomplish'd my misery, was, the News of the Countess of Blesi­nac's Death. I was inform'd, her [Page 25]Husband griev'd but little for her, and that he was not so unconcern'd at my Marriage as I imagin'd. The Reflexions I made upon her Death, improv'd my Melancholy; but to avoid giving my Husband occasion to question me upon a Subject which I should have been sorry to have discover'd, I often walk'd out alone, and found a great deal of Pleasure in Solitude. One day a Kinswoman of mine, who had a pretty Seat a little out of Town, desir'd me to spend some time there, assuring me I should have all the freedom to meditate and muse that I could wish. I acquainted my Hus­band, who easily consented, and in the mean time went a Hunting with the Marquis de Marcilly.

I went out of Town in my Kins­womans Coach, taking no body with me but a Woman and a Foot­man. When we came to her House, she left me a little while alone, and at her return, Will you go, said she [Page 26]to me, into a pretty Closet in the Garden, where there is an excellent Prospect. With all my Heart, said I, upon condition you will leave me there to muse by my self a while. She laugh'd, and told me she believ'd I would not be so delighted with musing as I fancy'd. When we came to the Closet, she open'd the Door, and I went in first, think­ing to find no body there, and was extreamly surpriz'd to see Blesi­nac there in a dress that suited per­fectly with the sorrowful Air of his Countenance. I turn'd to my Kinswoman to reproach her for deceiving me so, and would have gone away, considering my Cir­cumstances would not admit of so dangerous a Conversation; but they both stopp'd me, and I could not escape hearing, and seeing Blesinac, in whom I observ'd all the marks of profound grief. I confess, Ma­dam, the sight of him made me [Page 27]turn pale, and disturb'd me so, that I can neither tell you what I then thought, or what he said to me at first. All I know is, that he threw himself at my Feet, and his Eyes told me more than his Mouth. I was so diffident of my self upon this occasion, that I avoided his looks as much as I could. In short, when he found I would not speak to him, Ah, Madam, said he, what can you do more against me? and why are you so resolv'd to be reveng'd on me before you know whether I am guilty or no? I am not to examine, said I to him, now, whether you are innocent or no; the truth is, it is a crime in me to see you, and should I see you every day, and were convinc'd you had given me no reason to com­plain of you, yet you would be never the happier. Therefore let me still think you have offended me, and be­lieve on your side, I have infinitely wrong'd you, and let us not venture a Reconciliation that may endanger [Page 28]our quiet. Alas, Madam, answer'd he, I will see you no more, since you desire it; but if this must be the last time, permit me at least to clear my self to you, that I may no longer leave you in an errour so prejudicial to my honour.

While Blesinac spoke to me, I found my yielding Heart took his part against my self; and besides my Kinswoman told me, it was no harm to give him the hearing. For­give me, Madam, continued he, if I begin my Justification with Re­proaches. You accuse me of inconstan­cy; pray tell me what convincing proof did you ever give me of your Affection? I was so far your Friend, as to be the confident of your misfor­tunes. You gave me leave to menti­on my Passion to you sometimes, and you did not forbid me believing you had a kindness for me; but your con­fidence in me never went farther than Words, and I did not think them ground enough to frustrate a settle­ment [Page 29]which you your self ingag'd me to. Since that time, Madam, appea­rances have deceiv'd us both, and I doubt not but I shall convince you, I have abundance of Reason to complain of your proceedings with me. I did not answer him, because I began secretly to lay the blame of what he had done upon my self. How­ever I told him as things stood now it was all one whether we were angry with, or pity'd one ano­ther.

There is no task so hard to any one that values their Honour, as to reconcile their Duty with their In­clination. Both of them tyrannize over us, one imposes upon us with authority, the other draws us by force. I knew what was owing to my Husband; but I was much more sensible of the effects of a long habitual Love upon a tender Heart. I married the Count of Marignan, thinking to revenge my self upon Blesinac, and in hopes the desert [Page 30]and Friendship of one would banish that kindness out of my Heart, which I fancy'd was so ungratefully repay'd. Blesinac look'd upon him­self in honour oblig'd to justifie himself to me, which he could not do without telling me all that had happen'd to him. I had also a great desire to be inform'd, and had no sooner given him leave to tell his Story, but he began in this manner.

You are not Ignorant, Madam of my Fathers commanding me to make my Addresses to Crisante, nor of what preceded Mounsieur de Mondanar's refusal to accomplish the Match. When I had once declar'd, I thought my self bound in honour to proceed, all my Relations perswaded me to it, and Crisante her self urg'd me, tel­ling me, it was base in me to have any manner of respect to her Ʋncle. She told me further, that she per­ceiv'd you were not of my side, and would never consent I should carry [Page 31]her away. And truly I could not but discover that you supported my Interest very faintly with your Hus­band; so that what I knew already agreeing with what she said to me, I resolv'd not to acquaint you with any thing. Besides I fancy'd you would not take it ill not to be acquainted with such a design; and as to our marriage, I could not believe, since it was once your opinion, that you could change your mind. These were the Reasons, Madam, that you were not of our Counsel. I heard from Cri­sante every day by such means as would be tedious for me to tell you, the remembrance of it pleases me so little, I care not to recall it. She made a shift to get the Key of the Draw-bridge, to take the print of it in Wax, and send it me, by which I had one made, which I gave her, and we then agreed upon a day for me to come with Horses to the Avenue of the Castle; she undertook to get out to me, and I had nothing to do but to wait for [Page 32]her. I doubt not but you were much surpriz'd when they told you the House was on Fire, which happen'd upon this account, you sat up so late, that day began to break when you went to Bed, which made her think as soon as you should see the Draw-bridge down, you would suspect she was gone off, and pursue her, unless you were hindred by some considerable accident. So without considering the consequen­ces, she did what her fancy led her to; and when she, and her Woman came to me, they laugh'd ready to burst themselves, and told me, they had burnt their Quarters.

Thus you see I accomplish'd my wretched Design but too easily. We took the way that led towards Rouergue, where I had provided a Sanctuary for us in the Baron de Goustignac's House, whose Lady is my Aunt. They made us welcom at first, but afterwards I found I was mistaken when I thought that place would have been an Asylum to us. [Page 33]The Baron had a Son newly come from Paris, where he had been a Musque­tier in the eldest Company, a very pert, flashy young Fop, and this his Father call'd the Court Breeding. This Spark finding Crisante was like to be a good Fortune, thought her as convenient for himself, as me, and if he could but get her good will, made no scruple of betraying his Kinsman. When I had been some time at Gou­stignac, I desired my Aunt to con­trive it so that we might be married there; but her Husband daily start­ing new difficulties, at last, she told me with Tears in her Eyes, I must ex­pect no assistance from her; she per­ceiv'd her Husband, and her Son had great Designs upon Crisante, and gave me warning to be gone before they had time to put their intentions in execution. I made use of this Ad­vice, and that very night after Sup­per, as soon as I saw the Baron, and the Musquetier gone to Bed, we left Goustignac, intending only to get [Page 34]from thence, we follow'd no certain Rode, and having travel'd all night, my Valet de Chambre perceiv'd we were near a Forrest, where there was a Glass-house, with the Master of which, and some Gentlemen there­abouts, he was acquainted. He told us we might stay there some days con­veniently enough, till we had resolv'd what place to chuse for our retreat. I proposed this to Crisante, who al­ways delighted in contradiction, and if ever she yielded, it was still after a tedious dispute. Her wilfulness now had like to have cost us dear.

When we were within two Leagues of the Mountains of Rouergue we were set upon by twelve or fifteen Thieves. I believ'd at first we were discover'd, and that they were People sent after us by Mounsieur de Goustignac; but they aim'd only at our Purses, as we found by their first salutes; for they robb'd us without any mercy, stripping us very near of all our Clothes. Af­ter this I needed no great eloquence to [Page 35]perswade Crisante to go to the Glass­house; the question was now, how we should get thither, and whether they would entertain us or no, considering what an Equipage we were left in. Crisante's Person spoke but little in her favour, and I had not so good an opinion of my own, as to hope it would do me any service. My Man Rusat took all upon himself, and so we began our Journey wich was very tiresom to us, who were not used to beat the Hoof so far. Even now and then we found Houses in the Forrest, where they re­liev'd us with Bread, and Water, which however was very welcome to us, and at night we had the luck to meet with a Cottage where we lodg'd, for Crisante was quite spent, and had much a do to go on next day, that we might get to the Glass-house. As Peoples Humours are various, so we found great difference there in our re­ception; some of the Gentlemen laught at us, some pitied us, and others were very inquisitive into our Ad­ventures. [Page 36]Those who had most Sense used us civilly, and by our Speech, Behaviour, and what Cloathes we had left, guess'd we deserv'd to be so treated, and offer'd us their Huts, for I can call their Houses no other, to lie in. Crisante staid at Fregonce's, the Master of the Glass-work, and I quar­ter'd with a Gentleman nam'd Mon­dany.

Next day I sent away Ruset to ac­quaint my Father with what had happen'd to us, and to desire him to assist us either to go further, if there was a necessity for it, or to come back again to him, if he thought fit. I order'd him besides to inquire after you, and to deliver a Letter to you, which I had privately given him. I forgot to telly ou, he had inform'd Fregonce that we were People of Qua­lity. We acquainted him then what mischance brought us thither in such a wretched condition, and he was so civil as to furnish us with Clothes suitable enough to our Circumstan­ces, [Page 37]and the place where we were.

Crisante now importun'd me to marry her, but still, though I really intended it, yet my secret inclinati­ons, made me find some reason or other to put it off. At last she spoke of it to Fregonce, who took such pains to convince me how much I was oblig'd to give her that satisfaction, since her kindness to me had ingag'd her to fol­low me, that I consented to let a Brother of his, who was a Priest, marry us privately that very night. Ah! Madam, had you but seen how sorrowfully I pass'd that dreadful night, and the first days that succeed­ed it, I am sure you would have par­don'd me. I thought of nothing but you, and I look'd upon her Fortune which was the only motive to the Match, as the original of all my mi­series. Crisante did not look so nar­rowly into my thoughts, she took me for what I appear'd to be, and I had enough to do to bear with her Cares­ses, and her ill Humour too, for they [Page 38]were both in the extreams. But my repentance was not sufficient to satisfie your revenge without fresh persecuti­ons which Love brought upon me. I think I told you I lay at Mondany's, but I said nothing af his Sister who liv'd with him. This young Woman whose name was Diana, fancied I must needs be her Endymion, and gave me all manner of incouragement to court her, but I was not in the hu­mour to divert my self that way. However the first expressions of my coldness did not restrain her; she was handsom, and knew her Charms could not fail of their effect where the Heart was not preingag'd. She guess'd therefore with probability e­nough if I had any intrigue with Cri­sante it was out of Interest, which would not be difficult to break off. She often told me, I was not nice in my tast, and if I had not weighty Rea­sons to justifie my choice, I could hardly avoid forfeiting my discretion. I would not answer her disobligingly, [Page 39]and my civility to her indulg'd her weakness so far, it had like to have cost me my Life.

She made her Brother believe I was in love with her, which if disco­ver'd to Crisante, she told him, would be a means for him to gain her af­fection from me, because she was so subject to gratifie her Passions. Mon­dany soon yielded to his Sister's per­swasions. They knew I had stoln a­way Crisante, but they did not at all suspect our being married. So he was very assiduous about her, and flat­ter'd him self with hopes of success. He made her several small presents of his Work, and entertain'd her with Consorts of Hautbois, and Bagpipes; it pleas'd me to see her so diverted, for it gave me the more freedom of enjoy­ing my melancholy thoughts. At last she told me one day with some kind of joy, that Mondany had told her, I was in love with his Sister, and then made a Declaration of his own Passion to her. I advis'd her to make sport [Page 40]with him, and not to own any thing of our marriage.

Mondany was as handsom for a Man, as his Sister was for a Woman, and knew how to value himself; so that looking on me as the only obstacle to his Designs, he cast about how to get rid of me. But this requir'd time, knowing therefore his Sister had a kindness for me, he desir'd her to use her utmost endeavours to ingage me, that I might not hinder him from gaining Crisante, who he said gave him no great discouragement. Diana serv'd her Brother as he desir'd, and very dextrously gave me to understand that Crisante entertain'd his Addres­ses so well, that it look'd as if she in­tended to marry him. While Diana thus made it her business to compass my Affection, her Brother was contri­ving how to put it out of my Power to dispute Crisante with him. One morning I saw a Stranger come into his House, who looked very earnestly upon me, as if he had seen me before. [Page 41]I presently left the Room for fear he should call to mind who I was, and went to Fregonce's to see Crisante, who was not well. The apprehension we had of discovering our marriage kept us from lying together. I staid almost all day with her, and in the evening we heard a great noise to­wards the Furnace, where they said Mondany was just then kill'd. As I was going to know the truth of this accident, I saw them drag a Man a­long, whom they took for the Murthe­rer, and knew him to be the same who look'd so attentively upon me in the morning, and innocently told those who had hold of him, I believ'd he was not guilty, because he seem'd to be one of Mondany's Friends, whom they brought with them too. I got close to him, to see him, and find­ing some remainders of life in him, I follow'd the People who carried him into his Cabin, where I join'd with the rest to bring him to himself; but as soon as he recover'd his Senses, he [Page 42]appear'd troubled at the sight of me, therefore not to disturb him I went a­way.

The fellow who had wounded him seeing me go by, call'd me, to tell me the Truth of the Adventure. I know not, said he to me, what Reasons Mondany had to wish your Death, but I assure you, he sent for me out of the Mountains to kill you. This Morning he shew'd me a place where he said you walk ve­ry late every night, and we pitch'd upon a Tree from whence I was to shoot you, he made me take notice of your Person, and your Clothes, to prevent mistakes, and came a­bout an hour ago to tell me, it was time for me to repair to my Sta­tion. He help'd me to get up into the Tree, and then took the Gun to give it me, but did it in such an unlucky manner, with the Mouth of it towards him, that it went off, and so he has kill'd himself. While this Villain was talking thus to me, [Page 43]Mondany himself related how the thing happen'd, to those who were about him, which put me out of doubt why the sight of me disturb'd him so. He died soon after, and his indi­screet Sister, conscious to her self of this deplorable accident, went away from the Glass-house, without any bo­dy's knowing what was become of her. Having no mind to have my self ta­ken notice of in this business, I very impatiently expected Rusat 's coming back, and at last he return'd. My first care, Madam, was for you, and if I shew'd any concern, it was to hear news of you, and how you had receiv'd my Letter. He told me, you tore it without reading it, that you declin'd all Discourse of me, and my Affairs, and seem'd resolv'd ne­ver to forgive my running away with Crisante. He added, that from what you said to him in your Passion, and An­ger, he gather'd you had won your Hus­bands opinion only by discovering your extream hatred to me. What shall I [Page 44]say to you, Madam? I assure you I was not displeas'd to hear you were angry with me, and I fear'd your indifference much more than your indignation.

Rusat having given me an account of what related to me, told me my Affairs were in a very ill posture, and that there was no likelyhood of my going back to my Father, who was grown very melancholy with the trou­ble I had put him to; that he had sent me a Letter, and all things ne­cessary for a long Journey. The diffi­culty now was whither we should re­tire: I had Friends enough who would receive me, but at the same time, I had Reasons not to try their kindness. My Wifes Humour was so uneasie, that I durst not adventure to trouble my Friends with her. She was continually quarrelling with Fre­gonce his Wife, and Daughters. In short, I return'd the Obligations I had to them for their Patience as well as I could, and to deliver them of their unquiet Guest, resolv'd to go to [Page 45]Pompadour in the Cevennes. After I had been there two Months, as I was going by the Door of a little Con­vent, I saw a great many People got together. Trouble of Mind, and Cu­riosity made me go in, where by the preparations, I found they were going to admit a Nun into the Habit. I crowded in among the rest to see with what courage she renounc'd the World; and was never so surpriz'd in my life as I was to see it was Diana, the same Diana I have been speaking of. Though she was sufficiently imploy'd in the part she was then acting, she happen'd to cast her Eyes upon me; and the sight of me struck her with such a secret emotion, that she Swoon­ed away, and they were fain to put off the Ceremonie, not only then, but for good and all, for Diana fancy'd I came to Pompadour after her, and my presence had reviv'd her Love, which was not quite extinguish'd in her Heart. I was no sooner got back to my Lodging, but a Man ask'd for [Page 46]me, and gave me a Note from Diana, in which she pray'd me to come and see her. I would not have gone, but that the Messenger told me, if I did not, she was resolv'd to visit me. I ask'd him, if she had any Relations at Pompadour, he told me she had an Aunt there. Well, I went to the Convent, where Diana entertain'd me as she us'd to do at the Glass­house. She told me besides, all that she and her Brother had contriv'd be­tween them, and that it was my cold­ness to her, more than his Death, made her think of being a Nun. For I no sooner saw you, added she, but I chang'd my Mind, in hopes that you have alter'd yours too to my advantage.

Diana accompanied what she said with so many Tears, that I could scarce forbear pitying her; but the remembrance of her Artifices made me proof against it. Your Image too, Madam, assisted me, and upon these considerations, I told her it was in [Page 47]vain for her to persist in her kindness to me, for not being at my own dispo­sal, I could never be hers. She easi­ly guess'd I was married, and dissem­bled her Anger so well, that I real­ly believ'd Reason had prevail'd with her. I left her, and for some time heard no more of her, but that she had quitted the Convent, and liv'd with her Aunt. But you will be a­stonish'd to hear what extremities Despair brought her to. One Eve­ning, as my Wife and I were at Cards with two or three of the Neighbours who came to visit us, they brought me word, a Man desir'd to speak with me about earnest Business. It was not so dark as to need a Torch, and yet it was not light enough for me to discern who it was spoke to me. It was it seems Diana in Mans Clothes; she said some rambling things to me, to gain time to do what she came for: Her Speech was so confus'd, that I imagin'd she was almost distracted, but she quickly explain'd her self pretty [Page 48]clearly, for as I turn'd my Head a­bout to bid my Man fetch a Candle, I felt my self struck with a Dagger; she aim'd so well as not to miss her blow, but her Hand was so unsteady, that it glanc'd, and yet gave me a considerable wound. When this was done, she ran the same Poniard into her own Breast. Ʋpon my crying out, People came about us, and you may judge how surpriz'd they were at this Spectacle. Diana was fallen down, and talk'd like one that was quite di­stracted. My Circumstances oblig'd me to take little notice of this acci­dent, so that her Aunt and I agreed to let it pass for an effect of madness. This miserable Creature would not suffer them to dress her; but fell into a Fever, and died.

Accidents of this kind are so hard to be conceal'd, that I apprehended what had happened to me, would di­scover where I was, which made me leave Pompadour sooner than I thought to do. I was not quite cur'd [Page 49]of my wound, my Wife was almost al­ways indispos'd, and I led a very wea­risom life, so that I resolv'd to go back to my Father come what would. When I came thither, I found three months had wrought a great alteration in my Affairs. My Father received us very coldly, for what your Husband left you at his death, had so much les­sen'd, Madam, de Blesinac's Forrune, that it put him quite out of humour, and I observ'd, he took no great pains to conceal the cause of it. For my part, Madam, nothing afflicted me, but your absence, and the apprehensi­on of your being displeas'd at my Mar­riage. Till now I never knew exact­ly what my Wife thought of you, but when she saw how little I was con­cern'd at the loss of her Estate, she told me, I was better pleas'd to see it in your Hands, than in hers; and that she was not ignorant how strictly I had devoted my self to your Service. I endeavoured all I could to unde­ceive her; but she fell into a furious [Page 50]passion, and told me, she had convin­cing proofs of my falsehood, though she had taken no notice of them to me while we were abroad. In short, Ma­dam, she shew'd me the Letter I wrote to you, and confess'd she had forc'd Rusat to give it her, and to say what he did to me when he came back.

You may believe Rusat's treachery vexed me to the quick, and I resen­ted it as it deserv'd. To excuse him­self, he told me, my Wife promised him she would bring me to approve of his not delivering the Letter, and that she would not mention it to me till she found an opportunity of doing it, without displeasing me. In fine, Madam, you cannot imagine how well she dissembled her knowledge of this Secret; but when once she began to take notice of it, she continually re­proach'd me of my coldness in all that concern'd her, and how zealous I was for you. By degrees we grew more and more exasperated, and uneasie to [Page 51]one another. That which made the breach irreconcileable, was, that not being able to endure Rusat any longer, I turn'd him away, notwithstanding all my Wives importunity to pardon him. From that day forward we hardly e­ver agreed in any thing, and her Pas­sion would often transport her to strange extremities. I have already told you, her Health was not very well confirm'd, her continual Melan­choly quite ruin'd it, and brought her into a violent Fever, which dispatch'd her in a week.

She would by no means let me see her while she was sick, and I submitted to her Resolutions, and let her die in Peace. I bore this change of my For­tune with moderation, and behaved my self as I ought, without betraying either too much sorrow, or satisfacti­on. But, Madam, your Marrying the Count of Marignan quite over­came my Reason, as soon as I heard of it, I was seiz'd with a most sensible, and real grief, and wholly abandon'd my [Page 52]self to despair. I fell sick, and for two Months together was given over by every body. I know not, Madam, what it was kept me alive, I am sure my life was a burden to me, and I used no remedies to preserve it. As soon as I was able to leave my Bed, I was very impatient to be at Paris, without knowing wherefore I desired it. It was not hope that drew me thither; though indeed I could not apprehend any further effects of your displeasure, you had already executed your utmost cruelty, I only was satisfied I should be where you were, and should at least, either by chance, or my own In­dustry sometimes have the pleasure of seeing you. Your Husband's, and my Wives death, were great steps to the composing of my Affairs, and putting me into a condition of appearing in the World.

I left Languedoe to come to Paris, where I have seen no body but your pretty Kinswoman, who after some Discourse with her, had so much com­passion [Page 53]for me, to promise me to deceive you so far, as to get you hither, to afford me the only comfort I am capable of.

Here Blesinac ended his Relation, which had so much effect upon me, that I no longer doubted his Fide­lity. But we were never the hap­pier for that, I could do nothing to contribute to his repose without in­dangering my own; besides, I was sensible such interviews were inde­cent, and might be of ill conse­quence. In short, Madam, I had no mind to harbour an affection so dangerous to my Reputation. But, alas! who can resist the tears of a Lover who deserves to be beloved? Blesinac appear'd to be touch'd so to the quick, that I could not refuse seeing him sometimes in my Kins­womans Company, nor help disco­vering my Heart so far to him, as to let him find I lov'd him more than I ought. I repay'd his Sighs, and Tears, with the like; and we found our selves in a more deplo­rable [Page 54]condition than before we met. It was very late before we parted, and my Kinswoman would not let Blesinac go back to Paris that night; yet not thinking it conve­ment for him to be seen in her House, he staid in the Cabinet, where she sent him something to eat by a Woman she could safely trust, and by her gave his People notice they should go wait for their Master at the next Village. After Supper we went back to him, and staid with him most part of the night. I had quite forgot to tell him, I would have him be gone the next day, and went away without speaking to him of it; and when I propos'd to my Cousin to send him word, he should go very early in the morning, she answered, it would be better for him to stay till night, to avoid being seen by any body; and I was easily contented to have so good a reason for his stay.

Those who are born to be un­happy, [Page 55]are always so, and in eve­ry thing they go about. My Kins­woman, and I went to see Blesinac again in the morning. He was very desirous to learn what had happen'd to me, and I consented to satisfie him, and was advanced as far in my Relation as the confusion, and trou­ble of Mind I was in, when I re­solv'd to marry the Count de Ma­rignan. The remembrance of this made me whether I would or no shed some Tears, and I had not le [...]t off, when my Kinswoman, who fat by the Window, saw my Husband coming. he was already so near, it was impossible for us to get out before he came to the Door. How­ever Blesinac threw himself upon the Bed, and we went out to meet him, with all the concern upon us you may imagine. He observ'd it, and from thence, together with my Tears, which were not yet quite wip'd off, gather'd such proofs, as gave him suspition, which nevertheless he [Page 56]conceal'd so well, as not to shew it before us. It was now Dinner time, and a Footman brought word it was upon the Table, so that the Count could not avoid going in a­long with us, and as we cross'd the Garden, he told me very obliging­ly, he was weary of all places where I was not with him. He had left Hunting to come to me, and this token of his kindness, made me extreamly sensible of my ingra­titude. There was hardly a Word said all Dinner long; and my Kins­woman, whom my Husband watch­ed as well as me, had much ado to whisper me, that it was not fit for us to stay there the rest of the day, and would have me propose going back to Paris. But my Husband, who still kept his Eyes upon the Cabi­net in the Garden, had a mind to go thither, and would not leave the House, till he had satisfied his Cu­riosity, which he gave us to under­stand, by saying he would have us [Page 57]spend some time there before we went away.

My Cousins Maid, who knew where it pinch'd, had the Wit, and Dexterity to relieve us. She took a great compass about the Garden, and then let Blesinac out, by setting a Ladder up to one of the Windows, and conducted him to a Farmers House, where he staid to hear from us. For my part, I was ignorant of the good Office she had done me, and was in a mortal fear what would become of me. As soon as my Husband had dined, he spoke of going to the Cabinet. My Kins­woman, who had the Key, was once of the mind to have gone out of the way a little, that she might have avoided giving him it; now it was equally dangerous to refuse going thither too obstinately, as it was to agree to it too briskly: therefore she resolv'd to spoil the Key so as it might not turn in the Lock. But this invention did not succeed, my [Page 58]Husband streightned it, open'd the Door, and went directly to the Bed, where he laid him down, that we might not think he had any suspi­cion of us; but when he saw the Window that look'd to the backside of the Garden open, he shook his Head in such a manner, as I took notice of it, and I assure you, it put me into a terrible fright. Just as I began to recover my self, he found Blesinac's Crape Hatband which was fallen down by the Bedside. He look'd upon it a little while, and my Cousin pretended to call to mind who it belong'd to, and at last, as if she had forgot, she said there came so many People thither in her absence, that it was impossible for her to guess.

This excuse, though well enough fram'd, instead of clearing, increas'd the Counts suspicions, and made him resolve to watch me so close, that he might either justifie me, or undeniably convince me. We re­turn'd [Page 59]that night to Paris, and I learnt since, that Blesinac sent for his Horses to go back thither too; and I heard from him there some­times by my Cousin who came of­ten to visit me, which Corresp [...]n­dence my Husband never hinder'd, though he suspected her: She had so much power over me, that we made a second appointment to meet at one Agar's, a Painters House in Richelieu-street. My Husband had me dogg'd, and as soon as he knew where we were, got privately in­to a neighbouring House, where he planted himself to watch us. When we had been at Agar's two hours, Blesinac went away first. He was in Mourning, and my Husband re­membring the Crape he found at my Kinswomans, doubted not but it was he who left it there. He endeavoured to take particular no­tice of his Face, but he could no [...] distinguish his Features so well, as to know him again. He had been [Page 60]told of Blesinac before, and his af­fection to me; he knew also that he had buried his Wife, and this was it that put him out of all doubt. Well, he let us alone at the Pain­ters, and went away from his Post, before we came out. When I came home, I found my Mother there, who staid to acquaint me that my Husband had been with her to com­plain of me. I excus'd my self to her without much difficulty, and convinc'd her I was guilty of no such horrid Crime in permitting poor Blesinac to see me. It's true, said she, but Husbands Eyes are more open to what condemns, than that which justifies, and I advise you to break off all Correspondence with a Man whom the Count is Jealous of. I promis'd her I would, and she stay'd with me to use her indeavours to bring my Husband out of his ill Humour; but do what she could, nothing would serve turn, but I must leave the Town the ve­ry [Page 61]next day, and go with him to Estaiac, which was a Seat he had at the foot of the Pyrenaean-Hills. Nay, he was so cautious as to put away all my Maids and Footmen, and to take others. He got every thing ready for our Journey with such dispatch, that we left Paris ex­actly at the time he design'd, and took the Rode to Bourdeaux, with­out mention all the way either of his Displeasure, or any thing else; for we travell'd two hundred Leagues without speaking one Word. You may guess, however, I thought of Blesinac often, and could not help reflecting upon my unfor­tunate Life.

I express'd no dissatisfaction at my leaving Paris; nay, I was so indifferent at my departure, that my Husband ought at least to have believ'd I sacrific'd all to my Duty. When we came to Estaiac, he sent me word I might chuse what Apart­ment I pleas'd in the House, and [Page 62]that he expected I should never stir out of it. I obey'd, and went in­to my Prison, which I accustom'd my self to without any great diffi­culty. My Husband, who was of a different Temper, pass'd his time very miserably in this Place, which is most dreadfully situated; his on­ly Pleasure was in my Confinement; and what he believ'd had pass'd be­tween me and Blesinac, ran so in his Head, that when ever he look'd up by chance to my Window, and saw me there, he would turn away, as if he were frighted. After some time, he took a sancy to trim up an Apartment in the House; I believe he had a mind to learn to draw him­self, at least I understood by one of the Women that waited on me, that he had sent to Paris for a Painter, and would have a good one, what­ever it cost him. All this while I never went out of my Chamber but upon Holidays; and I protest, the trouble I observ'd in his Lo [...]ks when [Page 63]he went by my Window, made me pity him so, that I resolv'd to rea­son the Case with him. In order to this, I begg'd I might discourse with him, which with a great deal of difficulty he consented to. Con­sidering the Circumstances I was in, I spoke to him, I think, as I ought; I am sure, it was very sub­missively. He heard me without interruption; and then looking up­on me with Eyes that spoke Indig­nation and Contempt, You push your Confidence, said he, too far, to ex­pose your self thus to the Reproaches which I can easily overwhelm you with. Is it possible, said he, you can think I am ignorant of your Falshood? And though I resent it as becomes a Man of Honour, you may be sure I am the more provok'd, because you have a­bus'd me when I trusted you most. I would have justified my self by a sincere Confession of all that had pass'd between Blesinac and me, from the first day of our Acquaintance, [Page 64]till my coming from Paris: But all I could say, in stead of inducing him to pardon me, serv'd but to improve his Hatred. It came into his Head, that I married him only to be re­veng'd of Blesinac; and this Fancy enrag'd him so, that I trembled to think what would become of me. He told me, he could sooner excuse my Intrigues since Marriage, than my marrying him when my Heart was preingag'd.

From that time forward he re­fus'd to let me speak with him any more; all I could learn, was, that he was exceeding melancholy. He lived above a Month at this rate; and I was the more uneasie, because whatever Account I had of him, made me apprehend he would at­tempt my Life. But at last two Painters came from Paris, and help'd to divert him in his Discontent. One of them was excellent in his Art, and the other had a great many Qualities that were very entertain­ing; [Page 65]for he not only painted, but he had Wit, was a Poet, a Musici­an, a good Mimick, and always ve­ry chearful. My Husband indeed was surpris'd to find a Man of his Rank so accomplish'd; and the more, when he perceiv'd by his solid Knowledge that the Endowments of his Soul exceeded the little Flashes of superficial Wit. All this, joyn'd with an agreeable Out-side, had such an effect upon my Husband, that in a short time he recover'd the natural Gaiety of his Humour. In a word, Dormont (so was this Pain­ter call'd) furnish'd him every day with some new Diversion. Some­times he repeated a piece of a Play to him, and kept up the Characters so well, Two Famous French Actors. that Floridor or Poisson themselves never acted a passionate Part, or a Farce better. Sometimes he would imitate the Italians, and sing to his Theorbo or Guitar, and danc'd with incomparable grace and activity.

I had a Maid who was not shut up with me, but had the liberty to come in and out of my Apartment. This Wench, whose Name was Rose, spoke often to me of the Painter, and by her Discourse, I had reason to believe she had a Kindness for him. Ah Madam, said she to me one day, if you knew how much Wit, and what bewitching Qualities Dor­mont has, you would not wonder my Master is so fond of him. I protest I never saw a man so capable to in­spire Love; but I question whether he be susceptible of it; for generally Peo­ple who have such Perfections, wish so well to themselves, that they care lit­tle for any body else. Not that he is so cold to me, added she; for he is very complaisant to me: but I perceive it is more out of Civility, than any inclination he has to me. Well Rose, said I, is it not possible for me to have a sight of this Painter? He is ready to die, Madam, replied she, with im­patience to give you a Visit. He has [Page 67]ask'd me a thousand Questions how you live, and what you do a days to sup­port your melancholy Condition. Were it not that I fear'd to displease you, I would have brought him to you be­fore now. I told Rose, I would not be angry if she did; and she went to him immediately, to tell him he had my leave to wait upon me.

Next morning he came along with her into my Chamber: but judge, Madam, how surpris'd I was to find Dormont was the Count of Blesinac. It was well for me, that Rose was taken up with her own Thoughts, for it kept her from ob­serving the disturbance I was in. I never dream'd of the Pleasure of seeing him, and only consider'd the ill Consequences of our Meeting, and the Danger he expos'd himself to. As soon as I recover'd my self out of the first Surprise which the sight of him cast me into, I told him, I was oblig'd to him for the pains he took to divert my Hus­band [Page 68]in his Solitude. He answer'd me with abundance of respect, but durst not speak to me in private. Hearing me ask for a Basket which I kept my Work in, he ran to fetch it me, and dexterously put a Letter into it; and then, after a little more Discourse, I made him a Sign to be gone. When Rose and he were out of the Room, I shut the Door, and open'd his Letter, in which he ac­quainted me, how much my Hus­band's carrying me out of Town in that manner, had troubled him; that he resolv'd to come and share my Misfortunes with me, and to do all that lay in his power to put an end to them; that he had prevail'd with the Painter, who knew nothing of his Quality, to let him come along with him to Estaiac, under pretense of improving his Hand under him. He told me besides, how far he had gain'd upon my Husband, and what he had suffer'd in not seeing me a whole Month that he had been [Page 69]there; that however he chose to de­prive himself of that Satisfaction, rather than expose me to any Incon­venience, by attempting any thing rashly; and then concluded with tender Protestations of eternal and inviolable Love.

I had Paper by me which I us'd to wrap up my Work in, but had neither Pen, nor Ink, and knew not which way to answer him; however Love was so ingenious as to make me think of a Composition to write with, which makes no vi­sible marks upon the Paper, and is not to be read till you hold it to the Fire. I made use of this to let Dormont know he must needs go from Estaiac. The difficulty now was to instruct him how to read what I had writ: to effect which, I told Rose I had a mind to learn to draw, and bid her bring Dormont to me privately as she did at first to give me my first Lesson. She did as I bid her, but she was so in love with [Page 70]him, that she would not trust him out of her sight, and stood so near us all the while, that with much ado I could hardly tell him how he must do to read what I sent him. These meetings were so dangerous, that I intended to forbid them; indeed I gave him leave to write to me the same way as I used, and Rose brought me his Letters, think­ing them nothing but Papers with Flowers drawn upon them. I wrote my Answers at the bottom, and pretended to send him back his Flowers. This Correspondence sa­tisfy'd him at first, but Love which is always contriving of new pro­jects, made him think of a sure way to deliver me out of my Prison. He industriously sought all opportuni­ties of speaking of me to my Hus­band, and at last met with one. There was an admirable Echo in the Garden, where my Husband of­ten made Dormont sing.

I remember one day as I was at [Page 71]my Chamber Window, where I could hear him, my Husband seeing me there, told Dormont, that I listened to him, and if he had a mind to please me, he must sing some­thing that was melancholy, and mo­ving, to express the rigour of a tedi­ous separation. If you have nothing sad enough already, added he, give us something of your own making ex­tempore. Dormont, after a little Me­ditation, sung these Words,

But, Sir, said Dormont to my Husband when he had done singing, if these words please you, may I pre­sume to ask, why your Lady is so soli­tary? [Page 72]for I think I have heard Rose say, she is so handsom, you need not be asham'd to let her be seen. Do not you know, reply'd he, that Beauty is very rare, and the less it is look'd on the more it is respected. I believe, Sir, reply'd Dormont, it is prudent­ly done of the Kings of Ormus, not to shew themselves to their People above once in a year; but I never heard it practis'd between a Man and his Wife any where but at Estaiac. I per­ceive, said the Count, you would be glad to see her, and you shall, upon con­dition you do not abuse the permission I give you, by concerning your self in the complaints which it's likely she may make of me to you. Dormont fearing if he gave him time to reflect upon the liberty he afforded him, he might change his mind, besought him not to defer the favour he pro­mis'd him to another day. My Husband immediately call'd Rose to him, and commanded her to shew Dormont the way into my Appart­ment. [Page 73]This was some satisfaction to me, but I never yet tasted any perfect Joy, and this less than any other, because I durst not flatter my self it would continue long. Dor­mont told me what he had done to obtain leave to visit me, and order'd his Discourses so dextrously, that it seem'd necessary for him to speak softly to me. You may be sure, he made use of this priviledge only to [...]ell me the most moving things that Love can inspire. I permitted him to give my Husband what account he thought fit of our Conversati­on, and was not willing he should stay long with me.

As soon as ever he came out of my Chamber, the Count de Marig­nan ask'd him his Opinion of my Person, and Humour. She is un­doubtedly a very fine Woman, answer'd Dormont, but without searching into the accidental causes of her grief, I take her to be naturally of a melan­choly disposition; and should she have [Page 74]a fancy to sing, I believe she would employ her Voice in very sorrowful Ditties. But in short, reply'd my Husband, what said she to you? She discours'd to me, said Dormont, of the Beauty of this Solitude, and how desirous she was I might draw her a Landscape, in which there might be nothing but Rocks, and Torrents, Wild Beasts, Trees with their Leaves off, and obscure Caverns. Except it were a Tomb, which perhaps she did not think of, she omitted nothing that might argue her thoughts to be ex­ceeding melancholy, and fill'd my Head with such sad Notions, that I fear I shall hardly get rid of them. No, said my Husband with a bitter smile, her Melancholy does not pro­ceed from her Constitution; and I believe would have enter'd upon the particular Circumstances of my Affairs, if word had not been brought him, that the Chevalier de Monserolle, a Neighbour of his, was come to visit him. This was the [Page 75]only Gentleman of the Country with whom he had made a Friend­ship. They discours'd privately a­bout half an hour, and then the Chevalier went away, and left the Count in a kind of a serious musing.

As soon as he was gone, my Husband call'd Dormont to him a­gain, who had left the Room out of respect. If my Wife, said he to him, has infected you with her Me­lancholy, we shall have a pretty La­dy here to night, who, it may be, may restore your good humour? It is Ma­damoiselle d'Ecugy, who is run away with the Chevalier de Monserolle. I cannot in decency keep her from see­ing my Wife, and therefore shall be forc'd to put an end to her solitude; but I would have her owe the Obli­gation wholly to you. Ah, Sir, an­swered Dormont, rob her not of the satisfaction of owing it to your self, and have a care you do not spoil me, by making me more presumptuous than I ought to be. Well, said my Hus­band, [Page 76] I will have it so, therefore go to her immediately, and tell her, she may come down Stairs, and make that Figure in my Family, which she had always done, if she had behav'd her self better. Dormont came in­to my Chamber, with a very chear­ful Countenance, and gave me an account of what had pass'd in the two hours he had been from me. Any one but I would have been pleas'd with such news; but I was us'd to rejoyce at nothing, and at this time fear surmounted my kindness for Blesinac; not but there were some moments in which I lik'd my condition well enough. I loved, and was beloved. The nici­ty of our intrigue made our Con­versation more endearing, and had I been inclin'd to pleasure, I might have been satisfied with so unex­pected a change; but I had not yet run through all the Calamities that were to compleat my Destiny; and if sometimes I felt any disposition [Page 77]to be chearful, an invincible secret foreboding, still threw me back in­to my former sorrow.

The first thing I did after I was at liberty, was to go into my Hus­band's Closet to receive his Orders: I found him better dress'd than he us'd to be, and Civiller to me than I expected. He advis'd me very calmly to find out such amuse­ments as might quite banish Blesi­nac out of my thoughts, and then told me he could not refuse to pro­tect the Chevalier de Monserolle, who had taken away the Baron d'E­cugy's Daughter against his Will, and desired me to make them welcom. I had not time to answer him, for there came a great many Gentle­men into the Court, with a young Woman, whose behaviour I thought a little extravagant. I went to the Gate to receive her, and did it with all the Civility I could, which cer­tainly she ought to have return'd with the like; but she hardly [Page 78]vouchsafed to look on me. My Husband's Addresses met with bet­ter entertainment, and I had enough to do to Compliment those who came along with Madam d'E­cugy. I confess also, I applied my self to observe the Lover, and his Mistress, my Husband, and a Gen­tleman call'd Arbanante. My Mind was never so diverted by any Ob­ject of Pleasure, but that I was al­ways at leisure, and dispos'd to di­scern the Humour and true Bias of their inclinations, who were not extreamly reserv'd, and upon their Guard in all their Actions. I quick­ly discover'd that the Chevalier de Monserolle really lov'd his Mistress; that she had not the same kindness for him, and had consented to go away with him, only out of an ambition she had of signalizing her self by a piece of remarkable folly. Actions of this nature seldom hap­pen without violating the Rules of Decency, which she seem'd wholly [Page 79]to have forgotten. I perceiv'd so much immodesty in her Mirth, that I often wonder'd how the Che­valier durst venture to marry a Wo­man who had so little command of her self. For my part, I always thought a Woman obliged to war­rant her Vertue by her Behaviour; But all she did, was contrary to this Maxim. Her great delight was in fancying People in love with her, but more, to have them who were so, or at least feign'd to be so, de­clare it. Being of this temper, it was no wonder she was proud of the respect my Husband shew'd her, and forgot she had run away with Monserolle.

I assure you, she remembred it so little, that for some days she would scarce give him leave to speak to her: and my Husband put no man­ner of constraint upon himself; for knowing the reason I had to fear him, was sufficient to hinder me from thwarting his Inclinations, he [Page 80]made no scruple of courting his Friend's Mistress, though it were a­gainst the Laws of Hospitality. In the mean time, there was a necessi­ty of the Chevalier's fixing his Re­solutions. Madam d' Ecugy was in no haste to be married; my Hus­band dreaded she should; Dormont was glad he was taken up with a Passion that kept him from diving into our Intrigue; and Arbanante had no mind to leave Estaiac, which he could not avoid if the Match were once concluded. Every ones Interest lying the same way, it was no hard matter to reconcile the Par­ties. My Husband would needs have Dormont one of their Privy-Council; they resolv'd Monserolle should go to Paris, to obtain the Mareschal de Gramont's Protection, to whom he was particularly known.

Monserolle's absence made no al­teration at Estaiac; on the contra­ry, new Diversions were invented [Page 81]every day: But yet though my Husband had some reason to expect Madam d' Ecugy should return his Kindness, he was so unhappy as to find she dislik'd him, and that it was a Constraint to her to endure his Addresses. Now, Madam, I am come to that part of my Story which recals very afflicting Cir­cumstances to my remembrance, and you shall see the utmost Period of my Misfortunes. Madam d' Ecugy was in love with Dormont, and was so indiscreet as to let it be taken no­tice of. My Husband was the first that discover'd it; but observing Dormont did not at all answer her Affection, he still continu'd his Kindness to him, and told him some­times in confidence, That he recom­mended the Concerns of his Heart to him; but Dormont minded nei­ther the Mistresses kind Looks, nor the Lover's Apprehensions. One Evening having a Mind to play at Blindmand's-Buff, she would needs [Page 82]have Dormont blinded; as he ran about to catch one of us, he felt a Note thrust into his Hand. Being in complaisance to make one at this Sport, he thought at first I had gi­ven it him, or that it might come from Rose, who still loved him; but could not so much as imagine Ma­dam d' Ecugy reserv'd enough to take such a Course to explain her self. He was so impatient to know the meaning of it, that as soon as he had caught one, who by the Rules of the Play was to be bound in his turn, he went out of the Room to read the Billet, which was in these Terms.

WEre you a Man of Quality, I should take it ill that you have not already made me a Return suitable to the Honour I do you, in preferring you not only before the Ma­ster of the House, but another also whom I once thought well enough of to let him marry me. But I see I must [Page 83]be forc'd to break the Ice my self, and let you know, I pass over whatever makes a distance between us, and wholly follow the Inclination of my Heart, which attracts me to you. Make the best use you can of an Ad­vertisement which is too advantagious for you to slight; and remember, what I offer you is upon condition, that you always treat me with that Respect which is due to me.

Dormont was really troubled at this Letter, for he had no mind to Rival my Husband in every thing, nor would he give me any cause to suspect him; and besides, was afraid of Ecugy's Indiscretion: So that here was enough at once to disturb his Mind. It nearly concern'd him to prevent my Maids discovery of our good Intelligence. In short, he con­cluded he was to fear nothing so much as to disquiet me, and there­fore sacrific'd his Discretion to his Fidelity, and found an Opportunity [Page 84]to tell me what had hapen'd to him. I presently saw the dangerous Con­sequences of it, and beheld with infinite affliction all the Calamities this Womans Passion would bring upon me. She was as impatient all the next day as People in her Con­dition usually are: I know not how it came to pass, that I chanc'd to be alone with her; for we both avoid­ed one anothers Company as much as we could. I perceiv'd she was so uneasie, that I thought my self bound to take notice of it, and ask what was the reason of it. My Cir­cumstances are such, said she, very briskly, that I cannot enjoy much Peace. Till to day, answer'd I, your Affairs have not seem'd to disturb you, and I know not any thing that has hap­pen'd to alarm you. Perhaps, added I, the Chevalier de Monserolle is longer from you than he promis'd. Not at all, said she; I neither rejoice nor grieve at his absence. Ah Madam, replied I, as to that matter, give me leave to think [Page 85]you do not speak sincerely. There is no likelihood you would have let Monse­rolle have carried you away from your Father, unless Love had anima­ted you. Why, answer'd she, you have been as bold, without having so Honourable a Pretence as I had: But I perceive well enough, continu­ed she, what you drive at, and what vexes you to the Heart: You fancy at least that your Husband is in love with me; and truly if I thought it plagu'd you, I would make it my Bu­siness to improve it: But it is your Husband, Madam, it is not your be­loved Blesinac, and so you need not fear. Madam, replied I, pretty smartly, I must have a greater va­lue for you first, than I have yet, be­fore I can suspect any man has so little Judgment, as to find any thing in you that can make me jealous of your Merit.

Just as I said this, my Husband came into the Room; she gave him her Hand, and went along with him to see an Apartment which he had[Page 86]order'd to be painted: At least this was her Pretence; for she went on­ly to find Dormont, and as soon as she came where he was, she preten­ded she had a mind to learn to draw, and desir'd him to give her some Copies. My Husband, who did not like this Request of hers, told her, Dormont had not Skill enough to be her Master; but she was so angry with him for saying so, that he was fain to comply with her.

I think I have already told you, that the Chevalier de Monserolle left one Arbanante behind him at Estaiac, to watch Madam d' Eougy, to whom he was Kin. But besides the score of Relation, he had particular Rea­sons to ingage him to observe Dor­mont's Actions. He found he knew more of the World than common Painters use to do. In short, Dor­mont had an Air so noble and free, which he could neither divest him­self of, nor well conceal under his Disguise, that Arbanante guess'd him [Page 87]to be any thing, rather than what he had a mind to pass for. Being confirm'd in this Opinion, he resol­ved to leave no Stone unturn'd to discover who he was. He perceiv'd that Rose had a great kindness for Dormont, which he return'd rather with a forc'd, than an hearty com­pliance. He got by degrees to be intimate with this Wench, and build­ing upon the Weakness which such sort of People usually betray, when you promise to tell them their For­tune, he propos'd to her the Cast­ing of her Nativity. He knew some of the Astrological Cant, and talk'd boldly of the Lord's House, the An­gle of Fortune, of Trines, Sextiles, Aspects, and such Stuff; which fail'd not to draw Rose into the Snare he spread for her.

He told her therefore she was in Love with a Man whom he de­scrib'd very near such a one as Dor­mont, and assur'd her she would have been lov'd by him, if an Ascen­dant [Page 88]superiour to hers had not forc'd him to devote himself to another. Then he ask'd her, if she had known Dormont long, and how he came to Estaiac? and abundance of other Questions, which she answered with so much simplicity, that comparing what she told him, with what he already knew of Blesinac, and me, he no longer doubted but Blesi­nac and Dormont were all one; but the Conclusions he drew from this Information were not enough to serve his turn, unless he made that advantage of it which he propos'd to himself. It is time therefore, Madam, that I tell you, Arbanante was in love with me; and had I not been preingag'd by my real af­fection for another, I might easily have discover'd it, notwithstanding all the respect he us'd to conceal it.

Few People were so crafty as those of the Countrey where I then dwelt; therefore you must [Page 89]not imagine Arbanante would let me see the bottom of his Heart: quite contrary, he would often very neat­ly and subtlely railly the vanity Dor­mont might be guilty of, upon the account of Madam d' Ecugy's extra­ordinary esteem of him; but all this while he contriv'd a secret me­thod, which he knew would infal­libly accomplish his Ends. His De­sign was to keep Dormont from me, to effect which, he perswaded Ma­dam d' Ecugy it would be a pretty Amusement for her to learn to Draw, and that it might not inter­fere with her other Diversions, she would do well to take his Instructi­ons some time every Night, and Morning. There was no great need of pressing this Advice upon her, which agreed so well with her Inclinations, and she made use of all the Power she had with my Husband to get him to command Dormont to be industrious in teaching her what she pretended [Page 90]such an earnest desire to learn.

Arbanante staid sometimes in Ma­dam d' Ecugy's Chamber while she was learning, and sometimes would go out of the Room to leave Dor­mont the freedom of declaring his Mind, in case he were sensible of his Scholars kindness. One day when Arbanante was gone into the next Room, she lay'd down her Crayon, and looking upon Dormont with Eyes that spoke both Anger, and Love: You are very vain, said she to him, or very stupid, not to answer the Billet I gave you some days ago. I did not understand, Madam, said Dormont, that it was you who did me that Honour, and if I had, I should not have been the more presumptuous upon it. I took care enough, reply'd she, to remove all your Scruples; but now at last, that you know the Billet was mine, since I own it to be so, what have you to answer me? Dormont was now strangely put to it, for it was a [Page 91]shame after all this for him to be insensible; Madam d' Ecugy was a very handsom Woman, and there was too much danger in confessing a former ingagement. Therefore he pretended he did not believe what she said, nor took any notice of the disorder that appear'd in her face. I should never forgive my self, Madam, said he to her, if I should be so impudent as to take what you are pleas'd to speak to me in raille­ry, seriously. No, I receive it as I ought to do, and whatever you may say to me, I know what becomes me; contain your self therefore, Ma­dam, within such limits as are sui­table to your Quality, since I can­not transgress mine, unless I grow distracted, or declare my self extream­ly faulty.

Dormont utter'd these words with such manifect indifference, that from that very minute Madam d'E­cugy resolv'd to ruine him; but to prevent his suspicion of her, she told [Page 92]him, She had never really design'd any thing else, but to divert her self with making sport with him. As soon as she had done drawing, Dormont went away, and she sent for Arbanante; when he came, she made as many Grimaces as bashful Maids are wont when they tell you what their Sweet-hearts said to them, and beholding him with some disorder in her looks: The con­fidence, said she, which the Chevalier de Monserolle, and I have repos'd in you, will not suffer me to conceal from you an injury which I just now re­ceiv'd from the Painter, whom you per­swaded me to learn of. Because I shew­ed him a little Countenance, the fel­low has had the impudence to tell me, he is in love with. If the Count de Marignan will not do me Justice in this Affair, I will not stay a moment longer in his House. Arbanante was ravish'd with joy to meet with so fair an opportunity to be rid of a Man whom he looked upon as his [Page 93]Rival. He sympathiz'd with Ma­dam d' Ecugy in her affliction, and commended her for maintaing her Honour so generously. However, added he, you must behave your self discreetly in these Circumstances; I soresee it will be difficult to make the Count de Marignan believe, that a Man he has trusted so far, should for­get himself to that degree as to be his Competitor, when he knows how pas­sionately he loves you. That is the way, said she, I intend to prevail with the Count to revenge me on Dor­mont; he is as much concern'd in the affront that has been offer'd me, as I am.

Arbanante found by his Kinswo­mans behaviour, that she was not so very rigidly vertuous as to take a Declaration of Love so heinously; besides he had observed upon very good grounds, that she had no such terrible aversion for Dormont, so that comparing all these Circum­stances with his own Fancy, that [Page 94] Dormont was Blesinac, and that I incourag'd his disguise which could not be carried on without my knowledge; he thought it necessa­ry to ingage Madam d'Ecugy to open her Mind to him without any reserve. He had so much Wit, and she was so indiscreet, that he easi­ly manag'd her, and brought her to confess the Truth. He chid her for being so weak, and represen­ted to her all the follys her incon­stancy had made her guilty of; but at last when her blushes, and tears were over, he pretended, that if he did assist her in her revenge, it was only to keep her from ruining her self. You must get the Billet, said he, out of Dormont's Hands which you wrote to him. That cannot pre­judice me, said she, for I have al­ter'd my Hand so, that no body can know it to be my writing. Well then, said Arbanante, we have nothing to do now, but to contrive some trap for him which he may not mistrust. [Page 95]He understands Musick perfectly; I will make the Words of a Song, and give him them, and I shall easily get him to write them out, to set them to a Tune.

Madam d' Ecugy was glad of an opportunity to punish Dormont for slighting her; and her Resentment made her rellish any thing that was instrumental to her Revenge. Let me alone, said Arbanante, for the Con­trivance, and be sure you do nothing without my direction. She gave him free leave, bidding him think of the Verses he was to make, and was extremely satisfied with the Design. Whilst Arbanante and she took such dangerous Measures to ruine Dor­mont, my Husband sent for him to give him an account of Madam d'E­cugy's Progress in Drawing, not thinking she had been alone with him; and was only desirous to know whether he found her really dispos'd to learn. Dormont was so well convinc'd she had no such In­tention, [Page 96]that he begg'd him to put her off from it, and provide some other Diversion for her, in which she might imploy her time to more purpose. My Husband's Conditi­on, as things stood then, was very deplorable; Madam d' Ecugy's usage of him tormented him to the Heart; though he loved her infinitely, he could neither value her much, nor slight her. She was indeed very beautiful; but her Mind and Heart were so deform'd, that sometimes he could hardly determine whether she deserv'd his Hatred most, or his Af­fection. In this Irresolution, which rendred his Life uneasie, he made these Verses.

Dormont quickly set these Words to a Tune that suited them admira­bly; and my Husband, who sung skilfully, learnt it that very Night, though it was very late; and Dor­mont unwilling to let slip any op­portunity of seeing me, came im­mediately into my Chamber, intend­ing to shew me the Song, and in few Words told me what had hapned that Night.

Here the Countess of Marignan's Relation was interrupted with Sighs and Tears, which she could by no means restrain; but at last, be­ginning again, Ah Madam, said she, how ingenious was my Fancy then [Page 98]in representing to me all the Cala­mities that were then falling upon me? and how did it improve them when I was asleep, by the most hor­rid Dreams that were ever known? I was so disquieted with the cruel Thoughts that disorder'd my Mind, that not able to support them any longer, I wak'd the Servants who waited on me, and made them come to me. Rose, who lay in my Cham­ber, observ'd, that ever since Dor­mont's coming I sigh'd lamentably, and the little Sleep I had was very broken and disturb'd. She reflected upon this according to her Capaci­ty, and long'd to meet with Arba­nante to tell him her Thoughts. But whilst I had such strong Presages of my Miseries, Arbanante was contri­ving to execute the blackest piece of Villany that ever Man was guil­ty of. He sought out Dormont, and found him time enough to get him to make a Tune for some Words which he had written for Madam [Page 99] d' Ecugy, to whom he pretended he would present them as soon as she was awake. Dormont, little dream­ing of what would follow, wrote down the Words, and set them for him. Arbanante, desirous to have them written in his Hand, said he could not sing the Tune without the Notes, and so got the Paper from him; and thanking him for what he had done, went away mightily pleas'd with his Success. Joy is so ungovernable a Passion, that he had not the patience to for­bear going immediately into Ma­dam d' Ecugy's Chamber, and gi­ving her the Song as it was writ­ten down, and set in Dormont's Hand. She read it very eagerly, and found it as follows.

Arbanante carefully instructed her how to carry on her revengeful Design, and then left her very im­patient to dress her self, and meet with the Count of Marignan, to complain of Dormont to him. My Husband was no less desirous to see her, that he might entertain her with the Song which agreed so well with his Circumstances. As soon as he knew she was ready, he went sing­ing into her Chamber. This is in­deed a new Tune, said Madam d' Ecu­gy to him; but though you are be­forehand with me in getting of it, perhaps I have another that's newer than yours; for it came out but this Morning. You will know who made it by the Hand; but you will wonder to hear, the Author had the confidence to tell me, he made it to me; and I [Page 101]take it for such an Affront, that I think you ought to do me Right.

My Husband took the Song from her, and read it with that transport of Rage which is the true effect of Jealousie: He read it over twenty times, without being able to pro­nounce the Words. Yes, Madam, cry'd he of a sudden, when he had mus'd a little, I will revenge you, and punish this insolent Fellow. His Crime touches me more than it does you. Spiteful Ecugy then looking more kindly upon him, than she had done a great while before; I see now, said she, you really love me; and I will not fail to recompense the Con­cern you have for my Honour; but remember however, that all Circum­stances consider'd, if you make this Business too publick, you may do me an irreparable Injury.

Arbanante searing his Cozen would be so indiscreet as to say more than was necessary, came into the Room, and mingling with them, appeas'd [Page 102]my Husband a little; but though he kept him from breaking out in­to any sudden Violence, yet he cun­ningly insinuated to him, that he ought to dismiss the Painters imme­diately, without so much as seeing them; for he knew, if he had the least opportunity to do it, Dormont would easily justifie himself to my Husband. His Advice therefore was exactly follow'd. Pardon me, Madam, if I do not give you all the Particulars of this cruel Separa­tion. Dormont was unexpressibly surpris'd and afflicted, when he re­ceiv'd Orders to be gone; he came into my Chamber to take his leave of me, but Arbanante, who was got thither before him, hindred us from expressing what we thought. Sor­row, which is much allay'd by com­plaining, becomes insupportable when it is conceal'd. I had been in this condition when I saw Dormont go away, but that I call'd all my Reason to my aid, to vanquish my [Page 103]Affliction. Indeed my natural Me­lancholy kept them from discove­ring how much I was griev'd to part with him.

He went away with the true Painter, who brought him thither; but we could not learn which way they took. Madam d' Ecugy re­pented she had made him leave Estaiac, for she fell out with Arba­nante about it, and in two days said nothing to my Husband, but that she would stay no longer in his House. He was strangely troubled at her Behaviour, because he began now to find her out, and to justifie Dormont; but he had not leisure to make these Reflexions long.

The Baron d' Ecugy hearing Mon­serolle was come back from Paris, went with some of his Friends to besiege him in his House; and his Son came with a strong Party to surprise the Castle of Estaiac. My Husband receiv'd the News with­out any Concern, and prepar'd as [Page 104]well as he could to support his Friend's Interest, and preserve his Mistress. He got as many Men to­gether as the time would give him leave, and left Arbanante the Com­mand of Estaiac in his absence. I was really troubled to see my Hus­band undertake an Enterprise whose Event would be so doubtful; but in the midst of my Grief, it was some comfort to me, to think Dormont's not being at Estaiac, exempted him from the Danger; mingling at once the Thoughts of my real Duty, with those which my Inclination inspir'd: for at the same time that I made Vows for my Husband's Re­turn, I thank'd Heaven for with­drawing Dormont from the Perils which I apprehended he would have been engag'd in. Madam d' Ecugy was not at all concern'd, but expe­cted the Event as calmly, as if she had not the least hand in it. It was now two days since my Husband's departure, and I was cruel impatient [Page 105]to know the Success of his Journey, when word was brought me he was come home. I went in great haste to welcome him: But alas! Madam, I cannot recal that terrible minute, without feeling my self seis'd with fresh Sorrow. The first Object I met withal was my Hus­band, held up upon his Horse by his Servants; his Clothes were all bloody, his Face pale, his Eyes half shut, and he had scarce Strength enough left to bemoan himself. You may imagine how afflicted I was, and that I took all the care I could of him, as my Duty requir'd. As soon as he was hurt, they sent for Chyrurgeons, who came in present­ly after him, and upon search of his Wounds found them very dange­rous. He had lost so much Blood, and was so weak, that he could not speak, but yet express'd by his Acti­ons a great desire to say something. I perceiv'd it, and ask'd him what it was he desir'd: He answer'd me, [Page 106]in a dying tone, That he would have us take care of Dormont. I believ'd he raved, and little minded what he said, because I saw no likelihood that Dormont, who was gone to Pa­ris, should be present at this Com­bat. After some Reflexion, I ob­serv'd neither Madam d' Ecugy nor Rose came into my Husband's Chamber, which made me fancy something of more importance de­tain'd them in another place. While I was in this doubt, Rose came in crying, and desir'd we would come and help Dormont, who must needs die, if they did not dress him pre­sently.

I assure you, my Soul was so af­flicted already, that I wanted no­thing more to improve my Grief. I hastned away the Chyrurgeons to look to wretched Dormont, while I staid with my Husband. Though he was advis'd to rest as much as he could, yet he continued very un­easie, and could not forbear asking [Page 107]me, whether Madam d' Ecugy were still at Estaiac? I assur'd him she was; but he would not believe me till he saw her, which with some difficulty she yielded to; for she was very unwilling to come out of Dor­mont's Chamber. Her Coldness to him was such, as any man but he would have recovered his liberty; he complain'd of it indeed, but was so weak, as not to make the true use of it. She saved me the labour of telling my Husband he ought not speak so much as he did, and left him presently to go back to Dormont. In the mean time that I might know how to govern my self, I thought it necessary to in­form my self of the Particulars of the Combat; and not questioning but Dormont had behaved himself valiantly, I forbore mentioning his name at all. I had an account of it from a Gentleman of the Neigh­bourhood named Plassac. He told me that the Baron d' Ecugy having [Page 108]block'd up Monserolle in his House, sent his Son with fifty Horse to en­deavour to surprise Estaiac; that my Husband meeting them with a far lesser party, they encounter'd one another in such a manner, that it plainly appear'd one side fought for Love, and the other for Ho­nour. However, continued Pl [...]ss [...], we began to give ground to our Assai­lants, and the Count de Marignan, who charg'd into the thickest of the Enemy would have certainly been ei­ther taken, or kill'd, had not Dormont come to our relief with five or six more, which restor'd the Courage of our drooping Party. The Chevalier d' Ecugy would have stood it out, but Dormont fell upon him with such vigour, that he had not time to look about him. He expos'd his Life to open his way to the place where he saw the Count de Marignan engag'd, and would never have got thither if he had not kill'd the Chevalier d' E­cugy. Your Husband was already [Page 109]much wounded when Dormont came up to him, who hindred his Enemies from killing him outright. While he defended him thus, he received a great many wounds, and I never saw a man fight with more Zeal, and Judgment together. The Chevalier d' Ecugy's death so disheartned his Friends, that they retreated to give his Father an account of it. Though we killed them above thirty of their Men, with the loss of very few of our own, and so were Masters of the Field; yet we thought not fit to stay there any time. I immediately sent for Chyrurgeons, and was of Opinion it was safest for us to come back hither.

When Plassac had ended his Re­lation, he assur'd me this Affair would have very ill consequences, if great care were not taken to pre­vent them; the only remedy he knew of, was to advise Monserolle to make his Peace with the Baron d' Ecugy, and to return his Mistress into her Friends Hands, upon these [Page 110]terms he undertook to bring it a­bout; but just as he was ready to go, Monserolle came in. Never was Man more afflicted than he was to find the Count de Marignan in such a condition; and he said a great many civil things to me upon the occasion; but let him say what he would, my Husband, and my Lo­ver too were in such danger of Death, that all his excuses were ve­ry insipid to me. Plassac very handsomly intimated to him what we design'd to do, which out of nicity of Honour, he would not a­gree to, but thought of an expedi­ent that all of us approv'd of, which was to put Madam d' Ecugy into a Convent, and endeavour to recon­cile the Parties concern'd.

She had a Kinswoman at Carcas­sonne, who was Governess of a Mo­nastery, thither it was resolv'd she should be carry'd, in case they met with no difficulty in the reception of her, but being perswaded she [Page 111]would never consent to look through a Grate, they kept it secret from her.

She altogether slighted Monserolle, and put so many tricks upon him, that he resolv'd at last to make no scruple of forsaking her. Plassac went to impart the Design to Ma­dam d' Ecugy's Kinswoman.

One Night, as I was sitting by my Husbands Bed-side, full of trou­ble, and grief, to see him in that condition to which his wounds had brought him, one came to tell me Dormont was extraordinary ill; The Count of Marignan desir'd me to go to his Chamber, and know of him what he wanted. When I came in I found d' Arbenante, who came with a design to hear what the highth of his Distemper would cause him to say.

As it is not one of the least Acts of Reason to keep a Secret, especially when the Mind is prepossest; no wonder Dormont could not keep se­cret [Page 112]the Intrigues of our private Conversation, when his Reason was disturb'd. He earnestly enqui­red where I was. He complain'd he could not see me, and would needs die in all haste, because I for­sook him. 'Till that time his ex­travagancies never surpriz'd me. But a sudden sit, stronger than any had yet come upon him, caus'd him to raise himself up in his Bed, so that laying his Hand upon his Eyes, and breaking out into a violent Pas­sion, Ah, unhappy Blesinac, said he, not to have thy kindness for the Coun­tess of Marignan more kindly answe­red. Go and die in some place where her Image is less present before thy imagination than here.

He said no more, but immediately after fell into a deep sleep. D' Arba­nante, who let not a word fall of all that Blesinac had said, came to me, and beholding me with a stern, and distastful Countenance, Pardon me, Madam, said he, if I give you to un­derstand, [Page 113]that you do not mind as you ought, the Honour of your Fami­ly, when you make no distinction be­tween the Earl of Blesinac and Dor­mont.

I must confess, Madam, said the Countess of Marignan proceeding in her Discourse, I found my self at a strange loss, I foresaw the ill con­sequence of provoking d' Arbanante, and I knew very well on the other side it would be no less dangerous to flatter him. I took into consi­deration, that a man void of Rea­son is not capable of keeping him­self within the bounds of respect. He had ever a distrust of me, and moreover, took the boldness to tell me, that if I had not the same Sen­timents for him as I had for Blesi­nac, he knew well enough how to be reveng'd of my indifference.

I left Arbanante in Dormont's Chamber, and return'd to the Count of Marignan, to hinder any body from coming to him, and telling [Page 114]him what Blesinac had confest. There I found Monserolle, to whom I thought it requisite to reveal the whole matter, since so many Per­sons knew it, that I must needs imagine it could not be long kept secret. I us'd all the pow'r I had with him, to obtain his utmost indeavour for Madam d' Ecugy's departure that very Night, under the conduct of Arbanante, and those who had brought her to Estaiac.

The Apartment of the Count of Marignan was somewhat remote from the main Body of the House, which conduc'd very much to the more easie carrying on of our De­sign. I caus'd all the Avenues to be shut up, and staid while Monse­rolle went to tell Madam d' Ecugy, that it would be convenient for her to depart from Estaiac; that other­wise her Father would come and be­siege the Castle, and carry her away to a Religious House; to prevent which, their Intention was to con­duct [Page 115]her to Carcassone, where she would better divertise her self. As specious as all these things were which Monserolle told her, she fell into such a violent Passion, that they had no other way but to be down­right with her, and to tell her in plain terms, if they were driven to Force, it was no other than what they judg'd necessary for the good of her Affairs. She made such la­mentable Outcries, that they were heard as far as my Husband's A­partment. He thought it to be the noise of loud Mirth and Laugh­ter, and this Imagination drew Sighs from him, insomuch that he told me with much sorrow, he thought a fitter season might have been taken for all this Mirth and Jollity. Hereupon I could no lon­ger contain, but told him the whole truth, and added moreover all that I thought might contribute to the Cure of a Passion so ill grounded. While I was thus enter­taining [Page 116]him, and that not vainly, as I thought, Arbanante and Madam d' Ecugy made a thousand Excuses to put off their departure; especi­ally Arbanante, he must by all means speak with the Count of Ma­rignan, he must take his leave of me; but all would not do; both he and the Lady had a fair dismission from Estaiac.

Monserolle staid behind, both for his Fidelity, and the Affection he had for my Husband; of the heal­ing of whose Wounds there began now to be great hopes, as well as those of Blesinac. I had a great curiosity to know how this last Person came into the Combat, wherein he receiv'd his Wounds. One day, when I went to visit him, I pray'd him to tell me, and judg'd it not from the purpose to remind him of what Expressions he had let fall during the height of his Fever, imagining he would take no great distaste thereat. He told me, that [Page 117]when he came from Paris, he or­der'd one of his most trusty Ser­vants to wait for him at a Place a little distant from Estaiac, with two Horses, till such time as he heard farther from him; That at his part­ing from the Count of Marignan's, he had left the true Painter in Paris-Rode, and taken the way which led to that Place where his Servant was; That at his arrival he found himself very ill; That he resolv'd to stay there till the recovery of his Health, and to try to send me an Account of his Affairs; That in this interim he receiv'd Intelligence my Hus­band had assembled all his Friends to go to succour Monserolle, not con­sulting exact Prudence, nor follow­ing any thing but the Dictates of his Love, which ingag'd him in all things that he thought might please me; That to serve the Count of Marig­nan the more effectually, he had got together all the People he could meet with, and oblig'd them to [Page 118]follow him; That, in fine, he ar­riv'd happily enough to joyn with the Count, and rescue him out of the Hands of his Enemies, among whom he had been ingag'd.

I took upon my own account all the Obligation my Husband and I had to Blesinac for this good Office; but at the same time I prepar'd to remove further off from Estaiac, as soon as my Husband's Health would permit. It was now two or three days since Madam d' Ecugy depart­ed thence, when my Husband be­thought himself, and ask'd what was become of her. Monserolle took upon him the Answer to his De­mand, and told him, That all that could be said or done, could not di­vert her from leaving Estaiac with Arbanante, having a mind to retire to Carcassonne with one of her Kins­women. This News seem'd to make no great Impression in the Mind of the Count; he heard it without any trouble, and I have some reason to [Page 119]believe she was now become indiffe­rent to him.

All was then very quiet at E­staiac, the Baron d' Ecugy had re­sign'd himself up to grief, and the loss of his Son made him insensible of the carrying away of his Daugh­ter. But she enjoy'd not the same advantage: All the way she went to Carcassonne she vow'd to be re­veng'd of Monserolle, Blesinac, and my self; for d' Arbenante had told her that Dormont was but a ficti­tious name under which Blesinac conceal'd himself. The desire she had to ruine us somewhat modera­ted the violence of her Passion; be­ing arriv'd at Carcassonne they found Plassac ready to conduct her into the House to which she was to go; but d' Arbanante and she were e­qually surpriz'd when they saw that this House was a Convent. Her Kinswoman took her part in oppo­sing her coming in, but Monserolle had given order to Plassac to get her [Page 120]in by force in case any resistance were made, and to make use of those who guarded her thither, for those he had made sure of for his Design. As soon as she was enter'd into the Convent, Plassac told d' Ar­banante from the Count of Marig­nan, that he was desir'd not to come to his House any more. Plassac having so well acquitted himself of his Commission, came back to E­staiac, and gave us an account of his proceedings according as I have related.

Though Blesinac's wounds were worse than the Count of Marignan's, yet they were sooner cur'd, and he began to come abroad when Plassac arriv'd at Carcassonne. Rose had in­form'd him, that in the delirium of one of his Fever fits he had disco­ver'd his true Birth, and the fear of giving me any new trouble caus'd him to prepare in all haste to leave Estaiac. Being one time retir'd for a while from my Husband's Cham­ber, [Page 121]I receiv'd a Message from Ble­sinac, That he desir'd a few moments Discourse with me; in which Re­quest I thought I could not in civi­lity but oblige him. To one that hath an Heart truly touch'd, all the Presages which Love gives are infallible. I felt not within me, when he talk'd of parting, that de­licate Pleasure which commonly attends upon the Conversation of the Person lov'd; and though I was resolv'd not to suffer him to stay at Estaiac, yet I had something of trouble and inquietude for his de­parture, which I inclin'd rather to retard, than hasten; but at last he resolv'd upon departing; and as I durst not, so I would not hinder it.

Moreover Blesinac being no way concern'd in the Distaste which Dor­mont had receiv'd from the Count of Marignan, he thought he had no reason to leave Estaiac without ta­king his leave of him. The Count, [Page 122]who had been oblig'd to him, did all he could to detain him, but in vain. I must confess, for my own part, I was forc'd to call all my Reason and my Honour to my assi­stance, to support the bitterness of this Separation. I bid him adieu in my Husband's Chamber, for fear some fresh eruption of Tenderness from me might have oblig'd him to a longer stay at our House. Monse­rolle could not refrain telling me, he wonder'd to see what Power and mastery I had over my self, in an Affair where the soundest Rea­son is apt to give it self the Lie. 'Tis true, all was calm and fair in outward appearance; but my Heart was full of trouble and disquiet. I pass'd two days in this Condition; and those two days seem'd to me longer and more tedious than all the rest of my Life: But this was onely the beginning of my Misfor­tune, which how fatally it proceed­ed, you will presently see.

One Morning being sound asleep, in regard I went very late to bed, I was waken'd by most hideous Outcries and Lamentations, which pierc'd my very Heart. I rose in great haste, and ran to the Window which looks out into the Castle­yard. I could distinguish Rose's Voice from all the rest of the Ser­vants, who were all gather'd about a dead Man. But, oh! how cruel and dismal to me was the sight of this dead Man? And so much the more cruel, as he was more known to me, and valu'd by me. Death it self, as terrible as it is, cannot ef­face the Characters of Love. Judge then how much rather I should have chosen to have died my self, than to see lying dead before me the Bo­dy of the unfortunate Blesinac. I could scarce believe my self awake; and for a while Astonishment su­spended the Effects of Grief. I was just fallen into a Trance, when Mon­serolle entred the Chamber, to ac­quaint [Page 124]me with the Circumstances of this Tragical Adventure. He was preparing to begin his Discourse with some Precautions, that he might not throw too great a Bur­den of Grief upon me all at once; but he soon perceiv'd by the Condi­tion he saw me in, that I knew too much already. He said nothing, but his Tears spoke for him; and mine gave to the Memory of Ble­sinac what his Love required from my Tenderness.

As those who are really afflicted never think they can grieve enough, so I labour'd rather to increase than diminish my Grief; and this caus'd me to ask of Monserolle, what he knew of the Death of the Count of Blesinac. He told me, That as soon as the Castle Gate was opened, an unknown Person came up to him, with a Horse, on which Blesi­nac was seated dead, and cover'd with a Cloke; That he had a Let­ter for me, and another for the [Page 125]Count of Marignan. Since it con­cern'd me to have both these Let­ters, I caus'd the Man to be brought in, who by his Countenance did not appear to be guilty of so wicked an Action.

He told me with great signs of grief, that a Cavalier whom he knew not, had by threats forc'd him to bring the body to my House, and the better to assure himself of the performance, he attended the Corps himself as far as the Gate, and that he lay lurking in a place hard by, to observe all the Passages that might insue; having thus said, he presented me with the Letter which the said Cavalier had order'd to be given into my own Hands. Mon­serolle knew by the Writing that it was from the Traitour d' Arba­nante. I had not power to read it, and Monserolle thought it not con­venient that the fellow who brought it should know any of the Contents, but asking him for that [Page 126]which was directed to the Count of Marignan, he had it presently deli­ver'd him. Monserolle order'd the fellow to be secur'd, but withal took care he should be civilly trea­ted, and then opening d' Arbanan­te's Letter to me, he found in it these words.

BEhold here, Madam, the Object of your Love, and my Hatred: We have both of us satisfied our Pas­sions; and if I have not so well con­sulted as I ought for my own Glory, by taking away his Life, know, that you have cast off yours in the whole Course of that Correspondence you have had with him. I wish the sight of a Man that was so dear to you, may be an eternal Reproach to you; and that as it tends to my revenge, so it may to your punishment; that as you are the Cause of my Crime, so also you may bear the Burthen of that Re­morse which I ought to have as well as you, for having been so highly un­faithful to your Husband.

I forgot to tell you, Madam, That Monserolle had sent out some People to try to apprehend Arbanante, or at least to discover where his Haunt was; and the truth is, if there were any thing capable of affording me Consolation, it was the hope of see­ing that Traytor suffer the Punish­ment he deserv'd. The Letter which you have heard not availing any thing either as to his Crime, or my Resentment, I pray'd Mon­serolle to read that which was for my Husband, which was to this effect.

THink it not strange that I have given Death to the Man who sav'd your Life: Whatever Obligati­on you thought you had to him, you will be better inform'd, if you can believe what I now assure you, That you are more oblig'd to me, than to him, since in killing him I have re­veng'd you of a Man who took away your Honour. As Dormont, he a­bus'd [Page 128]your Good-nature; as Blesinac, he hath insulted over your Reputati­on, even in your own House, into which he intruded himself for that end. I have an Opinion of you good enough to believe, you will not disap­prove the Triumph I have gain'd over him in your behalf.

Monserolle, as soon as he had made an end of reading this Letter, broke out into a great rage; and as he was heartily desirous of Revenge, he bid me be of good comfort, and rest assured upon his Word, that he would take care this Villany should not go unpunish'd; and took upon him to inform the Count of Marig­nan of all that was necessary to let him know of this Adventure. He was very sensibly afflicted; and so much the more, because he believ'd it was the Baron d'Ecugy who had caus'd Dormont to be assassinated, and was not to be dispossess'd of that belief.

My Husband caus'd to be ren­dred to the Memory of this Illu­strious Person all the Honours that could have been given him, had his true Birth been known. In out­ward appearance, the sorrowful Con­cernment I had upon this Occasion, was no other than what was ex­press'd by Monserolle, Plassac, Rose, and the rest of our Domesticks: But that Grief which springs from bare Compassion may easily find Consolation, and be satisfied by the necessity of suffering what can't be help'd. The Count of Marignan must be excepted, who totally re­sign'd himself up to Sorrow, for the loss of a Man who had so gene­rously sav'd his Life. His Mind would admit of nothing which might give him any Relief, and so effectually represented to him all that was excellent and amiable in Dormont, that in a few days he fell into a deep Melancholy, which soon turn'd all Hopes of his Recovery, [Page 130]into just Fears for his Life, and, in conclusion, prov'd his Death.

The first Sentiment this sudden End of his inspir'd me with, was the shame of surviving him, and to see that Friendship wrought more effectually in him, than Love could in me. Hereupon I reflected upon all the Misfortunes that had hap­ned, and I found my self so violent­ly overwhelm'd with Grief, that I expected nothing less than in a short time to follow my Husband and my Lover.

After I had perform'd the Cere­monies due to the Memory of the Count of Marignan, I gave Monse­rolle to understand, that Decency oblig'd me to deny my self all man­ner of Consolation. He offer'd to bear me company in Affliction all his Life-time; and he had reason; for he knew well enough how little my Heart was my own, and persisted not in asking me what I was not able to grant him. So we [Page 131]parted, and I resolved immediately for Paris, upon some Concerns of our Family: But before I went from Estaiac, I had the satisfaction to un­derstand, that the perfidious Arba­nante perish'd in a River, which he endeavour'd to cross, to escape the Pursuit that was made after him by Monserolle. In fine, I left Estaiac with a full resolution of betaking my self to a Monastery, there se­curely and freely to bewail all the Misfortunes of my Life.

The Countess of Marignan finish'd her Story with so many Sighs and Tears, that Madam de Mezelon could not but give freedom to her own Tears, to accompany those of her Friend. They renew'd their former Friendship, and vow'd an eternal Union of Hearts, however their Persons might be separated; as in a very short time they were to be: for Madam de Marignan was oblig'd to go back to Bayonne, and Madam de Mezelon to Vaucluse.