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their door to no purpose. They rendered me
first as profigate as a monkey; then turned
me devout as a priest. I did not fail going to
mass every day for a fortnight.
Ah, my
friend! what a figure! how lovely she is!"
Madame de la Pommeraye knew the whole
story. "You mean,” replied she to the Mar-
quis, "that, after having employed every ex- ||
pedient to effect a cure, you omitted no meaus
to drive yourself mad, and that, in the latter
part only, you hare succeeded ?"

“And succeeded, I cannot express how far. Will you not take pity upon me? And am I not to be indebted to you for the happiness of seeing her again?'

"The matter is difficult, and I will consider *of it, but upon one condition, which is, that you will leave these unfortunate people in peace, and cease to torment them. I will not conceal that they have written to me of your persecution with bitterness; and there is the letter."

The letter, which was given to the Marquis to read, had been converted between them. It was from Mademoiselle d'Aisnon, who appeared to have written it by order of her mother, and it was executed with elegance and wit, with a mixture of every thing that was handsome, insinuating, touching: with all that could turn the head of the Marquis. Accordingly, he accompanied every word with an exchumation; not a phrase which he did not read again and again: he wept with joy; he said to Madame de la Pommerayc, "Acknowledge that nothing can be better written than this. And, that at every line, we feel ourselves penetrated with admiration and respect for women of this character. When am I to see her again ?"

"I do not know that. We must, in the first place, consider of the means of arranging the business, and avoiding all suspicion. They cannot be ignorant of your views. Do but think of the colour which my complaisance would wear in their eyes did they imagine that I acted in concert with you!-But, Marquis, between ourselves, why should I involve my self in such a dilemma? What is it to me, whether you are in leve or not? and, that you are out of your wits? Fight your way your self? The part that you assign to me is a little too extraordinary."

"My love, if you abandon me, I am undone! I will speak no more to you of myself, for that might offend you ; but I will conjure you by those interesting and deserving creatures who are so dear to you; you know me, spare them all the extravagancies of which I am capable. I will go to their house; yes, I warn you, I will go; I will force their door, I

will enter in spite of their resistance; I will sit down; I know not what I will say, what I will do; for what have you not to fear from the violence with which I am agitated?"

From the commencement of this adventure to this moment, every word the Marquis des Arcis had uttered, was a deadly stroke aimed at the heart of Madame de la Pommeraye. She was choaked with rage and indignation; accordingly she answered the Marquis in a tremulous and faultering voice.

"But you are right. Ah! had I been so loved. It is not for your sake that I will act, but I flatter myself at least, Marquis, that you will allow me time,”

"As little, as little as I can "

Madame de la Pommeraye would say; "I suffer, but I do not suffer alone. Cruel man ; I know not what is to be the duration of my torment; but I will render yours cternal." She kept the Marquis bear a month in expectation of the interview she had promised; that is to say, she left him all this fine to pine, to become thoroughly intoxicated, and, under pretence of sweetemag the irksomeness of delay, she allowed bi to entertain her with his passion.

The Marquis came every day to chat with Madame de la Pommeraye, who succeeded in completely inflaming his imagination, confirming his passion, and accomplishing his total undoing by the most artful conversation. He obtained information of the country, the birth, the education, the fortune, and the disaster of these women; he dwelt incessantly upon the subject, and he never thought that he had got sufficient information nor felt sufficient sympathy. The Marchioness pointed out the progress of his sentiments, and rendered the term to which it would lead familiar to him, under pretence of representing it as a subject to inspire him with alarm. “Marquis,” she would say, "have a care; this will carry you a great way. Some day it may happeu that my friendship, which you so strangely abuse, will not excuse me either in my own eyes or in yours. Greater extravagances indeed are committed every day. Marquis, I very much fear that you will not obtain this girl but upon conditions which hitherto have not been much to your taste."

When Madame de la Pommeraye believed the Marquis well prepared for the success of her design, she arranged with the two women, that they should come to dine with her and with the Marquis, that in order to impose upon them, he should surprise them in a country dress; which was accordingly executed.

They were at the second course when the

Marquis was announced. The Marquis, Madame de la Pommeraye and the two d'Aisnons played off their affected embarrassment in a very superior manner. "Madam," said he to Madame de la Pommeraye, "I am just come from my estate, it is too late to go home where I am not expected till night, and I flattered myself that you would not refuse me a dinner." And saying this he had, at the same time, taken a chair and placed himself at table. The cover had been disposed in such a manner, that he found himself by the side of the mother and opposite to the daughter. After the confusion of the first moment, our two devotees recovered their spirits, they talked, they were even gay. The Marquis discovered the highest attention to the mother, and the most reserved politeness to the daughter. The scrupulous care which the Marquis observed to say nothing, and to avoid every thing which could offend them was to these three women a secret and most entertaining amusement. It is needless to say that our devotees displayed in the conversation all the grace, the wit, the insinuation, and the cunning which they possessed. As they went along they touched upon the chapter of the passions, and Mademoiselle Duquenoi (for that was their family name) maintained that every one of them was dangerous. The Marquis expressed himself of her opinion. Between six and seven, the two women retired, notwithstanding every effort made to detain them, Madame de la Pommeraye affirming that it was necessary to attend to duty in preference to every thing, without which there was almost no day, the pleasure of which was not tinged with remorse.

“In truth, Marquis,” said Madame de la Pommeraye, " am not I very good natured? Find me another woman in Paris who would do as much."

"I acknowledge it," replied the Marquis, (throwing himself at her feet), "there is not one who resembles you. Your goodness confounds me, you are the only real friend in the world."

"Are you very sure that you will always feel, in the same manner, the value of my conduct?"

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of the mother and daughter. This priest, after having put in practice all the hypocritical dif ficulties which can be opposed to a dishonourable intrigue, and sold as high as possible the sanctity of his office, lent his aid to every thing which the Marquis wished to accomplish.

The first villainy of this man, was to check the kindness of the rector, and to persuade him that these two women who were protected by Madame de la Pommeraye obtained from the parish that charity of which they deprived other indigent persons, more fit objects of pity than they. His purpose was by misery to render them subservient to his views.

Next, in the discharge of his office of con fessor, he laboured to excite division between the mother and the daughter. When he heard the mother complain of the daughter, he aggravated the faults of the latter and irritated the resentment of the former; if it was the daughter who complained of her mother, he insinuated to her that the power of fathers and mothers over their children was limited, and that if the persecution of her mother were pushed to a certain point, it might not perhaps be impossible to withdraw her from a tyrannical authority.

Our ladies had no doubt that the priest would venture immediately to deliver a letter to his penitent, which was done, but with what management! He did not know from whom it came, he presumed that it might be from some kind and charitable soul, who had discovered their misery, and who was proposing to them means of relief; he had frequently delivered letters of a similar nature. You are wise, madam, your mother is prudent, and I require that you open it in her presence. Mademoiselle Duquenoi took the letter, and delivered it to her mother, who passed it immediately to Madame de la Pommeraye. Fortified by this paper, she made the priest wait upon her, loaded him with the reproaches which he merited, and threatened to lay his conduct before his superiors, if ever she heard any thing concerning him.

In this letter the Marquis launched out into an eulogium upon his own person, and

"I should be a monster of ingratitude, if I that of Mademoiselle Duquenoi, painted the held its value too cheap."

violence of the passion which he had conceiv

"To change the text. What is the state of ed for her, and made some bold propositions, your heart?"

amounting to no less than to carry her off by

"If I must confess it to you frankly, I must force. obtain this girl or perish."

After having read this lecture to the priest, Madame de la Pommeraye sent for the Marquis to her house, represented to him how un

The Marquis was about two months with out shewing himself at Madame de la Pommeraye's, and in the interval he was thus employ-worthy his conduct was of a gentleman, and how much she had been exposed: shewed him N

ed; he made acquaintance with the confessor No. II. Vol. I.-N. S.

1

his letter, protested that in spite of the tender friendship in which they were united, she would consider it an indispensable duty to produce it in a court of justice, or to deliver it back to Madame Duquenui if any incident befel her daughter. "Ab! Marquis," said she¦¦ to him," love corrupts your heart; you must have been born under some inauspicious star, since what is the source of great actions in others inspires you only with sentiments which degrade you. And what have these poor women done, that ignominy should be added to their misery? Must the girl's beauty and her love of virtue make you become her persecu tor? Does it become you to make her curse one of the fairest boons of heaven? Or when did I merit being made your accomplice? Come, Marquis, throw yourself at my feet, ask my pardon, and swear to me that you will suffer my ill-fated friends to live in peace."

The Marquis promised to her that he would attempt nothing without consulting her, but protested that he must have the 'girl at any price.

The Marquis was by no means faithful to his promise. The mother was informed of the business; he did not hesitate to address her upon the subject. He avowed his criminal intentions, he offered a considerable sum, besides assurances of future provision, and along with his letter he sent a casket of rich jewels.

The three ladies held a council, the mother and the daughter were disposed to accept the offer, but this did not correspond with the views of Madame de la Pommeraye. She reminded them of the promise which they had given her, threatened to discover every thing, and to the great mortification of our devotees, the younger of whom took away the earrings which became her so well, the casket and the letter were returned with a haughty and indiguant answer,

Madame de la Pommeraye complained to the Marquis of the little regard that he had paid to his promises. The Marquis excused himself upon the indecency of employing her on such a commission. "Marquis! Marquis!" said Madame de la Pommeraye to him, "I have already informed you, and I again repeat it, you are on the wrong scent; but there is no time for preaching-words will be of no avail, there is no other alternative." The Marquis confessed that he entertainedthe same || sentiments with her, and asked her permission to make one more trial; it was to settle a considerable annuity upon both their lives: to share his fortune with the two ladies, and to give them a life-rent of one of his town and

country houses. "You may make the trial," said the Marchioness, "I prohibit only the use of violent measures; bnt, believe me, my friend, honour and virtue, when they are sincere, are inestimable in the eyes of those who are fortunate enough to possess thein. Your new offers will be attended with no better success than the former; I know the ladies, and I could pledge myself for the purity of their conduct."

The new propositions were made. Another council was held by the three ladies. The mother and the daughter waited in silence the decision of Madame de la Pommeraye. She took a short turn without speaking. "No, no," said she, "this will not satisfy my wounded heart." And no sooner bad she pronounced her negative than the two ladics burst into a flood of tears, threw themselves at her feet, and represented to her how mortifying it was for them to reject an immense fortune, which it was in their power to accept without any disagreeable consequence. Madame de la Pommeraye drily replied to them :--“ Do You think that what I have done has been on your account? what do I owe you? Is it not in my power to send you both back to your late situation? If what he offers be too much for you, it is too little for me. Write, Madam, the answer which I shall dictate to you, and let it be dispatched in my sight." The ladies returned still more frightened than distressed."

The Marquis was not long in repairing to the house of Madame de la Pommeraye. "Well, said she to him, what of your new offers ?"

"They have been made and rejected. I now quite despair of success. I wish I could tear this unfortunate passion from my heart, that I could tear my heart out but I cannot. I can come to no resolution; I sometimes am scized with a desire to step into a post-chaise and to drive to the extremities of the earth, a moment after my heart sinks within me; am, as it were, annihilated, my head swims, I become stupid, I know not what to make of myself."

Next morning, the Marquis wrote to the Marchioness that he was setting off for the country, that he would stay there as long as he could, and begged her to do him a service with his female friends, if an opportunity occurred. The absence was short, he returned with the resolution of marrying her.

He alighted at Madame de la Pommeraye's door. She was abroad. On her return she found the Marquis lolling in an easy chair, his eyes shut, and absorbed in deep meditation. "Ah! Marquis, are you here? The country

has not had very lasting charms for you."
"No," replied he, "I am happy no where,
and I come determined upon the most con-
summate act of foily, which a man of my
estate, my age, and of my character can com-
mit. But it is better to marry than to endure
this torture. I will marry."

Her address to him was not long; it was as follows:

"Marquis, learn to know me. If other women valued themselves enough to feel a resentment like mine, such people as you would be less frequent. You obtained the affection of a virtuous woman, whom you

"Marquis, it is a step of much importance, || knew not how to preserve. This woman is,

and requires consideration."

"I know of only one, but it is a weighty one; I cannot be more unhappy than I am." "You may be wrong."

Bour.

"Here then, at last, my friend, is a negocia. tion in which I think you may embark in ho See the mother and the daughter; interrogate the mother, sound the heart of the daughter, aud communicate to them my intention."

"Softly, Marquis. I thought I knew enough of them to transact any business which has hitherto passed between you, but now that the happiness of my friend is at stake, he will ¦¦ permit me to take a nearer inspection of their characters. I will inform myself of their country, and I promise you I will trace every step of their progress during their abode in Paris."

"These precautions appear to me superfluous. Women in misery, who could resist the baits which I laid for these must be most With the offers I extraordinary creatures. made them, I could obtain the favours of a Duchess. Besides, have you not said yourself—"

"I have said every thing you please; but, notwithstanding this, permit me to satisfy myself."

Madame de la Pommeraye made out her information as minutely and as speedily as she pleased. She produced to the Marquis the most flattering attestations She got them in Paris, and she got them in the country. She asked of the Marquis still another fortnight, in order that she might enter into a fresh investigation. This fortnight seemed to him an eternity; at last the Marchioness was obliged to yield to his impatience and his cutreaties. The first interview was at the house of her female friends; every thing there was settled; || the banus were published, the contract signed, the Marquis made a present of a superb diamond to Madame de la Pommeraye, and the marriage was consummated.

Next morning Madame de la Pommeraye wrote a note to the Marquis, requesting to see him at her house, on important business. The Marquis waited upon her of course.

She received him with a countenance, in which indignation was forcibly depicted

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myself. She has avenged herself upon you, by making you marry one who is worthy of you. Instantly quit my house, and go to the Hamburgh Hotel, in the rue Traversiere, where you will be informed of the foul profession which your wife and your mother-in-law have followed for ten years, under the name of d'Aisnon."

The surprise and consternation of the poor Marquis cannot be described. He did not know what to think; but his uncertainty only lasted the time of his going from one end of the town to the other. He did not return home all that day; he wandered in the streets. His mother-in-law and his wife suspected what had happened. At the first knock at the door, the mother in law retired to her apart. ment and locked herself in; his wife waited his coming in alone. At the approach of her husband, she read in his countenance the fury which he felt. She threw herself at his feet, her eyes fixed on the floor, without uttering a word "Retire," said he to her, "infamous wretch! Get you gone!" She attempted to raise herself up, but she fell upon her face, with her arms stretched upon the ground between the feet of the Marquis.—" Sir," said she to him, "trample me under your feet! crush me to pieces, for I have deserved it! do with me what you please: only spare my mother!" "Retire," replied the Marquis, tire! Is it not enough that I am covered with infamy? Spare me the commission of a crime." The poor creature continued in the posture in which she lay, and made no answer.

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The Marquis had seated himself in an easy chair, his face covered with his hands, and his body half leaning upon the foot of his bed, exclaiming at intervals, "Retire!" The unfortunate creature, continuing silent and motionless, excited his surprise; he repeated in a still louder tone, "Retire! don't you hear me:" He then stooped, endeavouring to push her away, but finding she was senseless, and that life was almost gone, he gently raised her up, stretched her on a couch, and fixed his eyes upon her for a moment, which ex. pressed alternately comm seration and resentHe rang the bell; some of the servants came in; they called the feinale servants, and he desired them to carry their mistress, who N 2

ineut.

On the following day the Marquis ordered his horses to be put to his carriage, and did not make his appearance for a fortnight, during which time they did not know what was become of him. Before his departure, he had made every necessary provision for the mother and the daughter, and left orders with the servants strictly to obey their mistress in every thing she desired.

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was taken ill, to her apartment, and to give | which had good cause to be irritated, had reher proper assistance. In a few minutes, helented, and perhaps I may in time obtain comsent privately to know her situation. They passion. Sir, I beg you will not so soon said, that she had recovered from her first hasten to forgive me. So many virtuous girls swoon; but that the fainting fits succeeded have become bad wives, that, perhaps, I shall one another so rapidly, were so frequent and be an instance of the contrary. I am not yet so long, that they could not answer for the|| worthy to appear in your presence; pray let event. In an hour or two after, he again sent me only hope for pardon. Keep me at a disprivately to know how she was. They said, tance from you; inspect my conduct; judge she was almost breathless, and that she had of it as it deserves: too happy, a thousand been seized with convulsive fits, which were so times too happy, if you condescend some loud as to be heard in the court. In answer times to send for me! Allot me some obscure to his third message, which was in the morncorner in your house, in which you will permit ing, they reported that she had wept a great me to dwell, and there I shall remain without deal, that the convulsions had ceased, and a murmur. Ah? could I divest myself of the that she appeared to be drowsy. name and title, which they have made me usurp, and afterwards die the moment that under the influence of weakness, of seduction, you are satisfied! I have been left to commit, of authority, of threats, an action of infamous desert; but do not think, Sir, that I am depraved: I am not; since I did not hesitate to appear before you, in obedience to your command, and to presume to raise my eyes, and to address you. Ah! could you read the secret sentiments of my heart, and see how different they are to those of women of a similar character! Vice has been incidental to me; it has not incorporated with my nature. I know my own heart; and, it is a piece of justice which I owe to myself, to say, that from my dispositions, my sentiments, and my character, I was born worthy of the honour of being connected with you. Ah! had I been at liberty to see you, I should only have needed to say one word, and I believe I should have had the courage to speak it. Sir, dispose of me as you think proper; make your servants come in; let them strip me, and throw me out into the street, under the darkness of night; I subscribe to whatever you ordain. Let the fate to which you doom me be whatever it may, I submit to it; let some sequestered cottage, or the obscurity of a cloister, conceal me for ever from your sight: speak the word, and thither I will go. Your happiness is not irretrieveably lost; you can forget me.'

In this interval the two ladies remained to

you

gether, almost without exchanging words; the daughter sobbing, at times crying aloud, tearing her hair, wringing her hands; and her mother not venturing to come near to comfort her. The one was the figure of despair, the other of obduracy. The daughter said twenty times to her mother, "Mamma, let us get out of this house; let us make our escape." The mother as often resisted the proposal, and replied, “No, my girl, we must remain ; we must see what this will come to; surely he will not kill us." "Oh, would to God," returned the daughter," that it were already done!" Her mother would then say, had better be silent than speak so foolishly." On his return, the Marquis shut himself up in his closet, and wrote two letters, one to his wife, another to his mother-in-law. The latter repaired the same day to a convent of Carmelites, in the neighbouring town, where she died soon after. Her daughter dressed herself, and repaired to her husband's apartment, where probably she had been desired to come. At the door she threw herself down upon her knees. "Rise," said the Marquis to her. Instead of rising, she advanced towards him upon her knees; she trembled at every joint; her bair was dishevelled, her body a little inclined, her arms listed up, Ler head raised, her eyes watching his looks, and her face streaming with tears. "it seems to me," said she to him (a sigh stopping her utterance at every word)" as if your heart,

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"Rise," said the Marquis to her in a soft tone of voice, "I have forgiven you. At the moment even when I was smarting under a sense of injury, I respected my wife in you: not a single word has escaped me tending to humble her; or, at least, if there has, I repent of it, and protest that she shall never hear another to that effect, if she remember that she never can render her husband unhappy without being miserable herself. Be virtuous, be happy, and make me so. Rise,

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