THE HISTORY OF THE Chevalier DES ESSARS AND THE Counteſs OF BERCI. PART IV.

THE old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, being at Paris a few Days after his Son's Departure for Gaſcony, hap⯑pened to meet ſome Gentlemen of that Pro⯑vince who were juſt arrived there: he im⯑mediately enquired after the Chevalier des Eſſars; and was told that he lived with the old Marquis des Eſſars his Uncle, both in⯑tirely engroſſed by a very important Affair, which made his Stay in Gaſcony abſolutely neceſſary. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur greatly ſurpriſed, aſked them what Affair he could be engaged in, of ſo much Conſe⯑quence [2] as to make him neglect the Care of his Honour and his Life?

'I perceive, Monſieur,' ſaid one of the Gaſcons, ‘that you are wholly unacquainted with an Incident which will account for the Chevalier's Attachment to Gaſcony. He is paſſionately in Love with a young Lady of that Province: ſhe is called the fair Amazon, ſome very extraordinary Qua⯑lities give her a juſt Claim to this Title. She does not yield in Courage and Spirit to the braveſt among us: and if we may judge of her Force by the manly Exer⯑ciſes in which ſhe delights, and really ex⯑cels in, ſhe equals any of the ſamed Amazons of old who were ſo much ce⯑lebrated for their Valour. With all this, her Perſon is as lovely as the lovelieſt of her Sex; her Birth very illuſtrious, and her Fortune immenſe. This is the Chain that binds the Chevalier des Eſſars to Gaſcony, and will probably fix him there for the reſt of his Life.’

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur now no longer doubted, that this new Paſſion was the Cauſe of the Chevalier's Indifference and Neglect not only of them, but his own Ho⯑nour and Fame. He repented that he had ſent his Son into Gaſcony; and returning to Champigni full of Reſentment, imparted all he had heard to his Wife, to the young Mar⯑chioneſs, [3] and even to the Counteſs of Berci his Daughter.

The two former were greatly ſurpriſed and afflicted at ſuch unexpected News: but what Ravage did not the ſad Recital make in the Heart of the unfortunate Counteſs of Berci! She became a Prey to every violent and torturing Paſſion that injured Love in⯑ſpires; Rage, Grief, Jealouſy and Shame tore her ſoft Heart by Turns. Unable, tho' deſirous to conceal her ſtrong Emotions, ſhe haſtened to her own Apartment, and locking the Door, threw herſelf upon her Bed in Agonies impoſſible to be deſcribed, or even conceived but by a Woman, injured and forſaken, yet paſſionately in Love.

Madam de Berci had always been re⯑markable for her Senſe and Prudence: her Fortitude, her Reſignation under unmerited Infamy, and threatened Death, had ac⯑quired her univerſal Admiration and Eſteem; but ſlighted Love was a Torment ſhe had never felt, and found by ſad Experience ſhe was unequal to. Her Grief, at firſt too big for Utterance, almoſt rent her tender Frame in Pieces, diſtractedly ſhe tore her Hair, and beat her lovely Boſom. How altered now from that ſweet patient Sufferer, who in a gloomy Priſon could be ſtill ſerene, who could arm her Mind againſt the Terrors of approaching Death, and ſelf-acquitted deſ⯑piſe the Slanders of a malicious World, to [4] which her Fame was ſacrificed and her Life condemned. Had ſhe been capable of Re⯑flexion in thoſe ſad Moments, ſhe would have loathed herſelf for a Weakneſs, un⯑worthy of her Character: but Reaſon and Religion had now loſt their Force, or ſhe rejected their offered Aid, and ſuffered no Thought to riſe in her Mind, but what ag⯑gravated her Injuries, and increaſed her Deſpair.

'Perfidious Wretch,' cried ſhe as ſoon as the ſtubborn Sorrow found vent in Tears, ‘and ungrateful as perfidious, is it thus you abandon me after ſo many Vows of eternal Fidelity? You might have de⯑ferred this cruel Outrage till I had re⯑covered that Honour your fatal Paſſion has been the Means of my loſing. Alas!’ pur⯑ſued ſhe wringing her Hands, ‘my loſt Re⯑putation, my cruel Impriſonment, my ignominious Sentence, all are light Evils compared with what I feel at being thus betrayed, deſpiſed, abandoned — but I will not live to endure this Miſery — Yes, Wretch, my Death —’ Here ſhe ſtopped upon ſome Perſon's knocking at her Chamber-Door, which ſhe reluctantly opened, aſhamed of being found in ſuch Diſorder; but ſeeing only the young Mar⯑chioneſs de Saint-Sauveur her Siſter-in-law, that tender faithful Friend, from whom ſhe hid no Secret of her Soul, ſhe eagerly ſtrained her in her Arms, and leaning her Head upon [5] her Boſom, gave Way to a violent Burſt of Tears.

The Marchioneſs, greatly affected at this Sight, locked the Door carefully again, and then led the fair afflicted Counteſs to a Soffa, where ſeating herſelf beſide her, and ten⯑derly ſupporting her with one Arm round her Waiſt, while with the other ſhe wiped away the Tears that ſtreamed from her charming Eyes, ſhe endeavoured to comfort her by ſuggeſting every Argument her Ima⯑gination could furniſh her with in Favour of the Chevalier.

She repreſented to her, that it was not at all poſſible, the Chevalier, who had given her a thouſand ſtriking Proofs of the moſt noble, the moſt ardent Paſſion that ever ani⯑mated a Lover, ſhould be able to quit her for any other Woman whatever Beauty and Merit ſhe was poſſeſt of; nor was it more likely that a Man, ſo remarkably generous, noble and ſincere, ſhould be capable of ſo black a Perfidy.

‘But if we could ſuppoſe, my deareſt Siſter (ſaid the Marchioneſs) that the Che⯑valier was really inconſtant to you whom he has ſo fervently loved, would he with a Soul ſo great and daring, ſuch an eager Thirſt for Fame, ſo nicely tenacious of his Honour, would he neglect the glorious Opportunity that is now offered him, to [6] prove his Innocence in the Eyes of all France? Ah! be aſſured ſome other Cauſe than a new Paſſion detains him. Your Father himſelf is now of this Opinion, in which he is confirmed by his having heard nothing of the Meſſenger whom he ſo long ago ſent to the Chevalier. Some Misfor⯑tune has doubtleſs happened to this Man, and the Chevalier is ſtill ignorant of the Arret, and of your Father's Meſſage.’

The Marchioneſs had indeed hit upon the Truth, but her Arguments, ſtrong as they were, made no Impreſſion upon the Coun⯑teſs of Berci, whoſe Jealouſy, Rage and Deſpair had ſo weakened all her reaſoning Powers, that ſhe was incapable of making any Reflexion but what was ſuggeſted by thoſe furious Paſſions. She thought herſelf the moſt miſerable undone Woman in the World; and in Conſequence of this Notion, ſhe conceived the moſt extravagant Deſign that ever entered into the Mind of a Wo⯑man of her Virtue, Education, and natural Timidity.

Affecting to ſeem a little conſoled by her Siſter-in-law's Reaſons, ſhe begged to be left alone in order to recollect and compoſe herſelf, that ſhe might be able to appear be⯑fore her Parents the next Day. The Mar⯑chioneſs left her, after giving her a tender Embrace; and Madam de Berci, whoſe Head was full of her new Scheme, continued ru⯑minating [7] upon it till her Woman came to take her Commands at Night: ſhe ſuffered herſelf to be undreſt and put to Bed, pre⯑tending that ſhe was extremely ſleepy, in or⯑der to prevent any Meſſages from her Parents, and her Siſter-in-law; and as ſoon as ſhe imagined all the Family was aſleep, ſhe got out of Bed, and, throwing a looſe Gown about her, went ſoftly into her Brother's Wardrobe, where ſhe choſe from among ſeveral Suits of Cloaths one which he had worn but once or twice, and was leſs re⯑markable than any of the others. Theſe Cloaths ſhe put on, and tied up her beautiful fair Hair under a Hat adorned with a green Feather.

Thus metamorphoſed, ſhe went ſoftly down Stairs with an Intention to go into the Stable and get a Horſe, but recollecting that ſhe wanted a Sword, ſhe returned haſtily to the Wardrobe, and finding one to her Wiſh, plain and unadorned, ſhe made the beſt of her Way to the Stable, choſe one of the beſt Horſes in it, and mounted with great Pre⯑cipitation, for the Morning now dawned, and ſhe was apprehenſive ſome of the Ser⯑vants would ſoon be ſtirring. She ſallied out and took the firſt Road that preſented itſelf, her Heart throbbing with a thouſand new Anxieties, and her Head full of a wild Pro⯑ject which ſhe had too little conſidered to ſee all the fatal Conſequences of.

[8]Her Deſign was to travel to Gaſcony, in Search of her faithleſs Lover, to upbraid him with his Perfidy and to revenge his Loſs upon her happy Rival, and then to bury herſelf in ſome Solitude where ſhe ſhould never be heard of more.

Oh, Love, how much is thy tyrant Power to be feared, when a cauſeleſs Jealouſy, an unreaſonable Suſpicion can produce ſuch dreadful Effects, and thus turn a Woman, wiſe, gentle, modeſt, into an extravagant and fooliſh Adventurer! The Counteſs of Berci, although ſhe had diſcovered ſo much Strength of Mind and chriſtian Fortitude while ſhe languiſhed amidſt the Horrors of a gloomy Priſon, had all that amiable Soft⯑neſs and female Delicacy, which diſtinguiſh Women of her Birth, Education and Virtue. Yet behold her now in the Habit of a Man, wandering defenceleſs and alone. She who prefered her Reputation to her Life, and choſe rather to ſubmit to a cruel and unjuſt Im⯑priſonment, than avoid it at the Expence of bringing any Imputation upon her Honour, now expoſed that Honour to the infamous Cenſures of a malicious World, by wearing a Diſguiſe ſo little ſuitable to her natural Modeſty, and by a Flight ſo unworthy of her Prudence and Character. She who had the higheſt Notions of filial Duty, left her indulgent Parents to all the Bitterneſs of Grief that her imagined Death could cauſe, and all the Diſgrace ſo ſcandalous an Elope⯑ment [9] could reflect upon them. Inſenſible of their Sorrow, of what ſhe owed to the Me⯑mory of her murdered Lord, her own Repu⯑tation, Life and Virtue, ſhe purſued her deſperate Courſe. Deceived by her own Heart, Revenge ſhe thought was all her Motive for a Conduct in Appearance ſo ex⯑travagant; and a Motive ſo noble, that, when known, it would be a ſufficient Juſti⯑fication.

As ſoon as ſhe had got out of Champigny, her Horſe, which had been accuſtomed to carry the young Marquis frequently from that Village to Paris, ſtruck directly into the Road which led to that great City, and brought her to the Gates juſt as they were opened. Madam de Berci could not help ſighing when ſhe reflected upon the ſtrange Equipage in which ſhe was now entering a Place where ſhe had formerly enjoyed ſo much Happineſs, and lived in ſuch Splendor. But ſhe was too much engroſſed by her pre⯑ſent wild Project to dwell long upon thoſe Remembrances, ſhe began now to conſider what was moſt proper for her to do. To prevent being diſcovered, ſhe did not doubt but as ſoon as ſhe was miſſed at Cham⯑pigny, it would be concluded ſhe had taken the direct Road to Gaſcony, and that ſeveral Perſons would be immediately diſpatched in Purſuit of her; ſhe reſolved, therefore, to ſtay ſome Days concealed in Paris, and de⯑fer her Journey to Gaſcony till thoſe who [10] ſhould be ſent after her, returned from their fruitleſs Purſuit, when ſhe might proſecute her Deſign with Security.

Accordingly ſhe hired an Apartment in the leaſt frequented Quarter of Paris; and having deſired her Landlord to procure her a Footman whoſe Fidelity and Diſcretion ſhe might depend upon, and who was ca⯑pable to take Care of her Horſe, ſhe retired to her Chamber, to indulge a few Hours Repoſe, if thoſe vain Efforts ſhe made to procure it, may be called Repoſe. But we will now leave her to the inward Agitations of her own Mind, and return to her Rela⯑tions at Champigny, who were all in the ut⯑moſt Confuſion and Diſtreſs.

The young Marchioneſs, tenderly ſolicitous for her Welfare, went to her Apartment as ſoon as ſhe was up; ſhe found her Woman in waiting in the Antichamber who expreſ⯑ſed ſome Surpriſe at her Lady's not ringing for her at her uſual Hour. The Marchio⯑neſs, a little alarmed, rapped at her Cham⯑ber-Door; no Anſwer being returned, ſhe rapped again, and trembling with her Fears opened the Door immediately after; ſhe ad⯑vanced haſtily to the Bed, and was ſtill more terrified to find ſhe was not there. Recol⯑lecting however that the Counteſs was fond of indulging her Melancholy in a ſhady Re⯑ceſs of the Garden to which ſhe often re⯑ſorted, Madam de Saint-Sauveur haſtily ran [11] thither in full Expectation of finding her; but again diſappointed, ſhe gazed around her in Aſtoniſhment and Diſmay, hardly knowing what ſhe feared, yet full of Ap⯑prehenſion and Grief: having traverſed the whole Garden without Succeſs, ſhe returned to the Houſe, flattering herſelf that ſhe might poſſibly meet her in her Mother's Apart⯑ment; upon her entering the old Marchio⯑neſs's Chamber, that Lady eagerly advanced towards her, and with a Voice that expreſ⯑ſed the higheſt Terror and Grief, cried: ‘Ah! my Dear, have you not then found my Daughter?’

The young Lady's melancholy Looks ſuggeſting the Worſt to the apprehenſive Mother, 'Alas!' exclaimed ſhe without giving her Time to anſwer, ‘my Daughter is dead.’ ‘No, no, dear Madam, be com⯑poſed, ſaid ſhe: I hope no Misfortune has happened to the Counteſs. I have not ſeen her indeed, but I hope and believe that ſhe is well, and ſomewhere in the Houſe.’

The old Marquis, who as well as his La⯑dy, had been alarmed by the Report of the Counteſs's Woman, that ſhe was not in her Chamber, and who had been ſearching for her in every Room of the Houſe, came in that Moment with his Daughter's Robe de Chambre in his Hand, which he had found in his Son's Wardrobe. But before he could [12] ſpeak to tell in what Manner he had found it, the unhappy Mother ſinking under her Fears at that Sight, fell in a Swoon in the Arms of her Daughter-in-law, who ſeeing her Colour change, tenderly ran to ſupport her. Proper Remedies being applied, her Senſes returned; ſhe opened her Eyes, and faintly groaning: ‘'Tis ſo, my Daughter's dead,’ ſaid ſhe. 'Alas!' ſaid the old Marquis pierced to his inmoſt Soul with Grief, ‘it would be better, perhaps, if ſhe was dead; for ſhe has covered herſelf and her Family with Infamy.’ He then ſhewed the Robe to his Lady, told where he had found it, and gave it as his certain Opinion, that ſhe had fled diſguiſed in a Suit of her Brother's Cloaths, which he had remembred to have ſeen him wear, and was not now in the Wardrobe.

This News at any other Time would have plunged the old Marchioneſs into De⯑ſpair, but it now releaſed her from an ago⯑niſing Fear that her beloved Daughter was dead, and was welcomed with ſome Kind of Joy. But this laſted no longer, than till her Mind, becoming more compoſed, was at Liberty to reflect upon the ſhameful Step the Counteſs had taken; ſhe then ſaw Things in a different Light, and knew not whether her ſcandalous Flight was not more to be lamented than her Death. Meſſengers were immediately diſpatched in Purſuit of her, but all returned without Succeſs: the [13] unhappy Parents, however, found ſome Al⯑leviation of their Grief in the Thought that their Son, to whom they had wrote on Ac⯑count of the Flight of the Counteſs, and her ſtrange Diſguiſe, would take Meaſures to diſcover her in Gaſcony; for it was not doubted that ſhe was gone thither.

Mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars, the innocent Cauſe of all this Confuſion, paſſed his Time very uneaſily in Gaſcony; his Uncle was continually preſſing him in Favour of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, he urged to him the great Advantages that would accrue from an Alliance with a Woman of her illuſtrious Birth, and immenſe Fortune; he praiſed her Beauty, her fine Underſtanding, her Virtue, Spirit, and noble Reſolution, ſo meritoriouſly exerted in Defence of her Ho⯑nour and Freedom.

The Chevalier confeſſed ſhe had great Merit; he admired her Beauty, he praiſed the noble Qualities ſhe poſſeſſed; and he was pleaſed with her Converſation: but all this produced nothing but a few Viſits from him to the charming Amazon, to whom he be⯑haved with the higheſt Reſpect and De⯑ference; but the Counteſs of Berci was too much in his Head and Heart to allow of any Expreſſions of Gallantry which a Beauty ſo alluring muſt have forced from any Man whoſe Affections were diſengaged.

[14]The Marquis des Eſſars perceived that this Affair advanced very ſlowly, he was very uneaſy at it, and reſolved to ſpeak plainer to his Nephew than he had ever yet done. He took an Opportunity one Evening, when the Chevalier was returned from viſiting Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, to enter into a Converſation with him, which he had ob⯑ſerved with Concern his Nephew had ſeemed ſolicitous to avoid. He told him that his own great Age, and his many Infirmities, would no longer permit him to attend to his Affairs, or take Part in any of thoſe Diver⯑ſions which formerly had contributed as much to his Health as to his Pleaſure.

‘I am now, ſaid he, only capable of en⯑joying the ſtill Comforts of domeſtic Life. I earneſtly deſire to fix you with me. You have hitherto led a diſſipated and wandering Life, it is Time that you ſhould ſettle, take Care of your Eſtates, and per⯑petuate your Name. It is not my Inten⯑tion to hinder you from going to Court, when a proper Opportunity offers, to clear your Innocence with reſpect to the Deaths of the Counts of Berci and Polan: but till this Opportunity offers, I would have you make ſuch a Diſpoſition of your Affairs, that I may promiſe myſelf you will fix your Reſidence in this Province, where at my Death you will have ſuch large Poſſeſ⯑ſions; and that I may be aſſured my Wiſhes will be gratified, you muſt think [15] of marrying ſome Lady of Gaſcony. I ſee none ſo worthy of you as Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt: her Birth, her Beauty, her Virtue and immenſe Fortune may make her juſtly conſidered as one of the beſt Matches in the Province. I know you cannot be in⯑ſenſible to her Charms; and if you have not yet declared yourſelf to her, it muſt neceſſarily be, that you are doubtful of ſuc⯑ceeding. But as I have your Marriage with this Lady greatly at Heart, you may depend upon it, I will plead your Cauſe with the utmoſt Zeal. I think too well of your Judgment to be apprehenſive, that this Af⯑fair will meet with any Difficulties from you, on account of your unwarantable Paſ⯑ſion for the Counteſs of Berci, to which your Honour as well as Quiet has been ſacrificed: therefore, I do not think it neceſſary to aſſure you that the Loſs of my Favour and my whole Eſtate will be the Conſequence of your refuſing the Pro⯑poſal I have made you.’

The Chevalier was a good deal diſcon⯑certed by this Speech, to which he liſtened in a profound Silence, not once offering to interrupt his Uncle, who, he found, was determined to marry him to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and he well knew the obſti⯑nate old Man never receded from a Reſo⯑lution he had once taken. His Threat of depriving him of his Eſtate would have had no Effect on the generous Mind of the Che⯑valier, [16] had not the Delicacy and Diſin⯑tereſtedneſs of his Paſſion for Madam de Berci made him reſolve not to take Ad⯑vantage of her Tenderneſs, to give her a Huſband whoſe Fortunes were ſo vaſtly be⯑low her Quality and Merit. He had been always conſidered as the ſole Heir to the vaſt Poſſeſſions of his Uncle, as well as to his Title: in that Quality he had offered himſelf to the Acceptance of the Counteſs of Berci, his Honour would not permit him, when fallen from his Expectations, to urge her to the Performance of an Engagement made before, nor could his Love bear the Thought of reſigning her.

Amidſt theſe perplexing Extremes, the only Medium was to gain Time, which in⯑deed was gaining every Thing. With this View, therefore, he told his Uncle, that he was extremely ſenſible of his tender Solici⯑tude for his Happineſs by propoſing a Lady every way ſo accompliſhed as Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, for his Wife: but that it was impoſſible he could think of offering him⯑ſelf to her, or to any other Lady of Quality and Merit, while his Reputation ſuffered un⯑der infamous Calumnies, that made him un⯑worthy of the Honour of her Alliance.

‘You muſt permit me, Monſieur, ſaid he, to return to Court: and when I have cleared my Fame, and regained my for⯑mer unſullied Character, I may then with⯑out [17] Preſumption pretend to the Honour of calling ſuch an amiable young Lady, as Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt mine.’

The old Marquis felt the Force of theſe Reaſons; he ſaw the Propriety of ſuch a Conduct as his Nephew ſeemed reſolved to follow, and although he had ſome Suſpicion that he had not yet forgot the Counteſs of Berci, yet he would not give any Hint of Diſtruſt, leſt it ſhould oblige him to come to Extremeties with the Chevalier whom he loved with a truly paternal Tenderneſs. All he required therefore of him, was, that he ſhould viſit Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt as often as Decorum would permit, while he continued in Gaſcony. The Chevalier's ready Compliance with his Requeſt ſo charmed the old Man, that he was the firſt to haſten his Departure for the Court, in order that eve⯑ry Obſtacle to his Marriage might be re⯑moved.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt placing the Chevalier's frequent Viſits to the Score of her own irreſiſtable Charms, made no Efforts to conquer the Paſſion ſhe felt for him, and which every new Sight of him increaſed. She might indeed have juſtly wondered that he had not taken Advantage of any of thoſe Opportunities he had been favoured with, to declare his Paſſion; but Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt eaſily accounted to herſelf for his Silence upon that Head. Haughty as ſhe [18] was, and well acquainted with the Power of her own Beauty, ſhe concluded that the Diſdain ſhe had hitherto ſhewn to all thoſe who had preſumed to addreſs her, was the true Cauſe of the Chevalier's Reſerve; and that reſpectful Awe and Fear of offending to which ſhe imputed his not declaring his Sentiments, ſtrengthened the Chevalier's In⯑tereſt in her Heart, more perhaps, than the moſt tender Proteſtations could have done.

Thus willingly deceived, ſhe heard the News of the Chevalier's intended Journey to Court without much Regret, as ſhe looked upon it as a neceſſary Preparative to her Nuptials: and when he came to take Leave of her, did not fail to attribute to his Eyes a dying Languiſhment, faltering Accents to his Tongue, and tender Sorrow to his whole Countenance and Behaviour.

The Chevalier, indeed, parted with his Uncle with great Concern, conſcious of the Hopes with which the good old Man flat⯑tered himſelf at his promiſed Return: he look⯑ed upon himſelf as acting an ungenerous Part, but he ſoon repreſt the uneaſy Senſations this Thought gave Riſe to, by the Conſideration that he had made no Promiſe to his Uncle, or been guilty of any Thing that could in Reality be called an Evaſion, but only by avoiding an expreſs Denial, held him in Suſpenſe with Regard to his Conſent. And now as he purſued his Journey to Burgundy, [19] where he expected to find his beloved Coun⯑teſs, the Raptures he indulged in the Hope of ſoon ſeeing her, baniſhed every uneaſy Reflexion from his Mind.

On his Arrival at Bourdeaux he heard that a celebrated Tournament was to be held in England: he could not reſiſt this Opportu⯑nity of increaſing his Fame, and fancied that by adding new Lawrels to thoſe he had already gained, he ſhould appear with greater Advantages in the Eyes of his charming Miſtreſs, and with higher Dignity in thoſe of all France, when he came to defend his Honour and aſſert his Innocence. He re⯑ſolved, therefore, to defer his Journey to Burgundy for ſome Days, and having wrote a tender Letter to the Counteſs of Berci, he diſpatched the Turnkey, whom he had made his Valet de Chambre, with it to the Caſtle of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, where he thought his Miſtreſs ſtill was, and with his other Domeſticks embarked for England, where he arrived ſafe ſoon after.

The Chevalier des Eſſars had left Gaſcony but two Days when the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur arrived there. He alighted at the Caſtle of the old Marquis des Eſſars, and was received by that Nobleman at firſt with ſome Coolneſs, his Nephew's Troubles on that Family's Account being all in his Head. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, after the firſt Compliments, inquired for the Che⯑valier, [20] and being told that he had left the Province two Days before, he proceeded to acquaint the old Marquis with the Steps which his Friends had taken in his Favour at Court. He told him, that his Father had obtained the Chevalier's Pardon of the King for the Death of the Count of Polan, upon Condition that within a Month he preſented himſelf at Paris to clear himſelf of the Count of Berci's Murder: that his Father had im⯑mediately diſpatched a Gentleman to Gaſco⯑ny with a Letter informing the Chevalier of the King's Decree, but had received no Anſwer, and the Meſſenger never returned: that the King had had the Goodneſs to grant him three Weeks longer, after which no farther Delay could be hoped for; and that, if he did not appear within that Time, he would be declared duly convicted of the Murder of which he was accuſed.

‘All France, added the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, which has been filled with the Fame of your Nephew's great Actions, aſtoniſhed at his not appearing to defend his Innocence, begin already to conclude him guilty. His Friends can no longer form Excuſes for him; and all that re⯑mains for them to do, is to preſent them⯑ſelves on the laſt Day preſcribed for the Combat to fight his Accuſers in his Stead. But what Diſgrace will this reflect upon the Chevalier, that in the Preſence of the greateſt King in the World, who has con⯑ſented [21] to this extraordinary Method of trying his Cauſe, his Friends ſhould ex⯑poſe their Lives for his Defence, while he remains in a ſhameful Security in the Heart of Gaſcony.’

The Marquis des Eſſars was charmed with the friendly Freedom of theſe Remon⯑ſtrances: he was convinced that his Nephew had great Obligations to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and recollected with Grief and Confuſion the cool Reception he had given a gallant young Nobleman, who had taken ſo long a Journey for his Nephew's In⯑tereſts: he now embraced him with great Affection, expreſſed the higheſt Senſe of the Favours the Chevalier had received from his Father, and of his own friendly Zeal in coming ſo far in Search of him. He aſſured him, that his Nephew had ſet out for Court two Days before, and did not doubt but he would appear there in Time to redeem his own Honour, and ſpare his Friends the Ne⯑ceſſity of defending his Cauſe.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur was over⯑joyed to hear that the Chevalier was gone to Paris. He complied with Monſieur des Eſſars' earneſt Invitation to ſtay one Night at his Caſtle; but could not be prevailed upon for any more. He was reſolved, how⯑ever, not to leave Gaſcony without ſeeing the celebrated Amazon, whoſe Charms had obliterated the Memory of his Siſter in the [22] Chevalier's Heart. He deſired the Marquis des Eſſars to introduce him to her; which he readily did the next Day. The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur laviſhed ſo many Enco⯑miums on Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, that the old Nobleman thought himſelf well re⯑warded for the little Journey he had taken to procure him the Sight of her. Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur and he, parted with mu⯑tual Proteſtations of Affection and Eſteem. The Marquis des Eſſars returned to his Caſtle, and de Saint-Sauveur purſued his Road to Paris.

Nothing now was talked of but the fa⯑mous Tournament that was to be held in England. The young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur catched the Contagion of the Times, and reſolved to embrace this Opportunity of ſhewing his Valour and Dexterity. He wrote Letters to his Father and to his Wife, ex⯑cuſing his Abſence a few Weeks longer: and being quite eaſy with regard to the Cheva⯑lier, who, he was aſſured, was upon his Way to Paris, he embarked at Bourdeaux, as his Friend had done a ſhort Time before him, and arrived in England eight Days before the holding of the Tournament.

Mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars had taken private Lodgings in London, and aſ⯑ſumed another Name: he gave Orders for a Suit of Armour to be made of the Colour of Aſhes, ſprinkled with ſilver Lilies, ſigni⯑fying [23] that he ſtill had Reaſons for concealing the Flames of his Love. His Deviſe was a Cupid in the Midſt of a Pile, kindled by a Lady, with this Motto: ‘He burns continually without being con⯑ſumed.’ He had a Plume of white Feathers on his Caſque. His Coat of Arms and the Furni⯑ture of his Horſe were of the ſame Colour, embroidered with Silver. Had the too cre⯑dulous and unhappy Counteſs of Berci ſeen her Lover in this Equipage, her jealous Tor⯑ments would have been changed into the ſofteſt Tranſports of Love and Gratitude, to ſee every Symbol of his myſterious Arms expreſſive of the Misfortunes he ſuffered upon her Account, and a Conſtancy which thoſe Misfortunes could not ſhake.

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, on his Arrival, cauſed Armour to be made for him covered with bright Flames. On his Shield was repreſented the God of Marriage, hold⯑ing a Lady of inchanting Beauty, tied with Bands of interweaved Lilies and Roſes, with this Motto: ‘Contented with the ſoft Bondage.’ His Plume of Feathers was Flame-Colour, and his Coat of Arms and Horſe's Furniture Flame-Colour likewiſe, richly embroidered with Gold.

[24]This magnificent Tournament, which was to laſt three Days, began before our Frenchmen's Armour was finiſhed, and this Delay mortified them extremely. By the Laws of the Tournament the Knights were to juſt with each other, with Lances tipped with Iron. He who fell in the Tilting, was not permitted to demand the Combat with the Sword: but if both the Combattants fell to the Ground, or if it happened that, after having broke two or three Lances againſt each other, they remained firm on their Horſes, in that Caſe they had a Right to demand the Combat with the Sword. If it happened alſo, that the Challengers ſhould be worſted by their Antagoniſts, the Victors were to take the Place of thoſe whom they had vanquiſhed, and were to challenge all Comers; and this Method was to be ob⯑ſerved till the End of the Tournament. Such were the Laws which a Herald at Arms, by the King's Orders, publiſhed with Sound of Trumpet, the Evening before the Tournament. The Prize, which was to be beſtowed by this Prince, was a Sword of great Value and Antiquity, being that which had been wore by the renowned King Arthur, and likewiſe a Chain of rich Jewels. The Knight, who ſhould remain victorious, was to receive the Sword from the Hands of the Prince of Wales, and the Chain from thoſe of the young Princeſs of England. It was this Princeſs who afterwards was married to a Count Palatin of the Rhine.

[25]The King and the whole Court being ſeated on Scaffolds prepared for them, the Trumpets ſounded, and immediately four Engliſh Lords of great Eminence entered the Liſts as Challengers. Nothing could be more magnificent than their Arms and Equi⯑pages. They were followed by four other Engliſhmen habited like Turks, with Tur⯑bans on their Heads, Lances in their Hands, and Scymitars at their Sides. After theſe laſt had rode round the Liſts, they placed themſelves oppoſite to the Challengers, and at the Signal given by the Trumpets, the eight Knights ran againſt each other with ſuch Impetuoſity that their Lances were ſhivered in Pieces: the four Turks were thrown to the Ground this firſt Courſe, to the great Joy of the Spectators, who filled the Air with their Acclamations. More than thirty Aſſailants, who ſucceſſively pre⯑ſented themſelves, found the ſame Fate, while the Challengers at moſt only loſt a Stirrup, or had ſome ſlight Accident; ſo that during the reſt of that Day no one was bold enough to encounter with ſuch redoutable Adverſaries: they left the Field victorious and triumphant, amidſt the Sound of war⯑like Inſtruments and Acclamations of all the admiring Spectators.

The next Day, as ſoon as the four Chal⯑lengers had taken their Places, two Strangers, whoſe noble Mien ſeemed to promiſe great Bravery, appeared at the other End of the [26] Liſts. One of them was in blue Armour, and the other in green. Two of the four Challengers immediately advanced to receive them. They lowered their Lances one againſt another, and met with ſo fierce a Shock, that thoſe of the two Challengers being ſhivered to Pieces, they were thrown off their Horſes, and the two Strangers fi⯑niſhed their Carieer without being moved, to the great Aſtoniſhment of the whole Aſ⯑ſembly. The two others who remained, ſeeing their Companions thus put out of the Combat, advanced full of a noble Rage to revenge the Shame of their Defeat. They turned their Arms immediately upon the Aſſailants, and all four performed one of the fineſt Courſes imaginable. However, they could not avoid being thrown out of their Saddles as the others had been; and the two Strangers, who had vanquiſhed the four Engliſhmen, of Aſſailants, became Chal⯑lengers, and took their Places accordingly. All the Knights, who preſented themſelves during the reſt of the Day, were vanquiſhed with ſtill leſs Difficulty than the former. Night put an End to the Juſting, and the Victors went out of the Field with the ſame Pomp and the ſame. Acclamations, as had honoured the Triumph of the Conquerors the preceding Day.

The King of England, being deſirous to know who theſe two brave Men were, ſent ſome of his Courtiers to aſk them their [27] Names and Country. But they intreated his Majeſty's Pardon for not complying with his Requeſt till the Tournament was ended, when they would not fail to pay their Re⯑ſpects to him and take his Orders.

All this paſſed before the Chevalier des Eſſars could get his Armour. He was in terrible Uneaſineſs, leſt he ſhould be pre⯑vented from ſignaliſing himſelf in this Tour⯑nament, and a thouſand times curſt the Workman's Delay: at length on the third Day, and before the Liſts were opened, his Armour was brought: he put it on imme⯑diately, and appeared among the firſt in the Field; but with ſuch a noble Fierceneſs in his Air and Mien, that he ſoon drew the Eyes of the whole Aſſembly upon him.

The two Challengers of the Day before, ſeeing him advance towards them, judged by his Appearance that he would give them Exerciſe enough; and each chooſing a very ſtrong Lance, they prepared to reſiſt his Ef⯑forts. The Knight in green Armour firſt advanced towards him, and in the Middle of the Courſe met the Chevalier, who came pouring upon him like a Whirlwind: their Lances were ſhivered to pieces on each other's Caſque, and they finiſhed their Career with⯑out any Advantage being gained on either Side, which had never happened ſince the be⯑ginning of the Tournament. New Lances being brought them, they ran againſt each [28] other a ſecond time, but with more Force and Fury than the former. The Echoes on the Shores of Thames reverberated the Sound of their redoubled Blows, and the Acclama⯑tions of the admiring Spectators. The Che⯑valier des Eſſars loſt a Stirrup, and by the Vi⯑gour of his Adverſary was obliged to ſtoop even to his Saddle-bow: but the other at the ſame Inſtant was thrown with ſuch Force to the Earth, that it was with great Diffi⯑culty he was able to riſe again; immediate⯑ly the Air was filled with joyful Acclama⯑tions which celebrated the firſt Triumph of our Hero.

The Knight in blue Armour, impatient to repair the Diſgrace of him with whom he had acquired ſo much Glory the pre⯑ceding Day, advanced immediately to meet the Chevalier. The whole Aſſembly, in an uninterrupted Silence, kept their Eyes fixed upon the two Warriors. They met with equal Impetuoſity, and ran three times againſt each other, without being ſhaken in their Saddles, to the great Aſtoniſhment of the Spectators, who were charmed with the No⯑velty of ſuch a Combat. Each having broke three Lances, they had Recourſe to their Swords. And if in juſting they had diſco⯑vered uncommon Skill and Strength, in this fierce Conflict they gave Proofs of the moſt exalted Valour. The Chevalier, mad with Rage to ſee a Man againſt whom he had broke three Lances, ſtill firm in his Saddle, [29] aimed ſo ſure a Stroke at him and with ſuch Force, that he made ſome Pieces of his Ar⯑mour fly off: his Adverſary, reſuming new Courage from the Diſdain he felt that ſuch an Advantage had been gained over him, redoubled his Efforts, and took ample Ven⯑geance on the Chevalier. The Spectators were ſeized with Horror at a Combat ſo obſtinate and fierce; it had already laſted more than an Hour, while neither of them had ſtopped to take Breath. Their Horſes were covered with Sweat and Duſt, and the Blood ran down from ſeveral Places.

The Chevalier, now perceiving that the Strength of his Antagoniſt began to fail, re⯑treated a few Steps back, and ſpoke to him in this Manner: ‘Noble Unknown, your Valour is greater than mine, although I have been more ſucceſsful than you: there⯑fore, ſince Fortune has openly declared in my Favour, content yourſelf with having given ſuch noble Proofs of Courage, and ſuffer our Conteſt to end. I eſteem and admire you for your heroic Valour; and it would fill me with Grief, if ſo brave a Man ſhould by my Sword loſe a Life which I would preſerve with the Hazard of my own.’

‘Whoever you are, replied the Unknown, I return you Thanks for your Civility: but do not imagine that I will yield the Ho⯑nour of this Day but with my Life; and [30] I will ſell it dearly.’ The Combat was now renewed with more Fury than before: but it was eaſily perceived, that the Knight in blue Armour was greatly weakened, and that, although he diſcovered amazing Cou⯑rage and Reſolution, yet it was with Diffi⯑culty he kept his Ground: but the Che⯑valier des Eſſars, always equal to him⯑ſelf, ſhewed by his unabated Strength and Vigour, that Victory, after having ſo long balanced between him and the brave Un⯑known, was going to declare for him, and that, together with the Prize, the Glory of this celebrated Tournament would be his.

The Engliſh Monarch, charmed with the Valour of theſe Rivals, commanded the Judges of the Field to ſeparate them, that the Triumph of the Victor might not be ſullied with the Death of the worthy Rival of his Glory, nor ſo noble a Solemnity be ſtained with an Event ſo tragical. He af⯑terwards decreed a Prize to be given to the four firſt Challengers who had been Victors the firſt Day, and another for the two Strangers who had triumphed the ſecond Day: the firſt Prize of all he reſerved for our Hero, in caſe he ſhould not be van⯑quiſhed by ſome other Knight before the End of the Day.

The whole Aſſembly, aſtoniſhed at the great Actions performed by the Chevalier, could not believe that any Perſon would be [31] daring enough to preſent themſelves to fight with ſo redoutable an Antagoniſt, but they were deceived: the brave Marquis de Saint-Sauveur waited with an extreme Impatience for the End of the Combat that he might offer himſelf.

The Chevalier des Eſſars, having quitted the Judges who ſeparated him and his Ad⯑verſary, remained now ſole Challenger: the Marquis going up to him, ſaluted him with great Reſpect; and obſerving that his Ar⯑mour was all hacked, and his Horſe and himſelf all covered with Sweat and Duſt, ‘Brave Stranger, ſaid he, it is with Re⯑luctance that impelled by the Deſire of Fame I demand the Combat with you: You who have but juſt finiſhed one in which you have acquired ſo much Glory, while I bring to the Field a Body not weakened by Fatigue, and Armour un⯑pierced. But if you will be ſo generous as to join your Intreaties with mine, we will endeavour to prevail upon the Engliſh Monarch to give us ſome diſtant Day, in order that you may recruit your Strength, and meet me with leſs Diſadvantage.’

‘Sir, replied the Chevalier, I am obliged to you for your good Intention; but, thank Heaven! I do not find myſelf ſo much fa⯑tigued, but that I can accept the Honour you deſign me now.’ At theſe Words they engaged, and a noble Combat enſued. [32] Victory ſtood ſuſpended for more than half an Hour, and the Chevalier was ſo hard preſſed by this brave Rival, that the Aſſem⯑bly was full of Fear, leſt he ſhould loſe at laſt the Honour of the Day. But at length a lucky Stroke, which fell with unreſiſted Force on the Neck of the Marquis, threw him off his Horſe, and at the ſame Time his Caſque fell off likewiſe, the Strings having been cut by the ſame Stroke. The two Strangers, who had been vanquiſhed by the Chevalier, and had ſtaid in the Field to view the Combat, inſtantly knew the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and ran to hinder his Anta⯑goniſt from making Uſe of the Advantage he had over him. But he was riſen before they came to his Aſſiſtance; and the Che⯑valier, who now knew him alſo, was ſeized with Grief for the Victory he had gained over the Brother of his Miſtreſs. He choſe rather to loſe the Prize of the Tournament which he had ſo nobly won, than diſcover himſelf to the Marquis, and reſolved to withdraw that Moment, ſuppoſing that it would be adjudged to him who ſtaid laſt in the Field. But before he went away, he re⯑turned him his Sword, which the Marquis had let fall, and he had taken up.

‘Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur, ſaid he, I ought to have known you by the Marks you gave of your Valour, before I diſco⯑vered your Face, and to have voluntarily abandoned to you an Honour which I now [33] ſee myſelf conſtrained to yield to your Victory, for you are ſtill unſubdued. Enjoy then your Glory and the Prize due to your Virtue, which I honour and love; and be perſuaded that I have no leſs Regret at having diſputed it with you, than Ardour for your Service.’

Saying this, without waiting for any Anſwer from the Marquis, who was in the utmoſt Aſtoniſhment at a Generoſity ſo un⯑exampled, he mounted his Horſe, and war going out of the Field, but the Marquis ſtopping him eagerly, ‘No, Sir, ſaid he, I will not ſuffer you to triumph over me this Way. I have no Pretenſions to gather thoſe Laurels you have watered with your Blood, nor to enjoy the Prize you have merited by ſuch heroic Valour. I con⯑jure you do not ſeek to cover me with Shame and Confuſion, by reſigning to me an Honour due only to yourſelf.’

The Judges approaching them, and great Crowds of Spectators preiling round them, the Chevalier found it impoſſible to eſcape, 'I proteſt (ſaid he to the Marquis, alighting from his Horſe) ‘againſt the Violence you do me; and I will continue here only to accompany you in your Triumph.’ With theſe Words he took off his Caſque, and threw himſelf into the Arms of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, who, tranſported with Joy and Wonder, claſped him cloſe to his Breaſt, [34] ‘Ah! my dear Friend, cried he, and would you thus have ſtolen yourſelf away from a Man who loves you with ſo much Ten⯑derneſs, and fly from one that has ſo anxiouſly ſought you.’ The two Strangers now advanced, and taking off their Caſques diſcovered themſelves to be the Chevalier de Morigny and the young Count of Berci: they all four embraced expreſſing, the higheſt Joy at this unexpected Meeting.

But now the Judges of the Field inter⯑rupted their mutual Embraces to lead them to the King's Scaffold. They all threw themſelves at the Feet of this Monarch, who gave them the Praiſes due to their Valour, although it was apparent that he ſaw with Regret the Glory of that Day carried off from his own Subjects by a rival Nation.

The Prince and Princeſs were juſt going to preſent the Prize to the Chevalier, who kneeled to receive it, when another Knight appeared in the Liſts, and riding haſtily up to the King's Scaffold, alighted from his Horſe and threw himſelf at his Majeſty's Feet, ‘Permit one of your own Subjects, my gracious Lord, ſaid he, to demand the Combat with this brave Warrior before you beſtow the Prize. There is ſtill Day enough left to redeem the Honour of our Nation; if not, Night can not come too to cover our Diſgrace.’

[35]The whole Aſſembly, who had with Shame and Grief beheld the Victory in the Hands of the French, ſent forth loud Accla⯑mations of Joy at this generous Requeſt. The King's Eyes ſparkled with Pleaſure, but apprehenſive that the French Noblemen might think themſelves injured, if, after having the Victory adjudged to them, he ſhould permit it to be again diſputed, he re⯑mained ſilent and penſive, unwilling to re⯑fuſe and unreſolved to grant. The Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars, perceiving his Embarraſs⯑ment, haſtened to relieve him from it, 'Great Prince,' ſaid he, advancing towards him, ‘the Laws of the Tournament will not be violated by granting the Requeſt of this Knight. The Hours which remain of this Day are more than ſufficient to trans⯑fer the Glory of it to him, if Fortune ſo pleaſes, or to ſecure it to me by his Defeat.’

Saying this, and without waiting for the King's Anſwer, he mounted his Horſe and was preparing to enter the Liſts, when the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and his three other illuſtrious Friends all at once ſeizing the Bridle, ſtopped him and declared, that they would firſt try the Force of this Engliſh Knight; and if they were overcome, they ſhould have this Conſolation in their Diſ⯑grace that he was ſtill reſerved to redeem their Fame. The Chevalier with Reluctance yielded to the Arguments of his Friends, and [36] then a generous Conteſt enſued between them who ſhould firſt engage the Engliſh Champion: but the Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur's Claim was generally admitted, as he had entered the Liſts laſt.

The Engliſh Knight, who had waited with Impatience for the End of their Con⯑teſt, now approached and told the Cheva⯑lier, That, although he ſhould be fortunate enough to vanquiſh his Countrymen, yet he did not doubt but their Valour would leave him in ſuch a Condition, that he might with leſs Shame engage with him, who had ſuſtained their firſt Efforts.

The Knights now took their Stands, the Judges of the Field reſumed their Places, the King and the whole Court ſat attentive to the approaching Combat, and the whole Aſſembly with beating Hearts and anxious Impatience expected the Event. At length the Trumpets ſounded, the Engliſh Knight and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur ſpurred forward with equal Fury, but with different Succeſs. The Marquis was thrown out of his Saddle, and the Engliſh Knight finiſhed his Career without being moved in his Seat.

This firſt Omen of Victory was received with loud Shouts of Joy. The young Count of Berci immediately prepared to run againſt the Vanquiſher, and taking a Lance out of [37] the Chevalier's Hands, ‘May this be pro⯑pitious to me!’ ſaid he; and ſpurring forwards, ſtruck it with ſuch Force on the Caſque of the Engliſh Knight that it ſhi⯑vered in Pieces, but received at the ſame Time ſuch a weighty Blow from his Hand, that, after reeling a Moment in his Saddle, he fell to the Ground, ſo ſtunned both with the Blow and the Fall, that he was not able to riſe without Help.

A ſecond time the Shouts of the raviſhed Engliſh celebrated the Victory, and gave new Spirits to their brave Champion. Shame and Indignation filled the Minds of the Che⯑valier des Eſſars and Morigny; ſcarce could the former reſtrain his Impetuoſity and hin⯑der himſelf from ruſhing to meet this re⯑doutable Foe: but he would not invade the Right of his Friend, who having now re⯑ceived a Lance from the Judges of the Field, ſettled himſelf firm in his Saddle, and all collected in his Strength, advanced to the Encounter. The Lances a Moment after were ſeen to ſhiver in Pieces with the Vio⯑lence of their Strokes, but both kept their Seats and finiſhed their Career with equal Succeſs.

This Equality gave the Engliſh ſome little Uneaſineſs. A Pauſe in the good Fortune of their Hero was not what they expected. The Heart, elated by Succeſs, extravagant in its Wiſhes, and vain in its Hopes, is the [38] more expoſed to Diſappointments, and ag⯑gravates the ſlighteſt Loſs.

The Judges of the Field having put two other Lances in the Hands of the Comba⯑tants, again they met, again the faithleſs Weapons eluded their Rage, and ſpending their harmleſs Force upon each other's Armour, ſhi⯑vered again to Pieces with the Strokes: they tried a third, and ſtill with the ſame Succeſs. And now the furious Warriors had Recourſe to the Sword: in one Inſtant they both alighted. The Engliſh Knight received a Wound in his left Arm, and the Blood was ſeen to ſtream down his Armour: but the Chevalier de Morigny, eager to ſecond his Blow, ruſhed forwards with ſuch Impetuo⯑ſity upon his Antagoniſt, that he received the Point of his Sword full in his right Side, and ſtaggering with the Pain, his Weapon forſook his Hand, and he fell ſenſeleſs at the Feet of his Conqueror.

At this Sight the Aſſembly rent the Air with their joyful Acclamations. The Mar⯑quis de Saint-Sauveur and the Count of Ber⯑ci, full of Grief and Conſternation, ran to raiſe their fallen Friend: mean Time the Chevalier des Eſſars advanced with a ge⯑nerous Indignation to meet the Victor, who was now remounted and ready to receive him. The loud Applauſes of the Spectators were now converted into a ſilent Attention. This laſt Combat was to decide the Con⯑queſt, [39] and give the Glory of the Tourna⯑ment to their own Countryman, or transfer all the Laurels he had gained to the victo⯑rious Frenchman. Both brought an equal Ardour to the Combat; both were ſtimu⯑lated by a Motive equally great and generous, the Honour of their ſeveral Nations.

The Engliſh ſent forth a loud Shout, when they ſaw their Champion bound from his Poſt and ruſh like a Whirlwind upon his Foe: but the Chevalier received him firmly in his Saddle, and without being the leaſt moved by his furious Onſet, preſented his Shield to the flying Lance on which it broke to Pieces, at the ſame darting his own at his Antagoniſt which hit him with ſuch Force that he reeled in his Saddle, loſt a Stirrup, and with Difficulty kept himſelf from falling. The Engliſh turned pale with Fear at this Advantage, while the Friends of the Chevalier des Eſſars, who knew the Greatneſs of his Strength and Courage, be⯑held it with a Confidence that ſhewed they were ſecure of Victory. In the ſecond Career the Engliſh Knight loſt a Stirrup again: but the Chevalier was ſo rudely ſhaken that he was ſeen to ſtoop even to his Saddle bow. However, the third finiſhed the Conteſt, to the utmoſt Glory of the Engliſh Champion, who run ſo furiouſly againſt the Chevalier, that with the Vio⯑lence of the Shock he was thrown to the Ground. The Air reſounded with the rap⯑turous [40] Acclamations of the whole Aſſembly, when the Victor alighting from his Horſe, approached his brave Rival, who had lightly leaped from the Ground almoſt as ſoon as he fell.

‘Noble Sir, ſaid he with, a graceful Mo⯑deſty, as I entered the Liſts only to re⯑deem the Honour of my Countrymen, I pretend not to the Prize of the Tourna⯑ment which your Valour has well de⯑ſerved, and I diſclaim all other Praiſe, but that of being found equal to you, who have ſo bravely maintained the Honour of your Nation.’

The Chevalier des Eſſars, charmed with his Generoſity and Politeneſs, took his Hand and preſſing it between his, ‘There is no Diſgrace in being vanquiſhed by ſo brave an Enemy, ſaid he; the Prize as well as the Glory of this Day, are due only to you.’

The Judges of the Field approaching, they led the Victor to the King's Scaffold. That Monarch, tranſported with Joy that the Glory of this Tournament had been pre⯑ſerved to his own Subjects, and full of Ad⯑miration for the Valour of this Britiſh Hero, deſcended two or three Steps that he might raiſe him with his own Hand. The noble Victor taking off his Caſque, the ſame Inſtant, made himſelf known to be the [41] brave Earl of Selkirk. The King felt an Increaſe of Pleaſure, when he found that his own Country had produced this bloom⯑ing Champion, and after having honoured him with an affectionate Embrace, he com⯑manded the young Princeſs his Daughter to bind the Chain of Jewels on his Neck with her own Hands, and the Prince of Wales himſelf girded on the Sword, making him at the ſame Time a graceful Complement on his Courage and Skill. All this While the Air reſounded with the joyful Acclama⯑tions of the whole Aſſembly, and the Name of Selkirk was ſhouted by ten thouſand dif⯑ferent Tongues at once.

The Victor, diſcovering a little Confuſion at ſuch loud Applauſe, took Occaſion to mention the gallant Frenchmen, extolling in the higheſt Terms the Generoſity and Politeneſs of the laſt Challenger. The King immediately diſpatched the Judges of the Field to the four brave Frenchmen, who were engaged in a tender and intereſting Converſation, with his Requeſt that they would come to his Scaffold. Accordingly they followed the Judges, and kneeling kiſſed the Hand of the Britiſh Monarch, who, after giving great Praiſes to their Valour, pre⯑ſented each of them with a fine Horſe with rich Furniture, and a Chain of Gold with a large Medal of the ſame Metal, on which was engraved his own Portrait: and under⯑ſtanding that the Chevalier des Eſſars was in [42] Diſgrace in his own Court, he offered him a very large Penſion, if he would enter in⯑to his Service, which the Chevalier politely refuſed, as he had done the Archduke when he made the ſame Offer to him: but ex⯑preſſed at the ſame Time the higheſt Ac⯑knowledgement for the Honour his Majeſty did him.

But it is now Time to account to the Reader for the accidental. Meeting of the young Count of Berci, and the Chevalier de Morigny, at the celebrated Engliſh Tourna⯑ment. The Count of Berci, after having travelled through all Germany, Switzerland and Flanders, in Search of Verague, came at length to Holland, where he was not more ſucceſsful: tired out with his fruitleſs Search, he determined to go to England, and if he did not meet with this Aſſaſſin there to re⯑turn directly to France. The Chevalier de Morigny was cruiſing near the Iriſh Seas in a Malteſe Galley, in order to give Chace to ſome Corſairs, according to the Engage⯑ments of his Profeſſion, when a violent Storm caſt him upon the Coaſt of England. While his Veſſel was refitting, he came to London, where he propoſed to ſtay a few Days to refreſh himſelf after the Dangers and Fatigues he had ſuffered at Sea.

As he was walking one Day, examining the Buildings and other Things worthy of Curioſity in that great City, he ſaw a young [43] Gentleman at a Diſtance, who he thought had greatly the Air and Look of Monſieur de Berci, Brother to his Friend the Count, and as he approached nearer, he found it was really he. The Chevalier de Morigny haſtily advanced to meet him, and embracing him, expreſſed the higheſt Satisfaction at ſo unexpected an Encounter. The Count, equally ſurpriſed and pleaſed at the Sight of the Chevalier, returned his Embrace with an affectionate Warmth. The Chevalier carried the Count home to his own Lodgings, and as he was not yet ſettled, obliged him to accept of an Apartment with him; after which they gave each other a mutual Ac⯑count of all that had happened to them ſince they laſt parted.

The unfortunate Death of the Count of Berci, which the Chevalier now firſt heard of, drew Tears in great Abundance from his Eyes; he lamented the Sufferings of his injured Widow, and expreſſed a generous Rage at the unworthy Suſpicions which had been caſt on the brave Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars. The young Count of Berci, whoſe Eyes had overflowed at the melancholy Re⯑cital of his Brother's Fate, proceeded to ac⯑quaint the Chevalier de Morigny with the Marriage of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, and Mademoiſelle de Montmartin, which was ſo far from giving him any jealous Emotions, that he felt a ſincere Joy for their Happineſs, which in ſome Meaſure alleviated [44] his Concern for the Misfortunes of the reſt of that Family.

The Preparations, which were then mak⯑ing all over London for the Tournament, inſpired the young Count of Berci with an eager Deſire to make one of the Comba⯑tants, and he earneſtly intreated the Cheva⯑lier de Morigny not to leave London without taking Advantage of this Opportunity to give ſome Proofs of that Valour which had already gained him ſo great Reputation. The Chevalier, tho' fired at the Thoughts of diſtinguiſhing himſelf at this Tourna⯑ment, yet objected the new Engagements of his Profeſſion, which did not permit him to ſeek oſtentatious Occaſions of exerciſing his Valour: but to employ it in the Service of Religion, and in revenging upon the In⯑fidels the Depredations and Cruelties they were daily committing upon thoſe Chriſtians who were ſo unhappy as to fall into their Hands. The Count of Berci eaſily found Arguments to anſwer all he could urge againſt his Requeſt, and the Chevalier ſuf⯑fered himſelf to be perſuaded to what in⯑deed he was ſufficiently inclined of himſelf.

But we will now return to our four gal⯑lant Frenchmen, who as ſoon as they re⯑tired to their Lodgings after the noble Ex⯑ploits of the Day, renewed their Embraces and tender Expreſſions of Joy for a Meeting ſo happy and ſo unexpected, The Cheva⯑lier [45] des Eſſars, being now informed by the Marquis of the urgent Reaſons which re⯑called him to the Court of France, reſolv⯑ed to wait on the King of England, to take Leave of him, and ſet out inſtantly for Paris. But, it not being poſſible for them to be introduced till after his Majeſty had dined, they were obliged to moderate their Impatience. That Prince received them very graciouſly, praiſed their Valour in very high Terms, and obligingly expreſſed his Concern that he could not detain ſuch brave Men longer in his Court. A Servant of the Chevalier's having been diſpatched to Dover, to hire a Packet-boat for their Paſſage, they returned to their Lodgings, in order to have every Thing prepared for their De⯑parture the next Day.

They were juſt going to ſit down to Sup⯑per, when they were told that a French Gentleman, who ſeemed to be in great Emotions, deſired to be inſtantly introduced to them. They gave Orders for his Admit⯑tance, and he entered the Room imme⯑diately afterwards, but inſtead of declaring his Name and Buſineſs, as they all expec⯑ted, he threw himſelf at the Feet of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and burſt into Tears.

The Chevalier, extremely ſurpriſed at this Action, endeavoured with great Gentleneſs to raiſe him, but to no purpoſe; he con⯑tinued ſtill kneeling, and ſeemed unable to [46] ſpeak through the Violence of his Emo⯑tions: at length he ventured to raiſe his Head; but his Eyes, which were drowned in Tears, had no ſooner encountered thoſe of the Chevalier, than he haſtily withdrew them again, and his Head ſinking upon his Boſom, he gave Way to another Burſt of Tears.

Mean time the Gentlemen, loſt in Aſto⯑niſhment, ſtared upon each other expecting ſome one would ſpeak and unfold the Mean⯑ing of ſo ſtrange a Scene. The Chevalier again made an Attempt to raiſe the unhap⯑py Man from his Feet, when he with a ſupplicating Look beſpeaking his Attention, and a Voice low and trembling thus ſpoke:

‘You ſee, Gentlemen, before you, a Wretch unworthy the Light of Heaven. Oh how can I tell you, who I am? How can I make the ſhocking Recital of my Crimes? My Blood congeals with Horror at the Remembrance of what I have done, impelled by a blind Paſſion, and acting under the Influence of falſe Honour. I have deſtroyed my Soul: Terror and Re⯑morſe have ſeized me, in the Torments of my Conſcience, ever ſince the Perpe⯑tration of my Crime, I have too ſure an Earneſt of Damnation. Behold in me the Aſſaſſin of the Count of Berci, I come to offer myſelf a voluntary Victim to your Vengeance, ſtrike, ſtrike, my Lord,’ pur⯑ſued [47] he to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur; tearing open his Coat and extending his Arms, ‘ſtrike the Murderer of your Siſter's Huſband; or do you, moſt noble, moſt injured Gentleman, ſaid he,’ turning to the Chevalier, ‘you whoſe ſpotleſs Fame has been blackened with my Deed, do you plunge your Sword into my Breaſt, and give me a Death too honourable for my Deſert. Alas! I acknowledge I ought to die in Torments for the Murder I have committed. I reſign myſelf into your Hands; let me ſuffer all the Rigour of the Law, I ſhall then have this Satisfac⯑tion in my juſtly merited Puniſhment, that I cleared your Innocence before I died.’

The pale, wan Countenance of the ſelf-condemned, unhappy Wretch, his emaciated Body, the deep Deſpair that ſat on every Feature, and glared wild Horror in his Eyes, his mournful Action, altogether ſo moved the Hearts of our generous French⯑men, that they felt hardly any other Emotions than thoſe of Pity for a Man who had been ſo long the Subject of their Execrations, and whom they had reſolved to ſacrifice to their juſt Revenge. But the Chevalier, harden⯑ing his Heart by the Remembrance of his dear Counteſs's Sufferings, with a Stern⯑neſs in his Voice and Eyes, that ſtruck Ter⯑ror to the Soul of the poor Criminal, though he ſought Death, cried: ‘Oh! [48] Wretch, thy Hand deprived a brave and worthy Nobleman of Life, and brought Sorrow, Shame, Impriſonment and al⯑moſt Death upon his Widow; a Wo⯑man whoſe Virtues are a Glory to her Sex. What puniſhment can equal thy Crime?’

'Alas! Monſieur,' interrupted the wretched Verague, 'I carry my Puniſhment 'about me. Here (purſued he, vehemently ſtriking his Breaſt) do I feel my Hell be⯑gun. ‘But, alas! I did not kill the Count of Berci in Malice, nor did I mean to kill him. Anxious to preſerve the Honour of a Woman I loved, and who had indeed intruſted it to my keeping, I ſtruggled to free myſelf from the Count, who holding me faſt, called aloud for Lights, in order to diſcover who I was; to prevent this, I aimed a Stroke at the Arm with which he held me, all I intended being to diſ⯑able him; but he, alas! received it in his Side. I fled confounded with Fear and Guilt, but Anguiſh and Remorſe pur⯑ſued me: that Life I had taken ſuch guilty Pains to ſave, became inſupportable to me. All I wiſhed was to clear your Fame; and I reſolved to do it by deliver⯑ing myſelf up to Juſtice. Full of theſe Thoughts, an Inclination which I had no Power to reſiſt, drew me to the Tourna⯑ment. Alas! I had no Eyes for Shew, no Taſte for Diverſion: but driven along [49] by a ſecret Impulſe, I mixed with the Croud which ſurrounded the Liſts. I knew you all, Gentlemen, immediately upon your taking off your Caſques. Providence, I thought, concurred with my Wiſhes in affording me an Opportunity to ſatisfy your Vengeance: I followed you hither, prepared to die by your Hands, or meet a more ſevere Fate from thoſe Laws which I have ſo greatly offended.’

The Chevalier, ſenſibly affected with ſo ſtriking a Proof of Penitence and awakened Honour, would that Moment have raiſed the unhappy Youth and bid him hope for Mer⯑cy, had he not thought it juſt to leave him wholly in the Power of the Count of Berci and the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, whoſe near Relation to the noble Deceaſed, gave them a better Right to diſpoſe of the Deſti⯑ny of his Murderer. They perceived his Thoughts by the ſupplicating Look he gave them, in Behalf of the wretched Offender; and both being greatly moved at the un⯑feigned Remorſe he diſcovered, aſſentingly bowed to the Chevalier, who then raiſed the unhappy Criminal, and giving him a compaſſionate Look, which penetrated to his Heart, ‘You have, ſaid he, by thus vo⯑luntarily delivering yourſelf into our Hands, given ſo convincing a Proof of your Penitence, that we cannot doubt of the Truth of thoſe Circumſtances which you alledge in Extenuation of your Guilt. [50] I am, therefore, at Liberty to aſſure you, that we remit all Thoughts of Vengeance againſt you: but it is neceſſary that you ſhould make a public Confeſſion of your Crime, that the Innocence of the Counteſs of Berci may be fully cleared. That done, I will endeavour to ſoften the Rigour of your Sentence, and ſince you have voluntarily ſurrendered your⯑ſelf up to Juſtice, Mercy, I hope, will find you.’

Verague could no otherways reply to ſuch a generous Speech than by a low Bow, and Eyes running over with Tears of Gra⯑titude and Joy. The Chevalier conſigned him to the Care of their Domeſtics, and they now ſat down to Supper with great Satisfaction, nor forgot to bleſs and praiſe that Providence, which by ſuch unexpected Means, had brought into their Power, the only Perſon who could clear the Innocence of the two illuſtrious Accuſed.

Early the next Morning, they took Leave of the Chevalier de Morigny, who was ſoon to return to Malta, and ſet out for Dover, taking Verague along with them. They em⯑barked immediately on board a ſmall Veſſel, although the Sailors aſſured them that they were threatened with a Storm, and notwith⯑ſtanding all the frightful Preſages of Dan⯑ger and of Death ſuch was their Impa⯑tience to get to France, that they inſiſted [51] abſolutely upon weighing Anchor: but we will now leave them to croſs that Arm of the Sea which ſeparates England from France, and return to Paris, where we left the lovely and unfortunate Counteſs of Berci a Prey to the moſt cruel Deſpair.

After a Stay of ten Days in Paris, ſhe concluded the Search for her would be pretty well over, and that ſhe might now proſe⯑cute her Journey to Gaſcony with ſafety. Accordingly ſhe mounted her Horſe early in the Morning, and attended by her new Servant, went out of Paris. She had not rode above half a League from that City, when ſhe ſaw at ſome Diſtance a Man on Horſeback riding very faſt towards it; as he approched nearer ſhe fancied ſhe had ſeen him before, and at length plainly knew him to be the Turnkey who had delivered her from the Little Chatelet. Her earneſt Gazing upon this Man having attracted his Attention, he ſoon diſcovered beneath that ſtrange Diſguiſe the Features of his lovely Priſoner. Overjoyed that he had found her, and that he ſhould be able to acquit himſelf of the Commiſſion his Ma⯑ſter had given him, he rode up to her and ſaid ſoftly, for fear her ſervant ſhould hear, ‘I have a Meſſage from the Chevalier des Eſſars.’

At the Sound of that Name the Blood forſook the fair Cheeks of Madam de Berci, [52] an univerſal Trembling ſeized her, ſhe dropt the Reins from her Hand, and would doubtleſs have fallen off her Horſe, had not this faithful Servant of the Chevalier, per⯑ceiving her Emotion, haſtily diſmounted and aſſiſted her to do ſo likewiſe. The Count⯑eſs a little recovered from her firſt Surpriſe, ordered her Lacquey to take Care of the Horſes, and then retiring with the Turnkey to the Shade of ſome Trees at a little Diſ⯑tance from the great Road, ſhe aſked him with a faltering Voice, ‘What he had to ſay to her?’

Du Pons, for that was his Name, then informed her of his fortunate Meeting with the Chevalier, who had delivered him out of the Hands of the Archers; that ever ſince he had lived with him in the Quality of his Valet de Chambre, and that upon his Departure for England a few Days ago, he had ordered him to go to Burgundy, and deliver her a Letter; that not finding her in that Province, and hearing ſhe was in Paris, he had determined to ſeek her in that City, and deliver his Maſter's Letter to her, tho' at the Hazard of his Life. Saying this, he took a Letter out of his Pocket and pre⯑ſented it to her, adding that his Maſter intended only to be preſent at the famous Tournament which was held in England, and would return again immediately to France.

[53]The Counteſs opened the Letter with a trembling Impatience, ſhe found it filled with the tendereſt Aſſurances of Love and Conſtancy, and a Promiſe of ſoon throw⯑ing himſelf at her Feet, notwithſtanding all the Obſtacles which oppoſed it. ‘Ah! Traitor, cried ſhe when ſhe had read it through,’ ‘muſt thou add Perjury to Ingra⯑titude, and Deceit to Inconſtancy?’ The Tears which ran in great Abundance from her charming Eyes, as ſhe pronounced theſe Words, gave the Man ſome Suſpicions of the true State of her Heart. ‘I am very ſorry, Madam, ſaid he to her, to have been the Meſſenger of News which ſeem to give you ſo much Pain.’ ‘Friend, replied the Counteſs, you may tell your Maſter that he might have ſpared this In⯑ſtance of Deceit, nor attempted to im⯑poſe upon one who too well knew his In⯑conſtancy: tell him I never more deſire to hear him named. His diſſembled Love has been the Ruin of my Reputation, and the Cauſe of all the Misfortunes of my Life, which his Infidelity will ſoon put a Period to.’

‘Ah! Madam, interrupted the faithful Du-Pons, do not, I conjure you load my Maſter with this unjuſt Reproach, nor deprive yourſelf of the Glory of being ſerved by the moſt faithful Lover that ever any Lady could boaſt.’

[54] ‘You ſurpriſe me greatly, Friend, an⯑ſwered the Counteſs, by this Language; but I conjure you, if you have not en⯑tirely loſt that Zeal you formerly expreſ⯑ſed for my Service, or rather if your new Maſter has not corrupted your Mind, and rendered it as perfidious as his own, tell me the Truth, diſguiſe nothing from me. What could induce him to write to me in ſuch paſſionate Terms, when his Heart is enflamed by a new Object; an arca⯑dian Huntreſs, added ſhe, ſmiling ſcorn⯑fully, a Puppet dreſt up with a Bow and Arrows, a mock Diana with a borrowed Form. Deſpicable Wretch! to fall from loving me to her.’

‘Good Heaven, Madam, interrupted the faithful Domeſtic of the Chevalier, how have, you ſuffered yourſelf to be deceiv⯑ed? What a cruel, what an unjuſt Opi⯑nion have you entertained of the beſt and braveſt of Men? Pardon, I beſeech you, Madam, the Freedom of my Ex⯑preſſions, and impute it to my Zeal for your Intereſt, and my Regard for Truth, my Maſter never loved the Lady you mention. His Uncle introduced him un⯑awares into her Company, he beheld her with Indifference, and when in Obe⯑dience to the Commands of the old Mar⯑quis, who paſſionately wiſhed for an Al⯑liance between them, he made her ſome Viſits, he behaved with a Coldneſs and [55] Reſerve which muſt have convinced her, his Heart was otherways engaged. He went to England with no other View but to avoid the Neceſſity of ſeeing her, or break⯑ing entirely with his Uncle; and you may depend upon it, Madam, the Chevalier will never return into Gaſcony till he hears that young Lady is married, for her Beau⯑ty, in which ſhe yields to none of her Sex but to you, her immenſe Fortune, and the earneſt Deſires of his Uncle for this Match, were never able to ſhake his unalterable Affection for you.’

The Counteſs felt her Heart eaſed inſen⯑ſibly of part of its Grief by this honeſt and artleſs Defence of her Lover. But curious to know every Particular concerning this dreaded Rival, ſhe aſked Du Pons a hundred Queſtions about her. His Replies gave her infinite Satisfaction, for ſhe found ſhe was not inferiour to her in any of the Graces and Virtues of her Sex. The martial Spi⯑rit of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and her Taſte for maſculine Exerciſes, were Qua⯑lities indeed ſhe did not poſſeſs, and would have envied them in no other Woman but her Rival: but ſhe now fancied they gave peculiar Charms. She figured to herſelf a young and beautiful Girl dreſt in the pleaſ⯑ing Extravagance of an Amazon, vaulting upon her Steed like a winged Mercury, as the Poet expreſſes it, and brandiſhing a Spear in one lovely Hand, and by its [56] graceful Motion ſhewing the beautiful Sym⯑metry of her whole Form, her Eyes ſpark⯑ling with redoubled Rays, and her whole Countenance animated with that daring Spirit which diſtinguiſhed her from other Women, and exalts her Beauty to ſome⯑thing more than mortal.

Thus did her jealous Fancy paint Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt: ſhe admired the beautiful Picture; ſhe wiſhed to copy its Graces, emulous of that Part of her Ri⯑val's Character in which ſhe only could excel her, ſhe aſpired to the Fame of a warlike Beauty, ſhe would like her, ſtudy to be fiercely charming, in ſhort ſhe would be an Amazon, and was reſolved to give her Lover ſuch a Proof of her heroic Cou⯑rage and Generoſity, as ſhould render her ſuperiour to her Rival in thoſe Qualities for which ſhe ſuppoſed he admired her.

This fantaſtic Deſign, thus ſuddenly formed, ſhe told Du Pons, that the account he had given of his Maſter having in part removed her Suſpicion, ſhe would deſiſt from the Enterpriſe ſhe had in hand when ſhe met him, and would return to Paris, but deſired that he would wait her Com⯑mands in Eſtampes, where he might re⯑main concealed, and that he ſhould hear from her in a few Days. Du Pons, who had watched her Countenance, and ſaw in it a much greater Appearance of Tranquility and [57] Compoſure than before, was charmed that he had rendered ſuch an acceptable Piece of Service to his Maſter, as reſtoring him to the good Opinion of the Woman he ſo paſſionately loved, promiſed not to ſtir from Eſtampes till he received her Orders. Ma⯑dam de Berci then took Leave of him, and mounting her Horſe, returned back to Paris, and went to her former Lodg⯑ings, from whence ſhe diſpatched her Servant to an Armourer to beſpeak a compleat Suit of Armour, and to finiſh it with all Expedition.

The Counteſs of Berci had formed no leſs a Deſign than to challenge the Count of Polan, in behalf of her Lover: if ſhe ſhould happen by ſome extraordinary Chance to overcome, the Glory was apparent, and if ſhe fell, as it was but too probable, ſhe ſhould at leaſt have the Satisfaction to die in Defence of the Man who had ungrate⯑fully abandoned her for a leſs worthy Wo⯑man. So extraordinary a Flight of Gene⯑roſity, would, as ſhe conceived, crown her with immortal Fame, and give her ſuch an Advantage over her Rival, as would leave her nothing to hope for whether ſhe lived or died, as it muſt fix her unalterably in the Chevalier's Affections.

The Reader will eaſily conceive, that the Reaſon of this unhappy Lady muſt be greatly diſturbed, otherways ſhe could not [58] have formed ſo ridiculous a Project. But there was female Pride, Envy, and Jealouſy at the Bottom, Paſſions very capable of in⯑ſpiring thoſe extravagant Deſigns which this poor Lady proſecuted with ſo much Ardour.

The Armour for our new Amazon was finiſhed, and brought home about ten Days before the Time preſcribed by the King for the Combat between the Count of Po⯑lan and the Chevalier des Eſſars. She put it on immediately, and being now armed from Head to Foot, ſhe fancied a Spirit unfelt before invigorated every Limb. Her Stature ſeemed taller than uſual, her Step was firmer, her Boſom glowed with mar⯑tial Heat, and breathing Defiance and De⯑ſtruction to all her Enemies, ſhe ſallied out of Paris with her faithful Attendant, and lodged that Night at Surene, from whence ſhe ſent her Servant the next Day with the following Letter to the Count of Polan.

The Counteſs having informed her Ser⯑vant where to find the Count of Polan, mounted immediately on Horſe-back com⯑pleatly armed, and went to attend the Count's coming, on the fine Plain which lies between Surene and the Abbey of Lon⯑champ, commanding her Servant to meet her there as ſoon as he had executed his Commiſſion.

This Domeſtic ſet out inſtantly on his little Journey, and being no leſs prompt in his Obedience, than faithful to his Truſt, although he knew not who his new Ma⯑ſter was, he made ſuch Haſte that he found the Count of Polan ſtill in Bed, when one of his Pages, urged by his Importu⯑nity, [60] introduced him into his Lord's A⯑partment.

The Count was awake, ruminating on the Charms of the Counteſs of Berci, when her Challenge was put into his Hand. Little did he imagine that it was from ſo fair an Enemy, he received ſuch a fierce Defiance: after reading the Billet atten⯑tively, he began to conſider what he ought to do, in a Circumſtance ſo perplexing: he felt an extreme Curioſity to know who this Friend of the Chevalier was, who con⯑cealed his Name ſo carefully, yet was not afraid to expoſe his Life to defend his Ho⯑nour and clear his Innocence. He aſked the Counteſs's Servant ſeveral Queſtions, but could draw nothing from him. He knew not what Expedient to uſe to ſatisfy this unknown Enemy: for brave and va⯑liant as he was, he was ſenſibly grieved to be obliged to refuſe his Challenge. But he was not willing to make a private Duel forbidden by the Laws, of a Combat au⯑thoriſed by the King. He therefore reſolv⯑ed to refuſe the Challenge, and anſwered the Letter he received, in the following Terms.

The Count, after delivering this Billet in⯑to the Hands of Madam de Berci's Servant, diſmiſſed him, and remained in great Per⯑plexity [62] concerning the Name of this un⯑known Enemy, who with ſuch Boldneſs defied him to a Combat, their Sovereign had expreſsly forbid. At firſt he ſuſpected it was the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, with whom he had already fought, and who he ſuppoſed was not ſincerely reconciled to him. A Moment afterwards he imagined it was the Chevalier des Eſſars himſelf, who was deſirous of changing into a private Duel a Combat which the King had decreed to be public. Many different Suſpicions roſe in his Mind: but not being able to come to any Certainty, he reſolved to wait patiently for farther Information, and to ſubmit to the King's Orders, by referring all to a public Deciſion.

Mean Time our fair Challenger received the Count's Anſwer with great Concern. She found, ſhe ſhould be obliged to defer the Project her Head and Heart was full of, till the Time preſcribed by the King for the Combat: and not knowing what to do with herſelf the eight Days that ſtill remained, ſhe reſolved to retire to Eſtampes, where ſhe had a Kinſwoman, Abbeſs of a Convent, to whom ſhe could fly for Refuge, if ſhe hap⯑pened to be diſcovered, and who would af⯑ford her a ſafe as well as honourable Aſylum.

While the Counteſs of Berci thus acted Extravagancies unworthy of her Sex, her [63] Modeſty and Prudence, the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, her Father, finding the Day of Combat approach without hearing any News either of the Chevalier, or his Son, became extremely enraged againſt them both. However he would not abandon the Intereſts of that Hero to whom he owed ſo many Obligations, but determined, not⯑withſtanding his Age and Weakneſs, to ſup⯑port them againſt the Count of Polan. Like⯑wiſe the old Marquis des Eſſars, having been informed by the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur of the State of his Nephew's Affairs at the Court of France, ſet out from Gaſcony a few Days after that young Noble⯑man left him, in order to undertake his Nephew's Defence, for his Heart miſgave him, that not knowing his Majeſty's Reſo⯑tion, he had taken another Rout.

Accordingly on the Day of Battle, three Champions for the Chevalier des Eſſars en⯑tered the Liſts. Theſe were the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, the Marquis des Eſſars, and the Counteſs of Berci; two feeble old Men and a Woman: yet in the two for⯑mer the Want of Strength and Vigour was ſupplied by Courage and Reſolution, and in the latter by all thoſe Paſſions which Rage produces in the Breaſt of a Woman who loves, and believes herſelf ſlighted.

At the other End of the Liſts entered the young Count of Polan, completely armed; [64] and a few Moments afterwards came the King, the Queen, the Princes of the Blood, the Peers of France, and all the great Offi⯑cers of the Crown: four of whom were eſta⯑bliſhed Judges of the Combat according to the ancient Laws and Cuſtoms of the Kingdom.

When their Majeſties were ſeated upon their Scaffold, the three unknown Knights advanced and ſaluted them without diſco⯑vering themſelves, but only declared that they were come to defend the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, not only againſt the Count of Polan, but againſt all thoſe who ſhould dare to accuſe him of having killed the late Count of Polan otherways than as a Man of Honour ſhould in a fair Duel. They then intreated his Majeſty, that they three might be permitted to fight with the Count of Polan, and any two of his Friends whom he ſhould chuſe: but the Count would have no Second, and offered to fight them one after another as long as he had any Strength left.

The King would grant neither of their Requeſts. He commanded the three Un⯑known to draw Lots who ſhould fight with the Count of Polan, and declared, that if he, upon whom the Lot ſhould fall, ſhould be vanquiſhed, neither of the others ſhould be permitted to ſupport the Intereſts of the Chevalier des Eſſars, but that the Combat [65] ſhould end with the Defeat of the firſt. Al⯑though this Decree was abſolutely juſt, yet the three Unknown were ſenſibly grieved at it: each dreaded he ſhould be excluded from the Combat, but our fair Champion was in deſpair, ſhe ſuſpected her bad For⯑tune would deny her the Glory of defending her Lover's Fame, and by that Means of enjoying his Affections undivided; but there was no Remedy, ſhe was obliged to ſubmit, and advanced with the two others who were required to tell their Names. Monſieur de Saint-Sauveur anſwered the firſt, that he was called the Knight of the Eagle; the Marquis des Eſſars, that he was the Knight of the Lion, and Madam de Berci called herſelf the Knight without Hope, to expreſs her unhappy Situation.

Theſe Names being writ, each upon a ſmall Bit of Paper, they were put into an Urn, and a little Boy, who was there for that purpoſe, was juſt preparing to draw them when a fourth Combatant appeared in the Liſts, who ſoon drew the Eyes of the whole Aſſembly upon him. He was mount⯑ed on a Spaniſh Genet, white as the driven Snow, his Arms of the ſame Colour, and richly adorned with Silver. The Deviſe upon his Shield was a Cupid who ſlung himſelf among a great Quantity of Darts and Javelins, with this Motto: Notwith⯑ſtanding I am defenceleſs, yet I fear not their Points.

[66]After ſaluting the King and Queen, with⯑out diſcovering himſelf any more than the others had done, he told his Majeſty, that, having more Intereſt in this Combat than any of thoſe who had preſented themſelves, he deſired his Juſtice would interpoſe, and give him the Preference, or at leaſt that he might be permitted to draw Lots with them.

The King granted the latter Part of his Requeſt, and the New Comer ſtyling him⯑ſelf the Knight of Monſieur des Eſſars, that Title was wrote upon a Bit of Paper which was put into the Caſque with the others; they ſhook them a long Time together, while each with mingled Hope, Fear and Impa⯑tience, waited to ſee in whoſe Favour For⯑tune would declare herſelf. At length the Boy drew the laſt Comer's Billet out of the Caſque: the three others were greatly griev⯑ed at their Diſappointment, and equally complained of his Arrival, and their own ill Luck.

The Judges now commanded the Field to be cleared. The Combatants withdrew to their ſeveral Places, the Trumpets gave the Signal, and after having taken their Ca⯑reer they ſpurred their Horſes towards each other, and met with ſuch Violence that their Lances, ſtriking againſt the Viſors of their Helmets, broke in a thouſand Pieces: they now drew their Swords and began a [67] new Combat with equal Fury and with equal Succeſs. The Count of Polan was with Juſtice thought one of the moſt valiant Men in France, nor was his Enemy infe⯑riour to him either in Strength, Skill or A⯑gility. The Combat had now laſted above an Hour without any viſible Advantage on either Side; the Judges obliged them to take Breath for ſome Moments, and while with a gloomy ſilence they darted fiery Glances at each other, the Aſſembly, loſt in Admiration of their Courage and Valour, ſent forth loud Shouts of Applauſe, and ex⯑pected the Event of ſuch an extraordinary Combat with extreme Impatience.

Some made Vows for one, ſome for the other, as their different Paſſions were en⯑gaged: but the two old Marquis's and the Counteſs of Berci, although grieved that they were deprived of the Glory of ſuch a Day, implored with Ardour the Aſſiſtance of Heaven in Favour of him, who with ſo much Honour, ſupported the Cauſe of the Chevalier des Eſſars.

The two Combatants were preparing to renew the Fight, when a Gentleman ſud⯑denly entered the Field; crying out that he had ſomewhat of great Importance to declare to the King. The Croud made Way for him to the King's Scaffold, where as ſoon as he arrived, he made a moſt pro⯑found Obeiſance and deſired his Majeſty's [68] Permiſſion to declare what he knew con⯑cerning the Death of the Count of Polan; to which the King conſenting he ſpoke in this Manner.

‘It was but a few Hours ago, Sire, that I heard your Majeſty had permitted a Combat between the young Count of Polan and the Chevalier des Eſſars, or any Friend of his who in his Abſence ſhould undertake his Defence. I was Maſter of the Horſe to the deceaſed Count, and was preſent at his Death. No one but myſelf can inform your Majeſty of the Manner of it, ſince I was unhappy enough to ſee my dear Maſter fall, and to cloſe his Eyes. The Chevalier and he fought with equal Succeſs for ſome Time; at length my Maſter received a mortal Wound: the Chevalier retired inſtantly with his Maſter of the Horſe, who beſides myſelf was the only Witneſs of the Com⯑bat. I flew inſtantly to my dear Maſter, I ſupported him in my Arms; theſe were the laſt Words he ſpoke to me:’

‘It is but juſt that I ſhould fall by the Hand of the Chevalier des Eſſars, I have injured him: the Vengeance he has taken is brave and lawful, Heaven has given the Victory to him that de⯑ſerved it; I forgive him my Death, which I have juſtly merited; and from the Good⯑neſs of God and through my ſincere Re⯑pentance [69] for the Crime I have committed, I hope for Pardon and Salvation.’

‘He ſaid no more, and, ſtifled with his Blood, he loſt at one Inſtant both Speech and Life. I was not able to continue in Paris after the Loſs of ſo good a Maſter. I travelled through Italy and Flanders, amuſing my Melancholy with a Variety of different Objects. When Time had a little ſoftened my Grief, I returned to my own Country, on my Arrival at Paris the firſt News I heard was of the Combat your Majeſty had permitted, whereupon I came immediately hither, to declare to your Majeſty my Maſter's laſt Words, to the end that you may make ſuch Uſe of them as your Wiſdom and Equity ſhall ſuggeſt.’

When this Gentleman had done ſpeak⯑ing, a confuſed Murmur aroſe in the Aſ⯑ſembly, which broke out at length into Shouts and Exclamations, ſuch was the al⯑moſt univerſal Joy at this Confirmation of the Chevalier's Innocence: when the Noiſe was a little abated, the King commanded the two Combatants to draw near his Scaf⯑fold, and then addreſſing himſelf to the Un⯑known, he aſked him what Proof he had of the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, which he defended with ſuch Confidence and Bravery.

[70] ‘I have no other, Sire, replied the Un⯑known, than the Glory he has acquired by thoſe many brave Actions he has performed, and which makes it highly improbable he could be guilty of a baſe Aſſaſſination.’

‘And you, Count, ſaid the King, what Aſſurance have you, that the Chevalier des Eſſars aſſaſſinated your Brother?’

‘Sire, replied the Count, I know that the Chevalier des Eſſars killed my Bro⯑ther: I know that he called him to the Field, and no Seconds being employed, it is highly probable, conſidering the re⯑markable Bravery and Skill of my Bro⯑ther, that the Chevalier took him at ſome unfair Advantage: but be that as it will, my Brother died by his Hands, and I hold my ſelf obliged in Honour to re⯑venge his Death.’

‘There is more Paſſion and Prejudice than Honour in your Procedure, replied the King, frowning, and know to your Confuſion and Remorſe, that I have ſuf⯑ficient Proofs of your Brother's being the Aggreſſor in this Quarrel, and (in a low Voice he added) that he juſtly merited his End. This Man whom you ſee here, and probably know to have be⯑longed to your Brother, was preſent at his Death, and will inform you of ſuch [71] Circumſtances, as will put his Fault out of Doubt. I therefore, purſued his Ma⯑jeſty raiſing his voice, declare the Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars innocent of the Aſſaſſina⯑tion of the late Count of Polan your Brother: it is my Will that you never more mention this Affair to his Diſho⯑nour, and I command you to embrace not only this Enemy whoſe Force you have ſo lately proved, but alſo the three others who offered to fight with you in Defence of the Chevalier's Innocence.’

The Count was too politic a Courtier to diſobey this Command: without anſwering the King any otherways than by a low Bow, he remitted his Sword to the Scab⯑bard, and taking off his Helmet, advanced with open Arms towards that Enemy whoſe Blood he had before ſo anxiouſly ſought.

The Unknown not willing to be outdone in Politeneſs, came forwards with equal Ea⯑gerneſs to receive him, and holding out one Hand to the Count's offered friendly Graſp, with the other pulled off his Helmet, and by the fair long Hair which fell in graceful Curls all over her Shoulders, diſcovered that that Courage and Valour, which had at⯑tracted ſo much Admiration, were exerted by a young and moſt beautiful Woman.

A thouſands Shouts and Acclamations ſucceeded to the general Surpriſe. The [72] Count, who at the firſt Sight of his fair Ene⯑my, had ſtarted back in Aſtoniſhment, re⯑mained for ſome Moments immoveable, with his Eyes fixed on her Face. His firſt Emo⯑tions were all Shame and Regret, at his having found in a Woman, an Enemy ſo redoubtable: but when he had well exami⯑ned that lovely Face, he found her Charms more dangerous even than her Sword, and loſing all Remembrance of the Counteſs of Berci, whom he deſpaired of ever obtaining, he left his Liberty at the Feet of the fair Warrior, and kiſſing her Hand, vowed to acknowledge her ever for his Conqueror.

The old Marquis des Eſſars acknowledg⯑ing Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt in the Per⯑ſon of the fair Defender of his Nephew's Honour, came eagerly up to ſalute her, and taking her Hand led her to his Ma⯑jeſty. Henry, ever gallant and polite to Ladies, expreſſed his Admiration of the ex⯑traordinary Beauty and wonderful Quali⯑ties of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, in Terms capable of ſatisfying the moſt vain and ambitious of the Sex: the charming Amazon by a modeſt Bluſh, and Eyes caſt down in ſweet Confuſion, made it evident ſhe had not in her maſculine Acquirements, loſt any of the female Graces. She kneel⯑ed graceful upon one Knee to the King, and made a Motion to kiſs his Hand: but that Prince inſtantly raiſing her, gallantly preſt her Lips with his, telling her that [73] ſuch Charms exacted a ſweet Homage from the whole World. He then preſented her himſelf to the Queen.

‘Behold, Madam, ſaid he to that Prin⯑ceſs, a new Amazon, whoſe Beauty yields not to the Faireſt, nor whoſe Valour to the Braveſt in my Kingdom: you have often heard of Cavalier's fighting in Honour of Ladies, but you have now ſeen a fair Lady expoſing her Life to defend the Honour, and aſſert the Innocence of an illuſtrious Cavalier.’ The Queen expreſſed great Admiration of the charming Warrior, and would not ſuffer her to kiſs her Iland, but ſaluted her with much Civility.

While the thoughts of the whole Aſſem⯑bly were employed on ſo new and ſurpriſing a Spectacle, the unfortunate Counteſs of Berci under her martial Diſguiſe remain⯑ed in a Situation truly pitiable. She ſaw that Glory, ſhe was ſo ambitious of gain⯑ing and upon which ſhe had founded all her Hopes of fixing the Chevalier hers, ſnatched from her by a Rival, and a Rival ſo worthy to be loved, that ſhe could not doubt of her Power over any Heart ſhe wiſhed to gain; ſhe reflected with the moſt poignant Grief upon the violent Affection Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt bore to the Chevalier, which had led her from the Ex⯑tremities of the Kingdom to expoſe her Life in ſo dangerous a Combat, an Affection ſo [74] like her own, equal in its Force, and made more certain by its Conſequences. She was now concerned that the Chevalier would not be able to defend himſelf againſt the powerful Charms and ſtrong Affection of that wonderful Girl, and that he would love her with an Ardour equal to the Paſ⯑ſion ſhe felt for him. With inconceivable Affliction ſhe obſerved the extraordinary Reſpect and Tenderneſs ſhewn her by the old Marquis des Eſſars, and thence drew a Proof of her Lover's Infidelity, and declared Intention to marry her. A thouſand times more wretched than before, ſhe withdrew unnoticed from the Aſſembly, and took the Road immediately to Eſtampes.

The King having given a very gracious Reception to the Marquiſes des Eſſars, and de Saint-Sauveur, who both made them⯑ſelves known to him, enquired for the third Champion who had preſented himſelf to fight with the Count of Polan. The two Marquiſes declared they knew him not, nor what was become of him. The King cu⯑rious to know who he was, ordered an Ex⯑empt of his Guards to ſeek for him, and inform himſelf of his Name and Quality. His Majeſty then went into his Coach with the Queen, and returned to the Louvre fol⯑lowed by the whole Court.

It would be difficult to give the Reader an Idea of the Joy felt by the two good [75] old Champions at hearing the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, publicly declared by the Mouth of the beſt and greateſt King in the World: the Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur had now nothing more to wiſh for, than that his Daughter's Fame might be as fully cleared, which the ſtrong Prejudice againſt the Chevalier, being ſo happily re⯑moved, made Way for. As for the old Marquis, charmed into Rapture by the noble Action of Mademoiſelle de Gevin⯑court; he was full of Hopes that his Ne⯑phew's Gratitude being ſo much engaged, he would be no longer able to re [...]u [...] his Hand to a Woman, who on ſo many Ac⯑counts, merited his utmoſt Affection.

But it is now Time to return to the Chevalier, whom we left with his Compa⯑nions croſſing that Arm of the Sea which ſeparates England from France.

Their Veſſel had yet made but little Way, when the Storm increaſing, they ſuffered during this ſhort Voyage a thouſand terrible Dangers. The Sky became obſcured with thick black Clouds, which covered them with a fearful Darkneſs, interrupted only by In⯑tervals with the horrid Glare of Light⯑nings, ſucceeded by Thunder-claps ſo loud, and long, as if the World was burſting. The furious Winds blew with ſuch Violence and put the Waves into ſuch Agitation, that ſometimes their little Veſſel was lifted [76] aloft to the Clouds, and ſometimes the Bil⯑lows breaking beneath it, they ſeemed ſwal⯑lowed in the vaſt Abyſs.

The Pilot diſmayed, endeavoured for ſome Moments to reſiſt the Storm, and vainly guided the uſeleſs Rudder; but was at length obliged to quit it. The Sailors in wild Conſternation, no longer obeyed his Direc⯑tions; and the Terror and Confuſion in the Veſſel was ſo great, that nothing was heard but diſmal Cries, confounded with the roar⯑ing of the Winds, the daſhing of the Waves and loud Peals of Thunder, that filled every Breaſt with Horror unſpeakable.

The Pilot being perſuaded that the Veſ⯑ſel would be wrecked, and willing to take care of himſelf, jumped into the Boat with an Intention to eſcape; but the Chevalier des Eſſars, who was attentive to all that paſ⯑ſed, perceiving his Intention, leaped in⯑ſtantly after him, and holding his drawn Sword to his Breaſt, threatened to take away his Life immediately if he did not reſume the Government of the Helm. The terrified Pilot ſeeing Death on all Sides, choſe rather to hazard being ſhipwrecked, than meet the Rage of the furious Chevalier: but as he was preparing to climb up the Side of the Veſſel, a Wave daſhed againſt the Boat with ſuch Violence as broke the Rope with which it was faſtened to the Ship, and in a Moment it was driven from [77] it to ſuch a Diſtance, that all their Endea⯑vours to join it again, were fruitleſs.

The Chevalier in an Exceſs of Rage to be parted thus from his Friends, would have ſacrificed the Wretch who was the Cauſe of this Accident, to his juſt Revenge, if he had not had Occaſion for his Skill to ſave the Boat from periſhing. Mean time his Friends loſing Sight of the Boat did not doubt but it was ſwallowed up by the Waves, and abandoned themſelves to Complaints and Deſpair for the Loſs of the Chevalier. Their Veſſel for twenty four Hours continued to be toſt by the Tempeſt; at length the Winds ceaſed, the Sky became ſerene, and they were landed ſafely at the Port of Ca⯑lais. Their happy Deliverance inſpired them with ſome Hopes that the Chevalier alſo might have eſcaped; but the Uncertainty of his Fate filled them with the moſt poignant Grief. Although they would willingly have ſtaid at Calais, till they had received ſome certain Accounts of him, yet his Honour and Intereſt required that they ſhould haſten immediately to Paris, that they might be time enough for the Combat with the Count of Polan, for they both were determined to defend his Innocence to the laſt drop of their Blood: accordingly they lay but one Night at Calais and ſet out early the next Morn⯑ing for Paris; nevertheleſs they could not get there with Verague, till the Day after [78] the Combat, which was a ſenſible Morti⯑fication to them both.

The melancholy News they brought con⯑cerning the Chevalier, filled the old Mar⯑quis des Eſſars with inconceivable affliction. The whole Family of Saint-Sauveur mourn⯑ed his Loſs with as many Tears as if he had been one of their neareſt Relations. No one doubted that he had periſhed in the Boat: but altho' he had indeed been expoſed to ſtill greater Danger than his Friends, yet Provi⯑dence delivered him likewiſe, the Boat was caſt on the Iſland of Jerſey, from whence, after a ſhort Stay to refreſh themſelves, the Chevalier and the Pilot embarked on board a Veſſel bound for Normandy, and arriving happily at Rouen, the Chevalier ſtopped there a few Days, in order to purchaſe Horſes, Arms and Cloaths, for he was deſtitute of all.

In the mean Time Du Pons, his faithful Valet meeting at Paris the Biſcayan who be⯑longed to the Chevalier, and who had come thither with the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur and the Count of Berci, he learned from him the ſad News of his Maſter's Shipwreck. The poor Fellow in the utmoſt Agony of Grief, reſolved to go in Search of the Chevalier; not being able to bear the cruel Uncertainty he was in; but apprehenſive of the Deſpair to which he knew the Counteſs of Berci was reduced, for he had carefully watched all her Mo⯑tions, [79] he would not leave Paris till he had acquainted her Relations with the Place of her Retreat, and provided for her Safety: he therefore went immediately to the old Mar⯑quis de Saint Sauveur, and informed him that the Perſon who called himſelf the Knight without Hope, and who had pre⯑ſented himſelf on the Day of Combat to fight the Count of Polan, was no other than his own Daughter, who upon the Sight of the fair Amazon had left the Aſſembly in Deſpair and retired to Eſtampes, where ſhe had remained concealed for eight Days before, waiting for that of the Combat; he added that he had indeed engaged his word to her not to diſcover her to any one, nevertheleſs the terrible Situation to which ſhe was reduced from her Jealouſy and Grief, had made him diſpenſe with his Promiſe, which he could not keep but to her Prejudice.

The Marquis, after rewarding this faithful Domeſtic for his care, communicated what he had heard immediately to his Wife and Son. The old Marchioneſs was overjoyed to hear News of her Daughter, and the Hope of folding her again in her Arms, baniſhed all Reflection upon the Extrava⯑gance of her Conduct. But it was not the ſame with the young Marquis de Saint-Sau⯑veur, he was inexpreſſibly grieved at the Diſhonour he conceived his Siſter had brought upon herſelf and her Family, by [80] Expedition which nothing but Madneſs could excuſe.

The old Marquis ordered him to ſet out inſtantly for Eſtampes, but ſeeing Fury in his Eyes, he recommended it to him to treat his Siſter with the utmoſt Gentleneſs, ſince it was to be feared that if any Reſent⯑ment was ſhewn to her, it might produce ſtill worſe Conſequences. The young Mar⯑quis promiſed to obey his Father's Inſtruc⯑tions and took Horſe immediately for E⯑ſtampes: when he came to the Houſe where our fair Adventurer lodged, it was quite Night, the Counteſs was retired to her Chamber, the Door of which ſhe had ſo well faſtened within, that the young Mar⯑quis, who had in vain endeavoured to open it without Noiſe, was forced to knock loudly for Admittance.

Madam de Berci, before ſhe would open the Door, put on her Armour, in order to be better concealed. Her Brother upon his Entrance ſeeing her in ſuch a ridiculous Equipage, could not help laughing, though his Heart was torn with Grief and Shame. Rage now taking full Poſſeſſion of him, he loaded her with the moſt cruel Re⯑proaches, as ſhe ſtood trembling before him; he enlarged upon the Affliction her Parents had ſuffered, upon her Account; and giving her romantick Expedition a [81] thouſand cruel Epithets, he told her, her Re⯑putation was ruined for ever.

The poor frighted Counteſs now plainly knew that ſhe had been betrayed by the Che⯑valier's Valet de Chambre, and that her whole Secret was known; inſtead therefore of offering at any Excuſe, or reſenting her Brother's injurious Expreſſions, ſhe took off her Caſque, and without anſwering a ſingle Word, let fall a Shower of Tears.

The young Marquiſs was greatly affect⯑ed with this ſoft, and humble Deportment of his Siſter, he curſt his own Violence of Tem⯑per, and catching her as ſhe was ready to ſink in his Arms, he embraced her tender⯑ly, aſked her Pardon for the cruel Invec⯑tives he had uttered, and endeavoured to conſole her, by all the Arguments that Ten⯑derneſs and Compaſſion could ſuggeſt. As he had been informed of what ſhe had ſuf⯑fered from that moſt violent and impetuous of all Paſſions, Jealouſy, he omitted no⯑thing which he thought could undeceive her with regard to the Suſpicions ſhe had entertained of the Infidelity of her Lover. He gave her a long and particular Account of all that had happened to the Chevalier in Gaſcony and England, and endeavoured to convince her by a thouſand Circum⯑ſtances that he had always loved her with the utmoſt Ardour. He leſſened indeed the Danger in which he had left him, when [82] the Boat was unfortunately ſeparated from their Veſſel, but he could not diſguiſe from her the Apprehenſions he was under with regard to his Safety.

At this melancholy Recital, the Counteſs felt all her Tenderneſs for this unfortunate Lover renewed. Her Jealouſy vaniſhed in a Moment, or gave place to Emotions of a very different Nature: his Danger only employed her Thoughts, and filled her with a thouſand dreadful Apprehenſions. She was not capable of taſting any Joy for the fortunate Meeting with Verague, important as it was for the Juſtification of her Inno⯑cence: the Idea of her beloved Chevalier periſhing in the Waves, engroſſed her whole Soul and made her inſenſible to every Thing elſe. In this cruel Situation of Mind, ſhe told her Brother, that after the ſtrange Step ſhe had taken, which would cover her with everlaſting Confuſion, ſhe had not the Con⯑fidence to meet the Looks of her offended Parents, and that before he had diſcovered her, it was her Intention to have retired to Eſtampes in the Convent of which their Kinſwoman was Abbeſs, and ſhe now beg⯑ged that he would permit her to proſecute her Deſign, ſince if it was certainly true that the Chevalier was ſhipwrecked, ſhe was determined to paſs the reſt of her Days there.

[83]The Marquiſs would not then contend with her, about her withdrawing entirely from the World, if the Chevalier ſhould be really loſt, but approved her Deſign for the preſent; judging it would be more honourable for her to be found in a Con⯑vent, than concealed in a private Lodging at Eſtampes. He then deſired her to leave her Horſe, her Armour and her Servant where they now were, and he conducted her ſecretly to the Convent; where the Coun⯑teſs was received by the Abbeſs who knew her Story, with all imaginable Ten⯑derneſs.

The pious Lady who had been informed of her Flight from the Chatelet, was not ſurpriſed to ſee her in the Habit of a Man, and charmed to have it in her Power to oblige a Lady of her high Rank, and who was allied to her by Blood, ſhe omitted nothing which ſhe thought could conſole her, and render the Retreat ſhe had choſen agree⯑able to her.

The Marquis, pleaſed that his Siſter was ſo happily ſettled, took Leave of her and the Abbeſs, and returned in haſte to Paris, and reſtored Peace to the Hearts of his af⯑flicted Parents, by the Account he gave them of their Daughter's preſent Situation.

Mean time the Exempt, who in Obe⯑dience to the King's Orders, had ſearched [84] all the Villages in the Neighbourhood of Paris for the unknown Knight, who had ſo ſuddenly diſappeared from the Aſſembly, learned at length that he had been ſeen to take the Road to Eſtampes. He went thi⯑ther immediately, and made ſuch diligent Enquiry after him, that he diſcovered where he had lodged, and found there his Horſe and Arms which he carried back with him to Paris, but could give the King no other Satisfaction with regard to the Knight himſelf, than that he had been ſeen the Day before he came there, to go out with a Gentleman and had never return⯑ed ſince.

The King, as ſoon as he ſaw the Arms; knew them to be the ſame which the un⯑known Knight had worn, and being very deſirous to diſcover the Owner, he ordered them to be hung up in a publick Place till they were claimed. Theſe Orders were juſt given, when the fair Amazon arrived at the Louvre, to pay her Duty to his Ma⯑jeſty: ſhe had reſumed the Habit of her Sex, in which ſhe appeared ſo beautiful, that ſhe ſoon captivated the Hearts of ſeve⯑ral of the young Lords of the Court, who thought it an Honour to wear her Chains, but ſhe beheld theſe Conqueſts with an ab⯑ſolute Indifference. The Abſence of him, for whom ſhe had undertaken ſo long a Journey, and ſo dangerous an Enterpriſe, [85] damped the Joy ſhe would otherways have felt, at the Power of her Beauty.

The King having cauſed the Arms that had been juſt brought him, to be ſhewn to her, ſhe ſuppoſing that they belonged to the Chevalier des Eſſars himſelf, and that he was the Unknown who had diſappeared ſo ſuddenly from the Aſſembly, intreated the King that thoſe Arms might be hung up in the Place of Battle, and that ſhe might be permitted to defend them, againſt any Perſon, who ſhould offer to demand them, without making himſelf known. The King could not help ſmiling at this Requeſt of the fair Virago, but before he could anſwer her, ſhe conjured him in the moſt earneſt Manner imaginable, to permit her in the ſame Place, to ſupport the Innocence of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and the Counteſs of Berci, againſt thoſe who ſhould accuſe them of having aſſaſſinated the late Count of Berci.

The Marquiſes des Eſſars, and de Saint-Sauveur, and the young Count of Berci, were preſent at this Diſcourſe of the charming Amazon, they knew the Arms of the Coun⯑teſs, and had juſt before been informed of the Place to which ſhe had retired. But although they had it now in their Power to prove the Innocence of the Chevalier and Counteſs, by the Witneſs and Confeſſion of the real Aſſaſſin; yet they had agreed among [] themſelves, not to produce Verague till they knew certainly the Deſtiny of the Chevalier, and therefore took no Notice of Mademoi⯑ſelle de Gevincourt's Propoſal.

The King then turning to the young Count of Berci, as being the Perſon who had moſt Intereſt in revenging the Death of the late Count his Brother, aſked him if he had any Reply to make to the fair Amazon's Requeſt.

The Count anſwered, that having al⯑ways had a great Eſteem, and Veneration for his Siſter-in-law, on account of her many Virtues, he never entertained the leaſt Su⯑ſpicion, of her being capable of ſo black a Crime, and that there was not any Room to believe the Chevalier was guilty of it either.

That great Monarch, then taking Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt's Hand, told her ſmiling, that he would permit her to de⯑fend the Arms of the Unknown, on the Con⯑ditions ſhe had required, but he refuſed her the Combat ſhe demanded, ſince he who was particularly intereſted in revenging the Count, acknowledged the Counteſs his Wi⯑dow and the Chevalier to be innocent: his Majeſty then addreſſing himſelf to the Mar⯑quiſes des Eſſars and de Saint-Sauveur, told them, that the two Perſons who were ac⯑cuſed, might come to Paris without any Fear [87] of a Proſecution, that he would reſerve the Examination of this Affair to himſelf, and that he would give them the Court, for their Priſon.

The two Marquiſes threw themſelves at the King's Feet, and expreſſed the higheſt Acknowledgment, for this new Mark of his Goodneſs. They alſo returned Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt Thanks, for her ge⯑nerouſly offered Defence of the two noble Accuſed.

The Arms were accordingly carried to the Field of Battle, and laid in a Tent erected there for that Purpoſe till ſome one ſhould preſent himſelf to demand them. Mean time the Marquiſs de Saint-Sauveur, with the Ladies, accompanied by the Marquiſs des Eſſars, and the Count of Berci, went to Eſtampes to viſit the Counteſs, and to bring her back to Paris, where ſhe might now appear, without any Apprehenſions on account of her Eſcape from the Chatelet. She had quitted her Diſguiſe, and aſſumed the Habit of her Sex.

When ſhe was informed of their Arrival, ſhe appeared before them in ſuch a ſweet Confuſion as gave new Luſtre to her Charms. The Marquis des Eſſars, as ſoon he beheld her, not only pardoned his Nephew, for his Diſobedience, but ſecretly acknowledged he [88] was in the Right, not to quit ſo lovely a Creature for any Conſideration.

'I am not ſurpriſed, Madam,' ſaid the good old Man, ſaluting her with great Reſpect, ‘that thoſe who have had the Honour to attach themſelves to your Ser⯑vice, ſhould prefer that ſweet Slavery to all other Advantages; even I, tho' bending under the Weight of Years, feel the Influence of your Beauty, and all my Reaſon is ſcarce ſufficient to preſerve me from your Charms.’

The Counteſs of Berci, could not hear Praiſes ſo flattering to her Self-love, from the Uncle of the Chevalier des Eſſars, without feeling a conſcious Pleaſure which ſparkled in her Eyes, tho' her natural Modeſty at ſuch ex⯑traordinary Encomiums, died her fair Checks with Bluſhes, and kept her for a Moment ſilent; but recovering herſelf, ſhe anſwered his Compliment with ſo much Wit, and ſuch a graceful Politeneſs, that the old Man was wholly charmed with her.

Her Father and Mother advancing to em⯑brace her, ſhe turned from the Marquis and threw herſelf at their Feet, intreating them with Tears, which falling from the fineſt Eyes in the World, could not fail of gaining all ſhe aſked, to pardon her for the Uneaſi⯑neſs ſhe had given them.

[89]The tender Parents raiſing her eagerly, deſired her not to interrupt their Joy at this happy Meeting, by recalling to their Re⯑membrance any paſt Misfortune. ‘And now, my Daughter, (ſaid the indulgent Father, who knew not that ſhe was in⯑formed of the Return of Verague) thank the Marquis des Eſſars, and the Count of Berci your Brother-in-law, together with a beautiful and valiant Lady, that without any Apprehenſions of the Chatelet, or any other Priſon but the Court, the Chevalier and you, may enjoy the Sweets of Liberty, and be obliged to appear at no other Tri⯑bunal but that of the King himſelf.’

The Counteſs, pleaſed as ſhe was, at this News, felt an Emotion at the Mention of the fair Warrior, which for a Moment changed the bright Vermillion of her Cheeks into a languid Paleneſs; a Sigh ſtole from her Breaſt, which was not perceived by all the Company: her Brother and the young Mar⯑chioneſs, her Siſter-in-law, who beſt knew the jealous Doubts which filled her Mind, were the only Perſons who obſerved it, and in order to relieve her from her Embarraſs⯑ment, they preſſed forward to embrace her; ſhe received their tender Careſſes with a grateful Senſibility: but embracing her beloved Siſter, dropt a tender Tear upon her Boſom, which her full Eyes could not reſtrain.

[90]After a few Hours-Stay in the Convent, during which the Abbeſs received the Thanks of the joyful Parents, for the Friend⯑ſhip ſhe had ſhewn to their Daughter, they ſet out for Paris, and got there Time enough to go to the Louvre. The King being then in the Queen's Apartment, they were intro⯑duced immediately to their Majeſties.

'Sire, (ſaid the Marquis des Eſſars, pre⯑ſenting the Counteſs of Berci to the King) ‘behold the Lady whom the Deſire of juſti⯑fying the Chevalier des Eſſars, for the Murder of the Count of Polan, induced to diſguiſe herſelf under the Arms which your Majeſty has committed to the Care of a fair and illuſtrious Warrior. We do not preſent ourſelves before your Majeſty, to intreat they may be reſtored to her, her Beauty is more powerful than all the Weapons in the World: but we are come to expreſs our Acknowledgement, with her, for your Majeſty's having been graciouſly pleaſed to take her Cauſe under your own Cognizance, from which ſhe has nothing but the exacteſt Juſtice to expect.’

The Counteſs then throwing herſelf at the King's Feet, that good Prince, who had never ſeen her before, for the retired Life ſhe had led for ſome Years paſt, had not admitted of her coming to Court, was ſo ſtruck with her Beauty, which appeared to great Advantage, by her ſuppliant Poſture, [91] and the graceful Awe, which ſat upon her lovely Features, that forgetting ſhe was kneeling, through the Pleaſure he took in looking at her, he ſuffered her to remain a few Moments at his Feet, when ſuddenly recollecting himſelf, he raiſed her with Pre⯑cipitation, and politely ſaluting her, led her to the Queen.

‘Our Age, Madam, ſaid he, preſenting her to that Princeſs, is fruitful in Pro⯑digies. What think you of this new Amazon? Ventre Saint Gris! (his uſual Oath) it would have been pity to ſuffer ſuch a Jewel to be locked up in the Chatelet.’

The Queen ſaluted her, and ſmiling, told his Majeſty, that thoſe who had taken her from the Place he mentioned, had given a Proof of their Judgment and Senſibility.

The Queen had juſt done ſpeaking, when Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who had been informed of the Arrival of the Counteſs, as alſo that it was her who owned the black Armour which ſhe had undertaken to de⯑fend, entered her Majeſty's Apartment, led by the Count of Polan.

‘Fair Amazon (ſaid the King as ſoon as he ſaw her) you muſt ſurrender the Arms you guard, unleſs you reſolve to combat [92] with this charming Lady, to whom they belong.’ ‘I am not only ready, Sire, to ſurrender thoſe Arms to her, (ſaid Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt, curteſying low to the King, and advancing to ſalute the Coun⯑teſs) but alſo to pay her that Homage, which a Beauty ſo tranſcendant, has a Right to exact, from the whole World.’

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, eager to pre⯑vent any Suſpicions of her being envious of her Rival's Perfections, was not aware that by forcing herſelf to praiſe her, ſhe had deſcended to Flattery. The Counteſs of Berci, from the ſame Motive, fell into the ſame Fault, only that ſhe had a better Ex⯑cuſe for it, being in ſome Degree obliged to anſwer, her Rival's Compliment, with another.

‘And what Homage is worthy of yours, Madam, (ſaid ſhe, returning her Em⯑brace) which ſhines with ſo many Ad⯑vantages over me! Suffer me to acknow⯑ledge with Pleaſure, a Superiority which all that Look on you, will readily allow, and add one Triumph more, to the Numbers you have already enjoyed.’

It muſt be confeſſed, that the Thoughts of theſe rival Beauties, were very different from their Expreſſions: for from that Mo⯑ment they beheld each other with Eyes of [93] Jealouſy and Reſentment, and each ſecretly congratulated herſelf, for the Victory ſhe hoped to obtain over the other.

But the Heart of the Count of Polan, was in a Situation ſtill more extraordinary than theſe Ladies, and ſucceſſively felt the In⯑fluence of each of their Charms, as he gazed upon them in Turn. Mademoiſelle de Ge⯑vincourt's noble Air; the Spirit that ſparkled in her Eyes, and pointed every Glance; the graceful Freedom of her Motion; the Vi⯑vacity that accompanied all her Words and Actions; and that charming Fierceneſs ſo ſuitable to the Peculiarity of her Character, filled him at once with Admiration, Awe and Love.

On the other Side, the languiſhing Sweet⯑neſs of Madam de Berci; her Elegance of Perſon; the inchanting Senſibility which ſtreamed from her lovely Eyes; the Tone of her Voice, inexpreſſibly ſoft and moving, conveyed ſuch Tenderneſs to his Heart, that while he gazed upon her, and heard her ſpeak, he was tranſported out of himſelf, and loſt in an Extaſy of mingled Pain and Pleaſure. The different Emotions theſe fair Ones excited in his inconſtant Breaſt, were ſuitable to their different Graces. He loved Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt with Ar⯑dour, the Counteſs with Tenderneſs. When he looked upon the fair Amazon, his Heart glowed with impatient Wiſhes: when he [94] gazed upon the Counteſs, he was melted to Softneſs. For the Perſon of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt he languiſhed: but ſighed for the Heart of Madam de Berci. In a Word, he could have been pleaſed to live for the one; for the other he would have been content to die.

The Count of Berci, leſs wild, leſs aſ⯑ſuming, and more conſtant, felt the true Force of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Charms, and from the firſt Moment he beheld her, conceived a Paſſion for her, that Time never weakened, nor no new Object, ever changed.

This illuſtrious Company, after taking Leave of their Majeſties, retired greatly ſa⯑tisfied with the new Proſpects that were opened to them. All but Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who obſerving the Aſſiduity of the old Marquis des Eſſars about the Coun⯑teſs of Berci, the Pleaſure with which he had gazed on her, during the Audience ſhe had of the King, and his Eagerneſs to give her his Hand when ſhe left their Majeſties Apartment, conceived ſo violent a Grief at Symptoms ſo unfavourable to her Hopes of being his Niece, that ſhe paſſed the whole Night in Tears and Complaints.

She now concluded, ſhe was deſpiſed by the Chevalier, and although he had never profeſſed a Paſſion for her, accuſed him of Perfidy and Falſehood. Her Mind being [95] violently agitated with theſe Thoughts, ſhe called her Woman early in the Morning, and having ſent for the Armour which had been worn by the Counteſs of Berci, ſhe put it on, and attented only by her Woman, who was diſguiſed in a Man's Habit, ſhe left Pa⯑ris with an Intention to go to Rouen, in Hopes of hearing ſome News of the Che⯑valier.

The Chevalier's Valet de Chambre, who ſome Days before had left Paris with the ſame Deſign, was already arrived in that Capital of Normandy, flattering himſelf, that among the great Number of Strangers which came to that Port, he ſhould meet with ſome one from whom he might have a Cer⯑tainty of his Maſter's Fate.

He had the good Fortune to meet the Chevalier the Day after he came to Rouen: but, if he was tranſported with Joy to ſee him, the News he brought concerning the Counteſs, were ſo many Daggers to the Heart of the Chevalier. In the Letter which this faithful Domeſtic delivered him from his Miſtreſs, he found nothing but Expreſ⯑ſions of Indifference and Irony, ſo much the more cruel, as it was extremely delicate, and appeared to be dictated by a Heart, entirely at Eaſe, or at leaſt ſenſible of no other Emo⯑tions, but Scorn and Indignation.

[96]This Letter, and the Accounts he received from his Servant, of the Extravagancies acted by the Counteſs, in the firſt Tranſports of her Jealouſy, gave him ſo much Inquietude, that he reſolved to ſet out immediately for Paris, and during the Journey he was con⯑tinually making his Valet de Chambre re⯑peat all that his Miſtreſs had ſaid and done, which had come to his Knowledge, and from thoſe Particulars, ſometimes drew ſome Alleviation for his Uneaſineſs, and ſome⯑times new Fears, that he had for ever loſt her Affection.

He was now within two Days Journey of Paris, when he met a Cavalier in Armour, followed by a young Man, and both riding in a great Hurry; as ſoon as the Chevalier's Valet perceived them, he knew the Armour to be the ſame that had been worn by the Counteſs of Berci, and did not doubt but it was ſhe herſelf, who had once more ſtolen from her Relations, and was going to Rouen in Search of the Chevalier: he immediately communicated his Suſpicions to his Maſter, who fond of believing what he wiſhed, eager⯑ly advanced to meet the diſguiſed Lady, and raiſing the Viſor of his Helmet, for he was in Armour, he bowed down, even to his Horſe's Mane, and in a ſubmiſſive Tone, in⯑treated to be heard a few Moments in his Defence.

[97]Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, for it was ſhe, overjoyed at this Meeting, and at his taking her for the Counteſs of Berci, reſolved to profit by his Miſtake, and diſcover his real Sentiments with regard to her and her Rival. She therefore affected a diſdainful ſilence, left the Tone of her Voice ſhould make her known to him, and waving her Hand as if ſhe was reſolved not to liſten to his Excuſes, attempted to paſs without ſtay⯑ing for any farther Diſcourſe.

The Chevalier, in Deſpair at ſuch cruel Treatment, threw himſelf inſtantly off his Horſe, and faſtening upon the Bridle of hers whom he ſuppoſed to be his Miſtreſs, told her that for her Service he had attempted Things the moſt difficult, and from the Time he had firſt attached himſelf to her, had nothing to reproach himſelf with: he added that if any Reports had reached her Ear, relating to his Paſſion for Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, he could aſſure her they were abſolutely falſe; that through Complaiſance for his Uncle, he had viſited that young Lady ſeveral times, becauſe he found it pleaſed him: but how great ſoever her Merit might be, it could make no Impreſſion on a Heart long ſince devoted to her, and incapable of Change. ‘For, oh my adored Counteſs! (purſued he melting into Tenderneſs) there cannot be in my Opinion a Woman upon Earth that does not yield to you in Beau⯑ty; how improbable is it then, that I [98] ſhould forſake you for Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who is ſo infinitely your In⯑feriour as well in the Graces of Mind as Perſon.’

The Chevalier, ſtill thinking he talked to the Counteſs of Berci, was going on with a Diſcourſe ſo mortifying for Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, when ſhe, ſwelling with mingled Rage and Grief, no longer able to hear her Rival ſo openly preferred to her by a Man who ſhe thought had loved her with an Ex⯑ceſs of Tenderneſs, turned aſide her Head, and ſhedding a Torrent of Tears, pro⯑nounced in a low Voice the Words, Traitor, perfidious, cruel!

The Chevalier ſenſibly affected with that mournful Action and thoſe complaining Accents which he could ſcarce diſtinguiſh, was going to throw himſelf on his Knees, and ſolemnly proteſt that he had never been guilty of the Infidelity ſhe accuſed him of, when the fair Amazon, reflecting upon the Contempt with which ſhe had heard herſelf treated, gave a Looſe to Indignation and Deſpair. The Deſire of revenging her Wrongs, or of dying by the Hand of her unworthy Lover, that ſo ſhe might fill him with eternal Remorſe and Anguiſh, now wholly poſſeſt her, and dictated ſuch a Re⯑ply as ſhe knew would bring him to the Point ſhe wiſhed for.

[99]'How art thou deceived!' ſaid ſhe, af⯑fecting a ſcornful Tone, and diſguiſing her Voice as much as poſſible: ‘She, to whom theſe fine Speeches are addreſt, is no more: her frantick Paſſion for thee brought her in a ridiculous Diſguiſe to try the Force of my Arm. The Death of ſo contemp⯑tible an Enemy would have given me Pain, had I not known that it would be an eternal Source of Miſery to thee, whom I am bound to hate. For know to thy Terror, I am the Count of Polan, the Brother of him whom thou haſt treache⯑rouſly murdered, and who has ſought thee eagerly, that I may ſacrifice thee to my juſt Revenge.’

The Chevalier, who at the Beginning of this Speech was ſtruck with Horror, Amaze⯑ment and Deſpair, remained immoveable for a Moment with his Eyes fixed on the ſuppoſed horrid Murderer of his beloved Counteſs. But the Fury that ſuddenly poſ⯑ſeſt him ſuppreſt thoſe firſt Emotions, and the Deſire of ſacrificing the Monſter who had robbed the World of ſuch Excellence, made him give a Truce to Grief till Ven⯑gance was ſatisfied. With a Rapidity like Lightning he leaped upon his Horſe and drawing his Sword in the ſame In⯑ſtant he ruſhed forwards with an Excla⯑mation that expreſſed the Rage which ani⯑mated him, and diſcharged ſo heavy a Blow on the Helmet of the fair Amazon as pier⯑ced [100] quite through it and made a large Wound in her Head.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt feeling her Blood iſſue from the Wound, was tran⯑ſported with a Fury equal to her Enemy, and as he lifted up his Arm to redouble his Stroke, ſhe run her Sword in his Side, and gave him a very large, tho' not a mor⯑tal Wound. This Combat, which was continued with more Rage and Animoſity than Art, was too violent to laſt long: their Attendants were Witneſſes of the dreadful Spectacle, and knew not what they ought to do. The Woman trembled for the Danger her Lady was in, and the faithful Valet de Chambre thought that Glory and Succeſs had now forſaken his Maſter. But the Chevalier, who after the Loſs of his Miſtreſs rated his Life at no⯑thing, preſſed his Adverſary with redoubled Vigour, and at length wounding her deeply under the right Breaſt ſhe ſtaggered on her Saddle, her Eyes ſwam, her Strength for⯑ſook her, her Sword dropt from her Hand, and ſhe fell ſenſeleſs to the Earth.

Her Woman who eagerly ran to receive her in her Arms, and break her Fall, with loud Cries conjured the Chevalier to ſtop his Fury. But he who was reſolved not to let the Murderer of his Miſtreſs live, leaped off his Horſe, and running to his fal⯑len Enemy tore off the Helmet with eager [101] Rage, which in one Inſtant was changed to Shame, Remorſe and Anguiſh when inſtead of the Count of Polan he ſaw the fair Face of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, pale as Aſhes, her Eyes cloſed, and the Blood ſtreaming from the Wounds he had inhumanly given her.

His Sword which he held aloft and ready to fall upon his proſtrate Foe, now dropped from his trembling Hand, he ſtepped back a few Paces, and claſping his Hands toge⯑ther in an Agony of Grief, contemplated a few Moments the bleeding fair One who lay ſenſeleſs and without Motion upon the Ground.

A thouſand bitter Reflections aroſe in his Mind, one Moment he raved at his Valet de Chambre for leading him into ſo fatal an Error, another he complained of Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt for aſſuming the Name of his mortal Enemy and urging his Fury by declaring he was the Murderer of the Counteſs of Berci.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's Woman, who kneeling wept over her bleeding Miſ⯑treſs, found a gloomy Pleaſure in ſeeing the Tranſports to which he delivered him⯑ſelf. ‘You only (ſaid ſhe) are the Au⯑thor of my unhappy Lady's Misfortunes. You firſt engaged her Heart by your en⯑ſnaring Aſſiduities. She expoſed her Life [102] in Defence of your Innocence, and fought with your moſt cruel Enemy to preſerve your Honour. She nobly aſſerted your In⯑nocence in the Preſence of the whole Court, and undertook to defend your Fame againſt all who ſhould attempt to traduce it; ſo many Obligations ought to have induced you to have ſpoke leſs ſlightingly of her, even to your Miſtreſs: you ſhould not in any Circumſtance have forgot that ſhe for whom you ſo openly diſ⯑avowed any Regard, had hazarded Fame, Happineſs and Life, to ſecure thoſe Bene⯑fits to you.’

The Chevalier, tho' ſhocked to the Soul with theſe Reproaches, yet found too much Juſtice in them to be offended with the forward Zeal of her who uttered them: but obſerving that Mademoiſelle de Gevin⯑court loſt much Blood, he cauſed her to be carried to a neighbouring Village, where they happily found a Surgeon, who after examining her Wounds declared they were neither mortal, nor dangerous. The Che⯑valier ſtaid till her Wounds were dreſt, and till he heard ſhe was laid in Bed, and then recommending her to the Care of the Sur⯑geon, he ſet out immediately for Paris. Not having Courage and Reſolution enough to aſk Pardon of her whom without knowing he had ſo cruelly treated; beſides, he was afraid that the Sight of him might give her Emotions which would produce ſome dan⯑gerous [103] Alteration in her Health; he there⯑fore intreated her Woman to make his Ex⯑cuſes to her with all imaginable Submiſſion, and to aſſure her, that he was in extreme Affliction at what his unhappy Miſtake had made him commit againſt her, and that there was no puniſhment ſo ſevere to which he ſhould not ſubmit, to atone for a Crime which however ſhe muſt know was involuntary.

The Evening being pretty far advanced when the Chevalier left this Village, he did not reach Mante till late at Night. His Mind ſtill more fatigued than his Body, Grief for the Condition to which he had reduced Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, and his Anxiety about his beloved Counteſs, equally engroſſed him; yet the Certainty that ſhe was not dead, as he had ſo lately believed, gave him in the Midſt of his In⯑quietude a Joy which more than compen⯑ſated for the Torments he had ſuffered.

It happened that the Maſter of the Inn, at which he alighted, was juſt returned from Paris, with a Gentleman who had accom⯑panied him. The Chevalier, who in the preſent uneaſy State of his Mind, found Solitude extremely diſagreeable, invited them both to Supper with him. The Diſcourſe turning upon the News of the Court, the Gentleman, among other Anecdotes, re⯑lated all that had happened at the Combat [104] between the Count of Polan, and the fair Amazon ſo celebrated at Paris; he like⯑wiſe mentioned the ſtrange Adventure of the Counteſs of Berci, how, after ſhe had appeared in Armour in the Liſts, ſhe ſuddenly ſtole away from the Aſſembly, and retired to Eſtam⯑pes, where her Horſe and Armour were found; that the King, at the Requeſt of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, had committed the Armour to the Guard of that fair Warrior, and re⯑ſerved to himſelf the Cognizance of the Cauſe of the Chevalier des Eſſars, and Ma⯑dam de Berci.

He then went on to give an Account of that Lady's Return to Court, the Count of Polan's renewed Paſſion for her, and that it was the common Opinion ſhe would be married to that young Nobleman.

The Chevalier turned pale at this Diſ⯑courſe, and diſcovered ſo much Uneaſineſs, that the Gentleman ſuppoſing the Alteration he perceived in him, proceeded from the Pain of his Wound, adviſed him to go to Bed immediately. But the Chevalier aſſur⯑ing him that he ſuffered no Inconvenience from his Wound, which was very ſlight, begged him to relate all he knew concern⯑ing the Count of Polan, and Madam de Berci.

‘Sir, (anſwered the Gentleman) all I know more of the Affair is, that it was [105] ſaid the Count of Polan had made very advantageous Offers to the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, the Father of Madam de Berci; that the King is deſirous that this Marriage ſhould go forward; and the pub⯑lick Cry is, that the Counteſs of Berci, who it is known had a Paſſion for the Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars, cannot with Decency mar⯑ry a Man who has been accuſed of aſſaſſi⯑nating her Huſband.’

'But what if his Innocence be proved!' Replied the Chevalier des Eſſars haſtily.

‘That does not hinder ſuch a Marriage from being very improper (returned the Gentleman.) Calumny, tho' unjuſt, al⯑ways leave a Kind of Stain behind, in the ſame manner as a Wound, tho' perfectly cured, is always followed by a ſcar.’

‘But is it poſſible, (reſumed the Cheva⯑lier) that a Man, who has ſaved the Lives of that Lady's Father and Brother, who made a Voyage to Africa to de⯑liver her Huſband from Slavery, ſhould be forgot for the Count of Polan, who not only never rendered her any Service, but has alway been the declared Enemy of her Family?’

‘It is ſaid (interrupted the Gentleman) that the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, Brother to the Counteſs, talks loudly [106] againſt this Match. As for the Counteſs, ſhe has not as yet declared her Reſo⯑lution; but her Father and the reſt of her Friends being all in the Count of Polan's Intereſt, it is believed this Af⯑fair will be concluded agreeable to the King's Deſire.’

Theſe Words were like ſo many Dag⯑gers in the Heart of the Chevalier. No longer able to conceal the Violence of his Emotions, he retired to his Chamber and threw himſelf into Bed: but tortured as he was with ſo many cruel Reflections, he could take no Repoſe; he roſe early in the Morning, without having once cloſed his Eyes the whole Night, and rode to Pa⯑ris with all the poſſible Expedition.

The Situation of Mademoiſelle de Ge⯑vincourt was ſtill more to be pitied, than that of the Chevalier des Eſſars, for Hope had not yet abandoned him, and he with Reaſon expected, that his Preſence would produce ſome favourable Alteration in the Minds of his Miſtreſs and her Relations: but that unfortunate young Lady was too well aſſured, that ſhe had for ever loſt the Man whom ſhe loved to Diſtraction: when ſhe recovered out of her Swoon, Remem⯑brance and Reflexion returned, ſhe caſt her languiſhing Looks round the Room, and not ſeeing that dear Enemy any longer near [107] her, ſhe abandoned herſelf to the moſt bit⯑ter Complaints.

Her Woman, approaching her Bed, deli⯑vered the Chevalier's Meſſage to her.

‘What then! (eagerly interrupted Ma⯑demoiſelle de Gevincourt) he is gone with⯑out deigning to ſay a ſingle Word to her whom he had reduced to ſo cruel a Con⯑dition. Barbarian! Humanity, if not Ten⯑derneſs and Eſteem, obliged him to re⯑main with me till the Wounds I had re⯑ceived from his cruel Hand, were cured. Ah! Wretch, ungrateful and unkind! for him I left my Country, expoſed my Life and Fame to a thouſand Dangers: For him I appeared in Arms, defended his Innocence, and preſerved his Honour; and is it thus he requites me?’

Here a violent Burſt of Tears ſtopped her Voice. Her Woman aſſured her that he himſelf ſeemed ſinking under ſuch a Load of Woe, that his Preſence would have given her more Pain than Relief.

‘He was afflicted thou ſayſt, (replied Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt) and how did he expreſs that Affliction? He left me ſenſeleſs, dead in appearance, ſtaid not till he knew, whether I ſhould ever again ſee the Light of Day. Ah! the ingrate, the perfidious Wretch! Why do I not [108] hate him? Why do I not caſt him from my Remembrance, or only think of him with Horror and Deteſtation? But, alas! (purſued ſhe after a little Pauſe,) I feel I love him ſtill, baſe as he is; his Life is dearer to me than my own: could I be aſſured that he is really afflicted for the Miſeries he has cauſed me, my Heart would be at Reſt. I muſt ſee him once more, my Maria, (ſaid ſhe ſighing and preſſing her Hand,) if thou loveſt me or deſireſt that I ſhould redouble my Affection for thee, thou muſt haſten after this Ingrate: he cannot yet be got far on his Journey. Intreat him not to fly from her to whom he owes ſo many Obligations. Alas! to what am I re⯑duced? But Pride is now no more, I have been neglected, ſcorned, treated with Cruelty by the Man I love, and my Ri⯑val openly preferred before me. But tell him, that I no longer pretend to his Love; his Promiſes, for ſo I underſtood them, tell him, I acquit him of: aſſure him that I will not attempt to traverſe his Paſſion for the Counteſs of Berci; but, if need be, will ſolicit this happy Rival in his Favour, and will employ all the Credit and Intereſt I have at Court to ſecure his Marriage: only let him again re⯑turn; let me not have the Mortification to think he could abandon me in the ſad Condition to which he himſelf has re⯑duced me. Ah! why ſhould he diſcover [109] ſuch Cruelty towards me? I am not of the Number of thoſe who have accuſed him of baſely killing the Count of Polan; I never charged him with the Aſſaſſina⯑tion of his Friend: I have publickly, and in a Manner unſuitable to my Sex, de⯑fended not only his Innocence, but that of his Miſtreſs. Do I not deſerve, that he ſhould eſteem, if he cannot love me? And his Eſteem is all I aſk. Tell him ſo, my dear Maria; and tell him that his Preſence will contribute to the Cure of thoſe Wounds he has given me; and if he will have the Patience to wait but two Days, I ſhall be able to accom⯑pany him to Paris, where it is poſſible I may be of ſome Service to him. Fly, I beſeech thee, loſe not a Moment, and do not anſwer me. Let thy Affection be ſhown by thy ready Obedience to my Orders. A Servant's Obedience is the beſt Proof of Affection.’

The faithful Girl, who loved her Miſ⯑treſs tenderly, ſtaid no longer than to aſſure her, ſhe would bring back the Chevalier or loſe her Life in the Attempt. And then mounting her Horſe, although Darkneſs had now overſpread the Earth, ſhe galloped with the utmoſt ſpeed after the Chevalier, and overtook him juſt as he left Mante, and was proceeding towards Paris.

[110]The Chevalier was greatly ſurpriſed to ſee her, and fearing ſhe brought him an Account of her Lady's Death, he remained ſilent and immoveable for ſome Moments, not daring to aſk a Queſtion which he dreaded to be reſolved. But when ſhe had delivered her Meſſage, tho' his Heart was agreeably relieved from the torturing Suſpenſe it had laboured under, yet in the Perplexity to which it reduced him he found inexpreſſible Anguiſh.

On the one Side, he reflected upon the cruel Ingratitude of refuſing to go back a few Leagues at the Requeſt of a Lady who had travelled above two hundred for him, that Lady too illuſtrious by Birth, her Merit and her Beauty, to whom he owed Obligations of the higheſt Na⯑ture, and who was languiſhing with the Wounds he had (undeſignedly indeed) given her.

But on the other Side, the raging Jea⯑louſy of the Counteſs of Berci, the extra⯑vagant Things which Paſſion had made her act, her Letter ſo cruelly conceived to tor⯑ment and mortify him, his Terrors left the Marquis her Father ſhould take advan⯑tage of his Abſence to prevail upon her to marry the Count of Polan, all this ruſhed forcibly upon his Imagination; and fixing his wavering reſolution, he began to make an Apology to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt's [111] Woman for not being able to attend her Lady. But that faithful Girl would not hear him out, ſhe threw herſelf on her Knees before the Chevalier, and painted her Lady's Grief and Deſpair, and his own Ingratitude, if he refuſed to comply with her Requeſts, in ſuch lively Colours, that the Chevalier, whoſe Heart was totally ſoftened by her affecting Arguments, turned his Horſe's Head, and rode with all poſſible Expedition towards the Village where he had left Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt.

That unfortunate fair One, who had paſſed the Time in a cruel Anxiety, divided between Hope and Fear, and longing yet dreading the Return of her Meſſenger, no ſooner ſaw her enter the Chamber followed by the Chevalier, than Joy producing the ſame Effects as Grief, ſo forcibly operated upon her now weakened Mind, that ſhe fell into a Swoon from which ſhe was with Difficulty recovered. The firſt Ob⯑ject ſhe beheld, when ſhe opened her Eyes, was the Chevalier kneeling by her Bed-ſide, and bathing one of her Hands which he held faſt claſped in his with his Tears.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt agitated by a little Emotion of Anger, which ſhe could not reſiſt, haſtly withdrew her Hand, and the Chevalier riſing reſpectfully, retired a few paces gazing on her with profound At⯑tention, and all the Marks of an unfeigned [112] Sorrow deeply impreſſed upon his Coun⯑tenance.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt found her Reſentment inſtantly ſubſide at ſuch a Proof of the Chevalier's Senſibility. He advanced a little to her Bedſide, and twice attempted to ſpeak, but his Confuſion was ſo great, that his Voice died upon his Lips. He was not able to utter a Word, and he could only by Sighs and melancholy Regards upon the wounded fair One expreſs the tender Emotions of his Soul.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, who heed⯑fully obſerved him, was better ſatisfied with this dumb Eloquence, and the Diſorder ſhe was capable of exciting in ſuch a noble Mind, than ſhe would have been with the moſt elaborate Diſcourſe. She now par⯑doned all he had done againſt her: her Eyes loſt all their Fierceneſs, and ſhe beheld him with a Look of mingled Sweetneſs and Compaſſion.

The Chevalier, in ſome Degree relieved from his Confuſion by her ſoftened Glances, again kneeling took her Hand, and preſſing it reſpectfully to his Lips,

‘I take Heaven to Witneſs, Mademoi⯑ſelle (ſaid he) that my Will had no Part in the Outrage you have received from [113] me; and that, to expiate it, I would free⯑ly ſacrifice my Life.’

‘Chevalier, (ſaid the beauteous Warrior) your greateſt Offence againſt me was committed long ago: then, then, you in⯑jured me, when your fatal Arts impoſed upon my Credulity, and enſnared my Heart; that is the Outrage I have moſt Reaſon to complain of. The Wounds your Sword has made, are ſlight com⯑pared with the Pangs my Heart has ſuf⯑fered. But 'tis paſt; I no longer pretend to any Thing but your Friendſhip. Your beloved Counteſs, jealous as ſhe is, will not refuſe me that; I can do Juſtice to her Merit, tho' I was once her Rival, and confeſs that my Pride is not wounded by the Preference you have given her to me. She deſerves your tendereſt Affec⯑tion, may you be happy in each other, nor need it be interrupted by your gene⯑rous Concern for me. I am not ca⯑pable of feeling a Paſſion for a Man whoſe, Heart is another's. If I loved it was in conſequence of a Perſuaſion that I was beloved, and that by a Perſon who merited the Regard I had for him; my Paſſion was founded upon Gratitude and Eſteem: the firſt cauſe no longer ſubſiſts. I have no Motive for Gratitude, tho' I have for Eſteem. You have my Friendſhip becauſe your noble Qualities merit it, my Love can only be deſerved by one, who [114] beſides thoſe noble Qualities has a Heart to beſtow, and makes me Miſtreſs of it.’

The Chevalier, charmed with the Wit and Spirit of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, expreſſed his Admiration of her in Terms which greatly flattered her Self-love. He vowed ever to preſerve an inviolable Friend⯑ſhip for her, and accepted the Offer of hers with a Tranſport of Joy and Gratitude. He aſſured her that he would be ever ready to ſacrifice that Life ſhe had been pleaſed to take an Intereſt in, for her Service; and readily conſented, notwithſtanding his Im⯑patience to ſee his dear Counteſs, to expect the Cure of her Wounds, which he never mentioned without Emotion, that he might have the Honour to conduct her to Paris.

This Inſtance of his Ardour to pleaſe her, contributed more than any Thing elſe to reſtore her to Tranquility, her Body ſoon felt the Effects of the Quiet of her Mind. In three Days ſhe was able to ſit her Horſe, and on the fourth ſhe complaiſantly offered to accompany him to Paris.

The Chevalier eagerly embraced her Pro⯑poſal, and after a ſhort Preparation, they ſet out together. Mademoiſelle de Gevin⯑court being ſo lately recovered, the Che⯑valier inſiſted upon making eaſy Journies, yet his Heart panted with impatience to be in Paris, and it coſt him a great [115] deal to ſhew this Complaiſance. However on the Evening of the third Day after their leaving the Village they arrived in that great Capital of France.

The Chevalier, who was no longer in fear of the Purſuits of the Officers of Juſtice, propoſed to alight at his own Hotel, and offered Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt the richeſt Apartment in it: but the fair Amazon pru⯑dently declined his Offer, and the Cheva⯑lier attended her to the Houſe ſhe had be⯑fore reſided in, and went home with a Heart filled with eager Anxiety, and trembling between Hope and Fear.

He ſent immediately a Meſſage to the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, requeſting to ſee him. That faithful Friend, in a Rapture of Joy, flew to attend his Summons. The Chevalier and he held each other a long time embraced; the young Marquis wept with Tenderneſs and Delight at ſo happy a Meeting with a Friend whom he had given over for loſt; and the Chevalier, melted at the tender Reception he found from the Brother of her whom he paſ⯑ſionately loved, ſuffered the big Tear to ſtream from his manlier Eye as he claſped him to his Breaſt, and aſſured him that his Life was endeared to him by the Value he ſet upon it.

[116]When their firſt Tranſports were ſub⯑ſided, they gave each other a mutual Ac⯑count of what had happened to them ſince their ſeparation. The young Marquis was very particular in all that related to his Siſter, and the Chevalier was ſo happy as to find by his Diſcourſe that moſt Part of the afflict⯑ing News related to him by the Gentleman at Mante was falſe.

The Marquis owned that the Count of Polan had profeſt a Paſſion for his Siſter, that the Coldneſs and Reſerve, with which ſhe had treated him, had induced him to direct his Aſſiduities to Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, ‘by whom, as it ſhould ſeem, ſaid he his Heart was ſurpriſed when ſhe valiantly fought with him in your De⯑fence: but ſince her Departure, the waver⯑ing Count has again addreſt my Siſter, who, I aſſure you upon my Honour, looks upon him with perfect Indifference, nor does he meet with Encouragement from any of our Family; and it is the King alone who ſeems deſirous the Match ſhould go forward.’

This News reſtored Peace to the Heart of this once wretched Lover. He intreated the Marquis to bring Verague with him early in the Morning to his Hotel; and it was agreed, that the Chevalier, attended by all his Friends, ſhould preſent himſelf at the Louvre and fully juſtify his Inno⯑cence, [117] and that of the Counteſs of Berci, by the Evidence of Verague.

Accordingly the next Morning the Mar⯑quis des Eſſars, tranſported with Joy at the Return of his beloved Nephew, came to his Hotel with Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, Meſſieurs de Saint Sauveur, and the Count of Berci, who brought with him the un⯑happy Verague. They went altogether to the Louvre: and being introduced into his Majeſty's Preſence, the fair Amazon taking the Chevalier by the Hand, approached the King, and preſenting him to his Majeſty: ‘Sire, (ſaid ſhe) behold the Chevalier des Eſſars, who comes to throw himſelf at your Feet, not as a guilty Man who wants to implore your Pardon, but as a faithful Subject, who, having by cruel Calumnies been too long baniſhed from your royal Preſence, returns with Joy to conſecrate the Remainder of his Life to your Service: he brings with him an authentic Teſti⯑mony of his Innocence, and therefore hopes, he may again be thought worthy to employ his Arms for you, which, when baniſhed and proſcribed, he never would do for your Enemies.’

All the Courtiers who were preſent, as well as the Friends of the Chevalier des Eſ⯑ſars, ſecretly applauded this ſpirited Speech of the charming Amazon. The King was pleaſed with it, and ſmiled benignantly upon [118] her, but made no Anſwer: for the Cheva⯑lier ſhewing Verague, and throwing himſelf at his Feet, thus ſpoke:

‘This unhappy Man, Sire, will declare to your Majeſty, who was the real Aſſaſ⯑ſin of a Friend whoſe Fate has coſt me ſo many Tears, and loaded me with ſo many Diſgraces. If, after his Teſtimony is heard, any doubt ſhould remain of my Innocence, and that of the Counteſs of Berci, I am ready to defend her Fame, and my own, with my Sword, as your Ma⯑jeſty had before permitted I ſhould do: nor do I owe leſs Vengeance to thoſe who have ſo maliciouſly accuſed me without Foundation, ſince by it they have forced me to abandon my native Country, and paſs many Months of my Life in the Diſ⯑pleaſure of the greateſt and the beſt of Kings.’

Here the Chevalier ceaſed ſpeaking: the King graciouſly commanded him to riſe, and looking upon Verague, aſked him, what he had to declare concerning the Death of the late Count of Berci?

That unhappy Man, throwing himſelf at the King's Feet with Tears, confeſſed, that he was the ſole Author of the Count's Death: he related his criminal Intrigue with Ma⯑rianne, the Counteſs of Berci's Woman, the Danger ſhe had been in of being diſcarded with [119] Infamy by her Lady on that Account, and of the young Count of Berci's Interpoſition in her Favour, which procured her a Pardon on Condition ſhe behaved well for the future.

He added, that taking an Opportunity to viſit his Miſtreſs when the Count and his Lady were at an Entertainment, given by the Marquis de Saint Sauveur on account of his Son's Marriage, the ſudden and un⯑expected Return of Monſieur and Madam de Berci put them in the utmoſt Conſterna⯑tion; that endeavouring to make his Eſcape, he was ſeized by the Count in the Dark, and anxious for the Preſervation of his Miſ⯑treſs's Honour, and finding no other Way to diſengage himſelf, he attempted to wound the Count in the Arm by which he held him, but that unfortunate Nobleman, by a ſudden Motion, received it in his Breaſt, and it proved mortal to his eternal Remorſe and Grief.

Here Tears for a few Moments drowned his Voice; but recovering himſelf a little, he added, that, not being able to bear the Stings of his own Conſcience, which per⯑petually reproached him not only with the Count's Murder, but the unjuſt Sufferings of Madam de Berci, and the Chevalier des Eſſars, on that Account, he came volun⯑tarily, and delivered himſelf up to the Che⯑valier: and having now juſtified his Inno⯑cence, and that of the Counteſs of Berci, he [120] was ready to ſuffer the Puniſhment the Law ordains for Crimes like his.

The King, ſurpriſed at this Confeſſion, ordered Marianne to be immediately brought into his Preſence, and confronted with her Lover, to the End that nothing might be wanting for the full Juſtification of the Coun⯑teſs and Chevalier.

The unhappy Wretch, too ſecure in the Succeſs her vile Arts had hitherto met with, to dread any Diſcovery from, ſo unexpected a Queſtion, was ſeized by the Exempt of the Guards, diſpatched by the King for that Purporſe, without any Difficulty, and was brought to the Louvre, where, when ſhe beheld Verague, all her Confidence forſaking her, ſhe threw herſelf on her Knees before the King, and with Tears and Groans con⯑feſſed all the Circumſtances Verague had before declared, but implored a Pardon with clamorous Prayers.

The King, perfectly ſatisfied with the Confeſſion of the two Criminals, annulled all the Proceedings againſt the Chevalier and the Counteſs, and moved with Com⯑paſſion for the unfortunate Verague whoſe Crime, as it was involuntary, admitted of ſome extenuation and was likewiſe atoned for, by his ſincere Repentance and accuſing him⯑ſelf to clear the Chevalier and the Counteſs. His Majeſty in Conſideration of all this, [121] granted him his Life, but baniſhed him from France for ever. The infamous Ma⯑rianne was condemned to be ſhut up between four Walls, for the reſt of her Life, and only Suſtenance enough allowed her, to keep her from ſtarving, that ſhe might have Leiſure to repent of the Enormity of her Crimes, and make her Peace with Heaven.

When his Majeſty had pronounced theſe different Sentences, the Marquiſes des Eſſars and de Saint-Sauveur, approached and, with all Humility thanked the King for the Juſtice he had done the Counteſs and the Chevalier.

The Friends of the latter now gave free utterance to the Expreſſions of their Joy for his happy Return, and this publick Proof of his Innocence. But the Chevalier eager to preſent himſelf to his dear Counteſs, on whom his Eyes were almoſt always fixed, diſengaged himſelf at length, and advanced towards her with a tender Awe: but ſhe who had with the ſevereſt Pangs of Jealouſy ſeen his Entrance with the fair Amazon, and heard her Addreſs to the King in his Favour, gave way to the Impetuoſity of her Rage, and when he bowed to her with the utmoſt Reverence as to a Deity, turned diſdainfully from him, and without deigning to give him a Look, fell into Diſcourſe with the Count of Polan who ſtood near her, while the Chevalier ſtruck dumb and immovable [122] by ſuch an Inſtance of Contempt, continued a few Moments gazing upon her as if he doubted whether the Woman who treated him in that Manner, was really the Coun⯑teſs of Berci, whom he had ſo faithfully adored, and by whom he had once ima⯑gined himſelf tenderly beloved. Pride and Reſentment now came to fortify his Heart againſt the Grief he felt at ſuch an Alte⯑ration: after caſting a Look full of Con⯑tempt upon his Rival, and Indifference on his Miſtreſs, he mixed among a croud of La⯑dies by whom he was received with ſuch an emulative Reſpect and Diſtinction, as ſent Daggers to the Heart of the capri⯑cious Counteſs, who now repented of the raſh Folly ſhe had been guilty of, and un⯑able longer to ſtay in the Preſence, ſhe went away ſo ſuddenly, that the Chevalier, who angry, as he was, could not help often turning his Eye towards her, was ſurpriſed when he found ſhe was gone. It gave him ſome Satisfaction to find the Count of Polan ſtill there; for Madam de Berci, unwilling to aggravate the Fault ſhe had been guilty of, would not admit of his At⯑tending her to her Coach, but requeſted that Service from her Brother. The Chevalier, who had found it difficult to ſuppreſs his Emotions, and ſupport that Gaiety and Un⯑concern he had aſſumed while he was in the Sight of his ungrateful Miſtreſs, took the firſt Opportunity to retire, and was con⯑ducted by his Uncle and the Marquis de [123] Saint-Sauveur to his Hotel, where he re⯑ceived from that tender Parent and faithful Friend a thouſand endearing Teſtimonies of unſeigned Affection.

Mean time the Count of Berci, who be⯑came every day more charmed with Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt, was anxious for the Chevalier's Marriage with his Siſter-in-law, that he might no longer have ſuch a formi⯑dable Rival in the Affections of his Miſ⯑treſs. He had a Conference with the young Marquis de Saint-Sauveur on that Subject, and repreſenting to him that it was Time the Chevalier's faithful Paſſion, which to him had been productive of ſo many Mis⯑fortunes, and ſo many brave and generous Services to the Counteſs and her Family, ſhould be rewarded with the Prize he had ſo well deſerved, preſt him to ſpeak to the Marquis his Father in the Chevalier's Favour.

The young Marquis was charmed with this friendly Solicitude in the Count of Berci; he did not fail to give it Praiſes which called up a Bluſh in the Face of the ingenuous Youth, who was conſcious of another and ſtronger Motive for that Conduct. It was agreed between them, that, while the Mar⯑quis went to talk to his Father on this Subject, the Count ſhould go to the Mar⯑quis des Eſſars, and urge the fame Argu⯑ments, in order to induce him to haſten a [124] Marriage between two Perſons who had ſuffered ſo much for each other.

The two good old Men received the Pro⯑poſal with great Satisfaction: to the Eſteem the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur had for the Chevalier, nothing could be added; nor to the Admiration of the Marquis des Eſſars for the Counteſs of Berci. Little did they imagine that the Marriage they ſo readily agreed to, would meet with Obſtacles from the two Perſons, whom they believed wiſhed for it with moſt ardour.

The Marquis des Eſſars was no ſooner aſſured of the Aſſent of the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, but he haſtened to commu⯑nicate the good News to his Nephew, whom he expected to ſee in Tranſports at his Feet: but what was his Aſtoniſhment when he heard him coldly anſwer, that the Uneaſineſs he had felt, on account of the Calumnies his Character had ſo long laboured under, and the Dangers he had ſo lately ſuffered at Sea, had given his Thoughts another Turn, and he had made a Vow to remain ſingle for ſome Years.

The Counteſs of Berci alſo, when her Father mentioned his Deſign of beſtowing her upon the Chevalier, told him with a well perſonated Tranquility, that during her Reſidence in the Convent at Eſtampes ſhe had Leiſure to contemplate the calm Plea⯑ſures [125] of a recluſe Life, and was perſuaded that it was greatly to be preferred to the moſt ſplended Condition the World could afford her; that therefore ſhe had reſolved to quit it and retire to that Monaſtery as ſoon as her Proceſs was ended.

The good old Men were aſtoniſhed and confuſed at Anſwers they ſo little expected, and their Perplexity was ſo much the greater as they durſt not acquaint one another with what had happened, leſt they ſhould make a Breach which would be impoſſible ever again to cloſe.

Not being able to comprehend the Mean⯑ing of ſo ſudden and ſurprizing an Altera⯑tion in their Sentiments, they could not ſuppreſs their Anger at what appeared to them to be the mere Effect of Diſobe⯑dience and Caprice.

‘What! (ſaid the Marquis des Eſſars to the Chevalier) when I would have married you to Madam de Gevincourt, an Alliance upon which I had ſet my Heart, becauſe it was ſo greatly to your Ad⯑vantage, you excuſed yourſelf on account of the Journey you was indiſpenſibly obliged to make to Court, while your true Reaſon was that you was engaged to the Coun⯑teſs of Berci: and now when convinced of her great Merit, I propoſe to unite you with her, you talk to me of Vows, [126] and pious Reveries. Do as you pleaſe; but remember that if you perſiſt in ſuch an unreaſonable and abſurd Behaviour, you will force me to place that Affec⯑tion I have had for you, on ſome other Perſon who will make a better Uſe of it.’

The Marquis de Saint-Sauveur, as he had moſt Cauſe, was ſtill more enraged with the Counteſs of Berci. ‘By what unac⯑countable Caprice are you governed? (ſaid he to her) you have ſuffered the Cheva⯑lier des Eſſars to conduct you into fo⯑reign Countries, and lived for ſeveral Months under his Protection, you left my Houſe ſecretly to go in Search of him, you have diſguiſed your Sex, for⯑got your Rank, and laid aſide your Cha⯑racter, appearing in Arms to defend his Cauſe at a Time when you thought your ſelf forſaken by him: And now when his Fidelity to you is fully proved by his Rejection of a lovely and generous Maid to whoſe Affection he is ſo greatly obliged, when your Father offers him to your Ac⯑ceptance, you refuſe his Hand. But go to Eſtampes, ſhut yourſelf up in a Con⯑vent if real Piety leads you thither: go and be happy. But truſt my Experience this Reſolution is not the Effect of Piety, or calm Reflections on the Peace and Tranquility of a cloiſtered Life. That Caprice by which your Actions have been [127] lately governed, ſways you now. Go then and repent, for that will be the Con⯑ſequence of a Deſign not taken up upon mature Deliberation, but the Reſult of a heated Imagination, and a Judgment weak⯑ened by Paſſion and Prejudice. Whatever happens you may be ſure of my Pity, al⯑though your ridiculous and diſobedient Conduct gives you no Claim to my Af⯑fection.’

The Marquis had no ſooner quitted the Counteſs, which he did at the Concluſion of this Speech, than ſhe began to repent of the Uneaſineſs ſhe had given her Father, and ardently wiſhed, ſhe had not treated her Lover with ſuch Cruelty and Contempt. For ſhe now ſaw Things in another Light, and condemned herſelf for judging ſo raſhly of his Appearance with the fair Amazon, ſince it was certain that ſhe loved him, and that he might have married her, if his Heart had been capable of Change. Her Pride would not ſuffer her to make the firſt Advance to⯑wards a Reconciliation, which ſhe now eagerly wiſhed for: but ſtill ſhe expected the Chevalier ſhould purchaſe it by new Sub⯑miſſions on his Part. Little did ſhe imagine that that Heart, in which ſhe had once ſuch abſolute Dominion, was now wholly en⯑groſt by two Paſſions, that were mortal Foes to Love. Rage at the cruel Affront ſhe had given him in the Preſence of the whole Court, turned all his Thoughts towards [128] Revenge, which he was reſolved to gratify, tho' at the Expence of his eternal Quiet.

In this Diſpoſition of Mind, he wrote a Letter to his ungrateful Miſtreſs, which he gave to his Valet de Chambre with Orders to deliver it into her own Hand. He then privately left Paris in the Evening, taking his Courſe along the Seine, full of uneaſy Thoughts, and uncertain how he ſhould diſpoſe of himſelf.

In the mean Time, the Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur, and her Daughter-in-law, that dear and tender Friend of the Counteſs of Berci, having been informed by the Mar⯑quiſs her Father, of her Refuſal to marry the Chevalier des Eſſars, and her new Reſolu⯑tion of retiring to a Convent, were inex⯑preſſibly concerned: they went both toge⯑ther to her Apartment, where the Counteſs, vanquiſhed by their Importunity, and her own Inclinations, promiſed to give her Fa⯑ther that Proof of her Obedience which he required, and acknowledged her unchanged Love for the Chevalier.

Theſe two Ladies were highly pleaſed that they had ſucceeded ſo happily with the Counteſs, whom in their Hearts they could not but think extremely capricious, and were impatient to communicate the good News to the Chevalier: but while the young Marchioneſs was writing a Letter to that [129] Effect, the Chevalier's Valet de Chambre brought one to the Counteſs which was conceived in theſe Terms:

‘After the Proofs you have given me, Madam, of the Levity of your Temper, and the Inconſtancy of your Heart, I can with Difficulty believe, you are the ſame Perſon whom for many Years I have ſo religiouſly adored. Blind and infatuated as I was, I would once have preferred the ſweet Slavery, to which you had reduced me, to the moſt ſplendid Rank For⯑tune could have beſtowed upon me. But the Illuſion is vaniſhed, the undeſerved Contempt you have treated me with has opened my Eyes, and reſtored me to my⯑ſelf. I have loved you, Madam, with a Paſſion which no Time could weaken, no Accidents alter. It is one Part of my Happineſs now, that I can ſay, I have loved you: and another, tho' leſs conſi⯑derable, that injured as I am by you, yet I have been ſo fortunate as to render you Services which no other Man ever can, and could only be paid by your Affection, to which I now no longer lay claim. Baniſh them from your Thoughts, Ma⯑dam, as well as my Perſon; for this is the laſt Time I ſhall ever endeavour to bring either them, or myſelf, to your Remem⯑brance. I leave you free to make new Conqueſts, and to triumph in new Acts [130] of Inconſtancy: and, contented with hav⯑ing recovered my Liberty, can with per⯑fect Indifference bid you eternally Fare⯑well.’

The Counteſs of Berci, pierced to the Heart with the Reproaches contained in this Letter, but more at the cruel Indifference of the Writer, apparent in every Line, had ſcarce Strength enough to read it through. The Words, 'I bid you an eternal Adieu,' ſeemed to have Power to ſeparate her Soul from her Body; and loſing Senſe and Mo⯑tion, ſhe fell lifeleſs on the Sopha, where ſhe was ſitting when ſhe received the fatal Billet.

Madam de Saint-Sauveur, entering her Daughter's Apartment, and ſeeing her in that Condition, ſhrieked aloud, and was very near ſinking likewiſe into a Swoon. The young Marchioneſs was one of the firſt who ran to the Counteſs's Apartment: terrified at the melancholy Objects ſhe ſaw before her, with one Arm ſhe ſupported the faint⯑ing Mother while, with the other ſhe en⯑deavoured to raiſe the Counteſs. Two or three Women entering, they applied proper Remedies to both. The Counteſs opened her Eyes with a Sigh, and as ſoon as ſhe was a little recovered, deſired ſhe might be left alone with her Mother and Siſter-in-law, to whom ſhe ſhewed the Chevalier's [131] cruel Letter; and while they were reading it, eaſed her loaded Heart by a Shower of Tears.

The two Marchioneſſes, not knowing the Cauſe which the Counteſs had given for ſuch a Letter, were equally ſurpriſed and angry at it. Madam de Berci was not in⯑genuous enough to tell them what had hap⯑pened: but took a gloomy Pleaſure in hear⯑ing him condemned by thoſe two Ladies for a Conduct ſo inconſiſtent with the Paſſion he had confeſt for her, and with that Po⯑liteneſs and Diſcretion which made up ſo conſiderable a Part of his Character. But tortured with her own Reflexions, and deſ⯑pairing of ever being able to recover the Heart of a Man who had quitted her with ſuch a ſeeming calm and ſteady Reſent⯑ment, ſhe ſunk under the violent Perturba⯑tions of her Mind, and was ſeized with a Fever, which in a few Days brought her ſo low that her Life was deſpaired of. Her Youth, however, and a naturally good Con⯑ſtitution, ſaved her: but ſhe continued in a weak and languiſhing Condition for three whole Months, and plunged in ſo deep a Melancholy as filled the Hearts of her Pa⯑rents, and all to whom ſhe was dear, with inexpreſſible Diſquiet.

But to return to the Chevalier des Eſſars. After he had ſent the Letter to the Coun⯑teſs of Berci, he left his Hotel preſently, [132] and paſſing the Seine, went to S. Glou, where he lay that Night: early in the Morning he renewed his Journey, and leaving the Village of S. Clou on his left Hand, he ſtruck into the road on the right Hand of Surene, near which was a Mountain long celebrated for having afforded a Retreat to ſeveral illuſtrious Perſons. The Chevalier reached the Summit of this Mountain juſt as the Sun was beginning to gild the Earth with his Rays. He ſtopped a few Moments to take Breath, and to contemplate the moſt beautiful rural Proſpect in the World, which was varied by a vaſt Number of fine Vil⯑lages, and ſuperb Palaces: but the lovelieſt Object of all was that renowned River, which, after paſſing through the Middle of that Queen of Cities to which it continually carries Riches and Plenty, ſeems to leave her with Regret, and ſlowly gliding through this rich Country, forms a thouſand and a thouſand imperceptible windings in its meandring Courſe.

The Chevalier felt a ſecret Satisfaction ſteal to his Heart at the View of this in⯑chanting Place; the new and pleaſing Ob⯑jects around him, the ſoft Melody of the Birds, the gentle Breathings of the Wind that wafted Odours as it paſt, the pleaſing Stillneſs, all contributed to charm his Senſes, and lull him into a ſweet Oblivion of former Griefs. Tranſported at the ſudden Change he felt in his Mind, and fondly [133] hoping, that the Calm he now experienced would be ſecured by fixing his Reſidence in this delightful Spot, he took a Reſolution to return no more to Paris, but to hide himſelf from the World, and paſs the reſt of his Life in a peaceful Retirement, alike undiſturbed by the Pangs of Love, and the Fever of Ambition.

The Solitaries, who inhabited Mount Va⯑lerian, received their new Inmate with Joy; his Air and Mien ſpoke him a Perſon of Diſtinction; his Converſation and Beha⯑viour a Man of Senſe and Politeneſs. The Cell he choſe had a little Gallery cloſe to the Chapel where he could hear Maſs with⯑out being ſeen: he had a ſmall Garden ad⯑joining to his Cell, which he took delight to cultivate with his own Hands. Several Hours in the Day he paſt in the Converſa⯑tion of thoſe Religious who to the greateſt Sanctity joined the moſt pleaſing Manners, and an uninterupted Chearfulneſs with the ſtricteſt Piety.

Among theſe reverend Perſons the Che⯑valier diſtinguiſhed one to whom a ſecret Sympathy particularly attached him. He was already paſt the Prime of Life, but ſeemed more impaired by Affliction than by Years; his Perſon had an Air of Dignity which at firſt ſight, commanded Reſpect. There was a certain Grace in every Thing he ſaid, and did, which inſenſibly capti⯑vated [134] the Heart: his Countenance expreſ⯑ſed a fixed Melancholy, through which, not⯑withſtanding, ſhone a Benignity and Sweet⯑neſs, that made every Beholder ſympathiſe in his Sadneſs, but with ſuch a ſweet Sen⯑ſation as a good Heart feels when it con⯑templates a Misfortune it wiſhes and thinks itſelf able to relieve.

It was eaſy to perceive that he had been extremely handſome in his Youth. His uncouth Habit could not wholly con⯑ceal the Graces of his Figure, nor could Time and Grief produce any Alteration in the Harmony of his Features. The Chevalier eagerly ſought his Company and Converſation, and the Solitary found ſo many Charms in that of the Chevalier, that he ſpent all thoſe Hours which he had to ſpare from his religious Duties with him. To a mutual Friendſhip a mutual Confidence ſuc⯑ceeded, the Chevalier diſcloſed his Name and his Misfortunes to the Solitary, who likewiſe related to him the Hiſtory of his Life in the following Manner.

[228]The Count of Comminge here concluded his affecting Narration, and retired in haſte to indulge a Grief which the me⯑lancholy Ideas his Story had recalled to his Remembrance, made too violent to be longer reſtrained.

The Chevalier whoſe generous Heart was ſenſibly moved at the ſad Recital of ſo many cruel Misfortunes, ſat ruminating a long Time upon what he had heard; he admired the unſhaken Fidelity of Adelaida, and comparing her Tenderneſs and truth with the capricious Behaviour of the Counteſs of Berci, he thence drew Arguments to ſtrength⯑en his Reſentment, and to confirm his Re⯑ſolution of quitting her for ever. He now became ſo fond of the noble Solitary, that he eagerly watched every Opportunity of converſing with him. He entered ſo deeply into his Affliction, ſo pathetically lamented his Misfortunes, and ſpoke of Adelaida with ſo much Reverence and Admiration, that the melancholy Count found a kind of Sweet⯑neſs in his Society which he had been long a Stranger to.

The Chevalier knowing how dear the Mention of Adelaida was to him, always introduced the ſadly pleaſing Theme; he would ſit whole Hours and liſten to his ten⯑der Comulaints, and while he deſcribed the Birth and Progreſs of his Paſſion, his Diſap⯑pointments, his Sufferings and his Deſpair, [229] he would ſigh ſympathetically, dwell on the moſt affecting Circumſtances of his Story, and ſometimes lament the Cruelty of his Fate, with ſo much Paſſion, as ſhewed his Heart had the deepeſt Senſe of his Mis⯑fortunes. Nothing could be more ſoothing to the unfortunate Count than this Con⯑duct, but it was very dangerous to the Quiet of the Chevalier; by ſuch ſoftening Converſations he indulged Ideas which in the Reſolution he had taken to quit the Counteſs of Berci for ever, it was his Bu⯑ſineſs to baniſh as much as poſſible from his Mind. His Imagination now repreſented her to him with all thoſe reſiſtleſs Graces which firſt captivated his Affection, a thouſand tender Paſſages ruſhed back upon his Remembrance; with mingled Pain and Pleaſure he reflected on the Time when firſt her Gratitude for the Services he had done her, forced from her an Acknowledgment of her Love; he thought on thoſe happy Days when ſhe was under his Protection at Bruſſels, and when all Obſtacles being re⯑moved he was at Liberty to avow his Paſſion, and was bleſt with a Declaration that ſhe would be his. When once theſe Thoughts found free Admittance into his Mind, he gave himſelf wholly up to their ſoftening Influence: he no longer beheld Ma⯑dam de Berci falſe, proud, and ungrateful, but tender, paſſionate, conſtant, ſuch as he wiſhed, ſuch as he fain would believe her to be; he ſought for Pretences to excuſe her Con⯑duct [230] and to blame his own. In all Love-Quarrels the Tranſition from fancied Hate or Indifference, to Fondneſs and Deſire, is extremely ſudden and violent. The Che⯑valier had no ſooner cheated himſelf into a Perſuaſion that he had injured his Miſtreſs by his unjuſt Suſpicions, than he was eager to go and throw himſelf at her Feet, but he was reſtrained by the Fear of her Reſent⯑ment for the cruel Letter he had wrote to her, and his voluntary Baniſhment from her Sight; anxious and impatient, yet timid and irreſolute he wore away his Days. He no longer courted the Converſation of the me⯑lancholy Solitary, but was wholly abſorbed in Reflections on his paſt Happineſs, when the Counteſs and he convinced of each other's Tenderneſs and Fidelity, ſuffered no doubt to ſadden their bliſsful Proſpect of being united for ever. He ſought out the thickeſt Receſſes of the Wood, and there laid at the Foot of ſome over-grown Oak, he fed his Paſſion with delightful Hopes, while he for⯑bore to ſeek the Certainty, for Fear of loſing the ſweet Deluſion.

But now the Approaches of a Rude and chearleſs Winter, began to leſſen his Taſte for Solitude and Silence. The Trees had loſt their refreſhing Shade, the Earth its beautiful Verdure, no more the ſweet Harmony of the Birds exhilirated his Spirits, the gently daſhing Stream no more by its Murmurs ſoothed his pleaſing [231] Melancholy. All Nature ſeemed to wear a Face of Sadneſs, and the altered Proſpect now raiſed only gloomy Ideas in his Mind; his Rage and Indignation turned wholly upon himſelf, he curſed his Pride, his Folly and his Obſtinacy, the Former for having ſo readily ſuggeſted Notions of his being injured and affronted by Madam de Berci, and the Latter for making him ſo ſtrenuouſly adhere to his mad Reſolution of never ſeeing her more.

The Deſign of Returning to Paris was as eagerly formed and as quickly execut⯑ed as that of leaving it had been before. He took a tender Leave of the unhappy Count de Comminge, and providing himſelf with a Horſe and a Diſguiſe in the next Village, he ſet out for that City, with an im⯑patience that never ſuffered him to ſtop till he reached the Gates of it.

It was late at Night, which, together with his Diſguiſe, ſecured him from being known; he alighted at the Houſe of his faithful Friend Monſieur la Ronvere: ſcarce would he give him, leave to expreſs his Joy at ſeeing him again whom all Paris had believed to be dead when he eagerly enquired after the Counteſs of Berci, aſking him a hundred Queſtions in a Breath. Mon⯑ſieur la Ronvere gave him a particular Ac⯑count of all that had happened to Madam de Berci, ſince he left Paris, her Grief, her [232] Illneſs, and the preſent languiſhing State of her Body and Mind.

The Chevalier ſighed often while his Friend was ſpeaking, a Tear ſometimes ſtole from his Eyes, yet the Emotions he felt had more of Pleaſure than Pain in them. He attributed that Grief, that Ill⯑neſs, and her preſent Melancholy, to her Regret for the Unjuſtice ſhe had done him, and her Fears of having loſt him for ever. The Idea of being ſtill dear to the Woman whom he adored, and whoſe ſuppoſed Inconſtancy had given him ſo many Pangs, filled him with a Tran⯑ſport which even the Account his Friend gave him of the weak State ſhe was in could not allay. Not doubting but his re⯑turn, and his renewed Tenderneſs would reſtore her to Peace and Health, his Heart exulting in the Proofs ſhe had given of her Love for him, would admit no anxious Fears to diſturb his preſent Happineſs; he even reſolved to let her remain in Ignorance of his Fate, till he had indulged himſelf with a Sight of the melancholy Fair one. Unperceived by himſelf, ſome Remains of Jealouſy and Diſtruſt lay dormant in his Breaſt; the Delicacy of his Love could not be ſatisfied with a leſs certain Teſtimony of her Grief, than what his own Obſerva⯑tion could give him; he fancied to himſelf a thouſand ſecret Pleaſures in contemplating that lovely Face, overſpread with tender Sor⯑row [233] on his Account, and reading in her ſweet expreſſive Eyes, the dear Inquietude of her Heart.

Monſieur la Ronvere who expected to have found him impatient to throw him⯑ſelf at the Feet of the mourning Counteſs, was ſurpriſed to ſee him ſit ſilent and ab⯑ſorbed in thought. ‘Surely (ſaid he ſmil⯑ing) it is not neceſſary to remind you that your Miſtreſs is in Paris.’ The Che⯑valier rouſed from his pleaſing Revery, told his Friend that he was reſolved to remain concealed a few Days, that he might have an Oppertunity of ſeeing the Counteſs without her knowing him; the Reaſons he gave for this Deſign appeared very whimſi⯑cal to Monſieur la Ronvere, who had no No⯑tion of thoſe Refinements which make up the chief Bliſs as well as Pains of Lovers. He tried to reaſon the Chevalier out of this wild Curioſity, but finding his Arguments would not prevail, he alledged the Impoſſibility of gratifying it, ſince the Counteſs hardly ever came abroad.

The Chevalier had been uſed to con⯑quer Difficulties, nor was he ſorry to hear that it was not an eaſy Matter to ſee his Miſtreſs. He diſguiſed himſelf in a tat⯑tered Coat, hid part of his Face with a large black Patch, turned up his Hair under a Wig of a different Colour, and thus me⯑tarmophoſed took his Way to the Street [234] where Madam de Berci reſided, having firſt obliged his Friend to promiſe that he would keep his Secret faithfully.

The moſt he could hope for, or indeed deſired, was a tranſient View of his Miſtreſs from the Windows of her Apartment, but he had ſpent ſeveral Days in paſſing backwards and forwards thro' the Street without obtain⯑ing that Satisfaction. Monſieur la Ronvere did not fail to divert himſelf with every new Diſapointment, often urging him, tho' in vain, to lay aſide his ridiculous Enterpriſe.

Mean Time the Family de Saint-Sauveur were making Preparations for the Nuptials of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt and the young Count of Berci. The fair Amazon having by a generous Effort of her Reaſon conquered her Paſſion for the Chevalier des Eſſars, liſtened favourably to the Vows of the Count of Berci, who offered her a Heart which had never acknowledged any Power but hers. She had contracted a ſtrict Friendſhip with the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur and Madam de Berci, and was therefore pleaſed with an Allyance which made her ſtand in ſome Degree of Relation to them.

The King whoſe Admiration and Eſteem of Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt increaſed with the Knowledge of her aimiable Qua⯑lities, did her the Honour to ſign her Con⯑tract of Marriage and promiſed to grace [235] the Solemnity with his Preſence; and to do Honour to the Nuptials of a Lady who had ſignaliſed herſelf in Arms, he decreed a ſolemn Turnament to be held, the Prize, which was a Jewel of great Value, was to be be⯑ſtowed by her Majeſty upon the Cavalier whom Skill or Fortune ſhould moſt Favour in the Field.

If any Thing would have relieved that Me⯑lancholy into which the Chevalier's Abſence had plunged Madam de Berci, the Marriage of her once dreaded Rival muſt have done it but in the Suppoſition that ſhe had for ever loſt his Heart, Jealouſy could not mingle with the Pangs ſhe felt for that Loſs. Jealouſy is doubt, but ſhe was in abſolute Deſpair. Un⯑willing to interrupt by her Grief the Joy which theſe Nuptials diffuſed among her Relations, or darken by her melancholy Ap⯑pearance the Pomp with which they were to be celebrated, ſhe reſolved to leave Paris a few Days before the Ceremony was per⯑formed. But an Accident happened which made her Change this Reſolution.

The Chevalier's aſſumed Appearance had for ſome Days preſerved him from any par⯑ticular Notice, but at length his frequent Viſits to the Street where the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur lived, his earneſt Gazing at the Houſe, his eager Attention in obſerving all who went in or out, attracted the Obſer⯑vation of ſome of the Servants. Mademoiſelle [236] de Gevincourt's Woman, ſhe who had ſo ſucceſsfully pleaded her Lady's Cauſe when ſhe ſtopped the Chevalier's Journey to Paris, had a Curioſity to ſee this Man whoſe odd Behaviour furniſhed ſo much Diſcourſe for the Domeſticks of the Marquis. They pointed him out to her as he ſauntered along the Street, his Eyes magnetically as it were, drawn up to the Windows of Madam de Berci's Apartment.

The faithful Maria felt an Emotion at the Sight of this Man, for which ſhe could not account; her Heart ſeemed to acknow⯑ledge an Acquaintance with him, and guided by a ſudden Impulſe, ſhe ran into the Street and followed him at a little Diſtance, expect⯑ing when he would turn that ſhe might ſee his Face.

The Chevalier, when he came to the End of the Street, ſtopped, as uncertain whether he ſhould return to his Friend's Houſe, or attempt once more to get a Sight of his Miſtreſs. Maria who had already diſcovered ſomething in his Air and Mein, notwith⯑ſtanding his Diſguiſe, which brought the Chevalier des Eſſars to her Remembrance, was fully convinced that it was he, by the View ſhe now had of his Face. Tranſ⯑ported with Joy, ſhe was upon the Point of accoſting him, but prudently repreſt this firſt motion, upon reflecting that he had doubtleſs aſſumed that Diſguiſe for ſome [237] important Deſign, which might be defeated by an unſeaſonable Diſcovery, and there⯑fore paſſing by without ſeeming to take Notice of him, ſhe entered the Houſe again by a back Way, and flew to acquaint her Lady with what ſhe had ſeen.

Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt had juſt quitted the Counteſs of Berci, whom ſhe had in vain endeavoured to perſwade to ſtay in Paris, during the Celebration of her Nup⯑tials. ‘Madam de Berci is more dejected than ever, (ſaid ſhe) to Maria, as ſhe entered her own Apartment. I love her ſincerely, nor can I think myſelf happy while ſhe is unfortunate.’

‘If it depends upon the Chevaliers Return Madam, ſaid the overjoyed Maria, to make the Counteſs eaſy, ſhe will ſoon be ſo, for he is here in Paris, I have ſeen him. How! interrupted Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, is the Chevalier here? What do you tell me! Is it poſſible?’

The charming Amazon had ſcarce Pati⯑ence to liſten to her Woman's Account of the Chevalier's Diſguiſe, and the Manner in which ſhe diſcovered him, ſo eager was ſhe to communicate this good News to the young Marchioneſs de Saint Sauveur.

Theſe Ladies being convinced from every Circumſtance of the Chevalier's Behaviour, [238] that his Love for the Counteſs of Berci was as ardent as ever, reſolved to acquaint her with all they had heard.

Madam de Berci affected to receive the News with great Compoſure, but the ſud⯑den Tranſition from Grief and Deſpon⯑dency, to Joy and Hope, was too powerfully expreſt in her lovely Features, to leave them in doubt of the ſweet Emotions with which her Heart was agitated; her Cheeks glowed with Bluſhes of Surpriſe and Pleaſure; her Eyes ſparkled with a Vivacity they had been long unuſed to; her Voice impercepti⯑bly to herſelf, loſt its plaintive Accent. Her fair Friends obſerved and were tranſported at the Alteration. They now found it no difficult Taſk to prevail upon her to ſtay in Paris.

‘Depend, upon it ſaid Mademoiſelle de Gevincourt, the Chevalier will not diſcover himſelf till after the Turnament, he is too fond of Glory to neglect this Op⯑portunity of ſignaliſing his Return by ſome noble Exploit, and he expects to agreeably ſurpriſe his Friends.’ The Ladies had in⯑deed gueſſed truly, the Chevalier des Eſſars reſolved to appear in the Liſts, and when the Turnement was ended to make him⯑ſelf known. He cauſed a new Suit of Ar⯑mour to be made of the Colour of Aſhes, be⯑neath which, bright Flames ſeemed to break out; on his Shield was painted a Cupid, re⯑kindling [239] his Torch, with this Motto, re⯑vived by Kindneſs. The Chevalier fully de⯑termined to keep himſelf concealed till after the Turnament, would no more venture to walk diſguiſed thro' the Street where his Miſtreſs lived — the Appearance of Maria had alarmed him, and tho' he was perſuaded ſhe did not then know him, yet he was Apprehenſive that a ſecond View might give her Suſpicions that would awake her Curioſity.

In three Days the Nuptials of Made⯑moiſelle de Gevincourt were to be ſolem⯑niſed, and the fourth was deſtined for the Turnament. During this Interval the Chevalier indulged the moſt delightful Re⯑flections. His Imagination filled with the Idea of the Counteſs of Berci, continually repreſented her to him as diſſolved in Tears, lamenting his Loſs, and devoting all her future Days to ſolitude and Grief. How did he exult in the Thought that his Preſence would baniſh all her Sorrows, and reſtore her to Health, Peace, and Joy.

As ſoon as the wiſhed for Morning ap⯑peared, the Chevalier aroſe full of Hope and pleaſing Expectation, Monſieur la Ronvere would aſſiſt in putting on his Ar⯑mour, never did he look ſo lovely Fierce as then, the Hero and the Lover were ſo happily blendid in the majeſtick Sweet⯑neſs of his Countenance, that it was impoſſible [240] to behold him without feeling at once De⯑light and Awe. At the Sound of the Trum⯑pets, the King and Queen, attended by the whole Court entered the Field, and took their Places upon a Magnificent Scaffold, erected for them.

The Bride glittering with Jewels but brighter in her own native Lovelineſs, was placed on a Scaffold oppoſite to their Ma⯑jeſties. On one Side of her ſat the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur, and on the other the Counteſs of Berci. The Friends of that Lady who knew not her ſecret Motives for Emerging from that So⯑litude in which ſhe had been ſo long buried, were ſurpriſed to ſee her in ſo publick an Aſſembly, herſelf gay as a Bride, and her charming Eyes animated with the ſweeteſt of all Paſſions Hope, dealing round their reſiſtleſs Glances, while they were in ſearch of the beloved Object that poſſeſſed all her Thoughts.

Mean time a great Number of the young Lords of the Court had tilted againſt each other, with various Succeſs; four at length remained Maſters of the Field, and the Judges ſeeing no other Knight offer him⯑ſelf to the Combat, were going to declare them Victors when the Chevalier des Eſſars preſented himſelf in the Liſts.

[241]The Eyes of the whole Aſſembly were immediately fixed upon this laſt Comer, his noble Air, the Gracefulneſs of his Figure, and that charming Confidence with which he demanded the Combat, won every Heart.

The great Henry, delighted with his Ap⯑pearance, aſſured the Queen that this Stranger would carry away the Honour of the Day. The Heart of Madam de Berci by its flut⯑tering Emotions inſtantly acknowledged its Conqueror. 'Tis he whiſpered ſhe in a Rapture to the Bride, who as well as the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur had anxiouſly expected him.

But what cruel Tortures tore the Breaſt of the Chevalier des Eſſars at the Sight of the Counteſs in a Place where he ſo little expected to ſee her? ſhe, whom he had been told had ever ſince his Abſence devoted herſelf to Solitude and Melancholy, whom his fond Fancy had painted as diſſolved in Tears, and ſunk in languiſhing Dejection, yet whom he now beheld dreſt with ſtudied Elegance, as if deſirous of pleaſing; Joy ſparkling in her Eyes, and Smiles of Pleaſure wande⯑ring over her lovely Face. ‘Perfidious Woman (ſaid he to himſelf, as he ſtood contemplating her) is it thus my Loſs is mourned?’

Wild with Jealouſy and Deſpair, he doubtleſs would have gone to the Scaffold [242] where ſhe ſat, and reproached her publickly for her Ingratitude and Inconſtancy; but the Sound of the Trumpets recalled him to himſelf, and now animated with Rage, In⯑dignation, and a Deſire of ſhewing his faith⯑leſs Miſtreſs that he deſerved, tho' he could not keep her Heart; with a Rapidity like Lightening he ſprung forwards to meet his Adverſary, and threw him to the Ground at the firſt Onſet.

His three other Courſes were performed with the ſame Skill and Valour, and were indeed ſo many Victories, and he remained ſole Maſter of the Field. The Air re⯑ſounded with the joyful Acclamations of the Multitude, and every Tongue repeated the Praiſes of the brave Stranger. The old Marquis des Eſſars, the Count of Berci, and the Marquiſſes de Saint-Sauveur who in thoſe noble Exploits acknowledged the Chevalier des Eſſars, all eagerly crouded about him, and with the moſt rapturous Expreſſions of Joy, congratulated him on his Victory, and themſelves on his Return.

The Chevalier who would gladly have withdrawn himſelf from the Liſts, to avoid being known, finding it impoſſible to conceal himſelf any longer, took of his Caſque, and embraced his Friends. The Gloom that hung upon his Brow, the Faintneſs of his Accent, and the apparent Diſorder of his Mind filled them with Per⯑plexity [243] and Grief, but they had no Leiſure to enquire into the Cauſe of his Uneaſineſs, for the Judges of the Field approaching, led him to the Queen's Scaffold to receive the Prize.

That Princeſs, after complimenting the Chevalier upon his Succeſs, preſented him with a Jewel of great Value, which he received kneeling, and with a Grace that charmed every Beholder. The Great Henry who had been talking to the Marquis des Eſſars, advancing to meet him, as he was leaving the Queen, to go and throw himſelf at his Feet, ‘Chevalier, (ſaid he, tapping his Shoulder with that eaſy Gaity, which was ſo natu⯑ral to him) you have this Day diſgraced four of the braveſt Lords in my Court, and in Revenge I will give you Fetters that ſhall laſt you your Life.’ All this Time the Counteſs of Berci ſuffered great In⯑quietude. She had fully obſerved every Look and Motion of the Chevalier; but found not in them the ardent Lover her Ima⯑gination was ſo full of. He did not once turn his Eyes towards the Place where ſhe ſat, and after their Majeſties were departed, he ſhewed no Eagerneſs to preſent himſelf to her, but continued talking in an eaſy Manner to the Old Marquis des Eſſars his Uncle; and when at laſt Civility obliged him to go and pay his Reſpects to the Bride, and her Company, he advanced not with the im⯑patient Step of a Lover, but loitering, care⯑leſs, [244] and with an Attention, wholly diſengaged. Grief, Diſappointment, Anger, appeared by Turns in the fair Face of Madam de Berci; but ſtruggling to conceal her Emo⯑tions, ſhe received the Chevaliers Compli⯑ments, and returned them with a well per⯑ſonated Indifference. The new Counteſs of Berci and the young Marchioneſs de Saint-Sauveur were aſtoniſhed at the Chevalier's Behaviour, and would have doubted the Truth of what Maria had told them, con⯑cerning his Diſguiſe, had it not been con⯑firmed, to them by Monſieur la Ronvere, who thought he was no longer obliged to keep it ſecret, and was pleaſed to have an Opportunity of relating an Incident to the Counteſs, which ſet the Paſſion of the Che⯑valier in ſo ſtrong, and ſo whimſical a Light.

He more than any other was ſurpriſed at the cold and indifferent Manner in which the Chevalier accoſted the Counteſs, be⯑cauſe he had ſo lately been a Witneſs of the Tranſports of his Paſſion. The two old Marquiſes des Eſſars and de Saint-Sauveur who hoped the Chevalier's Return would put an End to his Wanderings, and Madam de Berci's Grief by a happy Union, were both afflicted, and inraged at the Ca⯑prices of theſe Lovers, who ſeemed deter⯑mined to render themſelves and their Friends for ever unhappy; but there was no Time to enter upon any Explanation, they were [245] obliged to follow their Majeſties to the Louvre. The Chevalier led the Bride to her Coach, and received her Hand again at the Gates of the Palace: during this Inter⯑val ſhe obſerved him heedfully, and through all his aſſumed Gaity, diſcovered that his Heart was not at Eaſe, ſhe was going to mention the Counteſs of Berci to him, but they were now in the Preſence of their Ma⯑jeſties; and the brave old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur approached to preſent the Bride to the King. Monſieur la Ronvere who was impatient to enquire into the Cauſe of the Chevalier's unaccountable Behaviour, ſeeing him diſengaged, drew him aſide, and ex⯑poſtulated with him upon it.

‘Ah, Friend (ſaid the Chevalier ſighing) you have deceived me cruelly, could I have expected to ſee the Counteſs of Berci in ſo publick an Aſſembly, after the Re⯑preſentation you made me of her Melan⯑cholly, her Love of Solitude, and her continued Tenderneſs for me!’

‘You are indeed deceived, (ſaid Mon⯑ſieur la Ronvere) but it is by the Sug⯑geſtions of your own jealous Fancy. It was the Hope of ſeeing you that carried Madam de Berci to the Turnament.’ He then related to him in what Manner he was diſcovered in his Diſguiſe; the Effect that News had on his Miſtreſs, who con⯑cluding [246] he would appear at the Turnament, yielded to her Friend's Intreaties to be there.

Theſe few Words entirely removed the Chevalier's Suſpicions, all his Jealouſy vaniſh⯑ed in a Moment, and gave Place to Love, Hope and Joy; already his altered Looks prepared the Counteſs for a different Be⯑haviour, the paſſionate yet reſpectful Glan⯑ces he gave her, did not eſcape her Notice, ſhe bluſhed with Pleaſure and Surpriſe; yet ſtill kept up her aſſumed Indifference. The Chevalier was ſtepping towards her, when the Marquis des Eſſars his Uncle fixed all his Attention, by addreſſing him⯑ſelf in this Manner to the King.

‘It is with inconceivable Regret, my gra⯑cious Sovereign, that I find myſelf obliged to interrupt the Happineſs of this Day, with Complaints of my Nephew's Ingra⯑titude. Your Majeſty will eaſily imagine that his Offences muſt needs be very great, ſince they have forced me to take this extraordinary Method to bring him to a juſt Senſe of his Duty.’

This ſtrange Speech filled all that were preſent with Aſtoniſhment and Uneaſineſs. The Chevalier was in the utmoſt Confuſion, and the poor Counteſs wondered what new Miſeries were preparing for her.

[247]The King having ordered the Marquis to proceed. ‘Your Majeſty, reſumed he, and the whole Kingdom have been Witneſſes to the more than parental Affection I have born to that ungrateful Man; loaded with Years and Infirmities, I came in Arms to defend his Innocence, and expoſed my Life to preſerve his Honour. It would be an end⯑leſs Taſk to repeat all the Benefits I have conferred upon him, which he has only repaid by an obſtinate Diſobedience to my Will; twice I have attempted to ſe⯑cure his Happineſs, by an honourable and advantagious Match, and each Time he has eluded my Wiſhes, and voluntarily baniſhed himſelf from his Country rather than comply with the Propoſals I made him.’

Scarce had the Marquis des Eſſars ended this Speech, when the old Marquis de Saint-Sauveur following his lead, thus adreſſed himſelf to the King. ‘Sire, (ſaid he) my Daughter is not leſs guilty than the Che⯑valier, after all the Miſeries ſhe has ſuf⯑fered herſelf, after all the Affliction ſhe has given her Parents and Friends on his Account; ſhe has denied to give him her Hand, and to make her Diſobedience more remarkable, refuſed to conſent to what ſhe once ſo ardently deſired when it became our Will ſhe ſhould do ſo.’

Theſe Complaints which at the Beginning had ſpread ſo much Conſternation through [148] the Company, and had filled the two Per⯑ſons moſt concerned in them, with Grief and Confuſion, now produced Smiles of Pleaſure on every Face. The Chevalier was overjoyed ſince he found they were likely to terminate in his Marriage with the Counteſs of Berci, whoſe fair Face, though overſpread with Bluſhes, expreſſed no Signs of Diſſatisfaction. ‘Sire, (ſaid the Che⯑valier, bowing profoundly low to the King) I ſhould be the baſeſt of Men if I did not acknowledge that the Obligations I have received from the Marquis des Eſ⯑ſars are above all Gratitude and Return; I have indeed too long delayed to give him thoſe Proofs of my Obedience and Submiſſion to his Will, which he deſires, but I hope he will pardon an Error which I die with Impatience to repair.’

‘And what have you to ſay, Madam, ſaid the King ſmiling, to the Complaints your Father has made of you?’ Madam de Berci who only wanted to yield with Dignity, and expected a new Command from her Father and the King, replied with inaffable Grace: ‘That I have been the Cauſe of any Affliction to my Parents is one of the greateſt Misfortunes of my Life: but your Majeſty is, I hope convinced, that my Will has not always been in Fault; ſome Errors I have been led into from Want of Experience, but many more by a ſtrange Concurrence of Circum⯑ſtances, [249] which hardly left me the Freedom of Choice. As to the Point on which my Father claims my Obedience, I can only ſay, that the Condition of my Wi⯑dowhood and other important Reaſons have ſeemed to me ſufficient to diſpenſe with it.’

The Counteſs of Berci did not imagine the King would be ſatisfied with this Ex⯑cuſe; but ſhe had ſoon Cauſe to repent of her Diſingenuity, for that Prince, who thought there was great Force in her Plea, declared that ſhe ſhould be at Liberty to fol⯑low her Inclinations.

Madam de Berci was in the utmoſt Con⯑fuſion at this unlooked for Deciſion; her Father was concerned, and her Friends were in Pain for her; but the Chevalier, to whom it ſeemed the Sentence of his Death, was in Deſpair, and approaching the Counteſs, who was in viſible Emotions, ‘Ah, Madam, (ſaid he) are all my Suffe⯑rings for you forgot, and can you doom to ceaſeleſs Miſery a Man who ſo ar⯑dently loves, and has ſo faithfully ſerved you?’

Madam de Berci made no Anſwer; but the King who watched her Eyes and read in them all that paſſed in her Heart, ſaw his Interpoſition was neceſſary. And taking her Hand, ‘If I diſpenſed with your Obedience [250] to your Father, Madam, (ſaid he) I will not to your King, he regulated your firſt Choice, the ſecond ſhall be yours and mine.’ Saying this, he preſented her Hand to the Chevalier, who received it with a Tranſport, which hardly left him Power to expreſs his Gratitude. His Majeſty to favour the Coun⯑teſs's Confuſion, whoſe charming Face was all overſpread with Bluſhes, drew the Marquis de Saint-Sauveur aſide and entered into Diſcourſe with him: this little Inter⯑val the Lovers employed, in removing thoſe Doubts which had retarded their Happineſs, and were likely to have ſaparated them for ever. When his Majeſty joined the Com⯑pany he found Madam de Berci with the Queen, that Princeſs who had conceived a great Eſteem for the Chevalier des Eſſars, and had been much moved with the Mis⯑fortunes of the Counteſs of Berci, congra⯑tulated them on this happy Event in Terms highly obliging to them both. The next Day ſaw the Celebration of their Nuptials, and every ſucceeding one brought an In⯑creaſe of Happineſs to a Pair united as well by Virtue as by Love.