I must confess, pursued the beautiful countess, this piece of quixotism very much veved me:—I thought his friends in France deserved more from him than to be neglected for one who fled from him, and who, as the man said, he knew not whether he should be able ever to see again. I resolved, however, to comply with his desires, and came immediately to Paris; but heaven has shewed him how little it approves his giving me this unnecessary trouble, for this morning I received a letter from him, that meeting with robbers in his way, they had taken from him all his money and bills of exchange, besides wounding him in several places, so that he cannot proceed on his journey till his hurts, which it seems are not dangerous, are cured, and he has fresh remittances from hence.

With what emotions the heart of Louisa was agitated during the latter part of this little narrative, a sensible reader may easily conceive: from the first mention of Bolognia, where there was no other English pensioner than herself, she knew it must be no other than her dear du Plessis who was in search for her abroad, while she was vainly hoping to find him at home:—every circumstance rendered this belief more certain; and surprize and joy worked so strongly in her, that fearing the effects would be visible, she rose up and withdrew to a window. Mademoiselle Charlotta, who knew she could not be capable of such an act of unpoliteness, without being compelled to it, asked if she were not well:—on which Louisa entreated pardon, but owned a sudden faintness had come over her spirits, so that she was obliged to be rude in order to prevent being troublesome.

As mademoiselle Charlotta knew nothing of her story, she had no farther thought about it than of some little qualm, which frequently happens when young ladies are too closely laced, and she seeming perfectly recovered from, the conversation was renewed on the same subject it had turned upon before this interruption; and the name of monsieur du Plessis being often mentioned, confirmed Louisa, if before she could have had the least remains of doubt, that it was her lover who, neglectful of his own affairs, and the remonstrances of his expecting friends, was about to range in search of one who, he imagined, was ungrateful both to his love and friendship.

After having listened, with the utmost attention, to all the countess said of him, and other matters becoming the topic of discourse, she took her leave, in order to reflect alone what she ought to do in this affair.

She debated not long within herself before she resolved to write to him, and prevent the unprofitable journey he was about to take; and having heard, by madam d' Espargnes, the name of the village where he was obliged to wait, both for the recovery of his wounds and for remittances for his expences, she wrote to him in the following terms:

To monsieur DU PLESSIS.

"I should ill return the proofs I have received of your generous disinterested friendship, to delay one moment that I had it in my power, in endeavouring to convince you that it was a quite contrary motive than ingratitude to you, that carried me from Bolognia:—but the story is too long for the compass of a letter; when you know it, you will, perhaps, own this action, whatever you may now think of it, merits more, than any thing I could have done, your approbation:—this seeming riddle will be easily expounded, if, on the recovery of your wounds, you repair immediately to Paris, where you will find

Your much obliged,

LOUISA."

Having finished this little billet, a scruple rose in her head, that being now under the care of a father, she ought not to do any thing of this nature without his permission:—she had already told him how greatly she had been indebted to du Plessis for his honourable passion, but had not mentioned the least tittle of the tender impressions it had made on her; and she so lately knew him to be her father, that she was ashamed to make him the confidant of an affair of this nature, but then, when she considered the quality of du Plessis, which she was now confirmed of, and the sense Dorilaus testified he had of his behaviour to her while he believed her so infinitely his inferior, made her resolve to drain her modesty so far as to inform him all.

She began by relating her accidental meeting with madam, the countess d'Espargnes and the conversation that passed at mademoiselle de Palfoy's, and then, tho' not without immoderate blushes, shewed him what she had wrote, and beseeched him to let her know whether it would be consistent with a virgin's modesty, and also agreeable to his pleasure, that she gave this demonstration of her gratitude for the favours she had received from this young gentleman.

Dorilaus was charmed with this proof of her duty and respect, and told her, that he was so far from disapproving what she had wrote, that had she omitted it, or said less than she did, he should have looked upon her as unworthy of so perfect a passion as that which monsieur du Plessis on all occasions, testified for her:—that, in his opinion, she owed him more than she could ever pay; and that it should be his endeavour to shew he had not placed his affections on the daughter of one who knew not how to set a just value on merit such as his:—he made her also add a postscript to the letter, to give a direction in what part of Paris he might find her on his arrival; but Louisa would by no means give the least hint of the alteration in her circumstances, not that she wanted any farther proofs of his sincerity, but that she reserved the pleasure of so agreeable a surprize to their meeting. This letter was dispatched immediately, to the end he might receive it, at least, as soon as that from his sister with the expected remittances.



CHAP. XXV.

Monsieur du Plessis arrives at Paris: his reception from Dorilaus and Louisa: the marriage of these lovers agreed upon.

The innocent pleasure Louisa felt in picturing to herself the extacy which du Plessis would be in at the receipt of her letter, was not a flattering idea:—to know she was in Paris, where, in all probability, she had come to seek him, and to have the intelligence of it from herself, had all the effect on him that the most raptured fancy can invent.

His orders to madam d' Espargnes being punctually complied with, his bills of exchange also came soon after to hand; and the little hurts he had received from the robbers, as well as those of his mind, being perfectly healed, he set out with a lover's expedition, and arrived in Paris to the pleasing surprize of a sister who tenderly loved him, and expected not this satisfaction of a long time.

He took but one night's repose before he enquired concerning Dorilaus, and was told that he was a person of quality in England; but, on some disgust he had received in his native country, was come to settle in France. As Louisa was extremely admired, they told him also that he had a very beautiful daughter, of whom he was extremely fond. This last information gave not a little ease to the mind of him who heard it, and dissipated those apprehensions which the high character they gave of Dorilaus had, in spite of himself, excited in him: he now imagined that as they were English, his Louisa might possibly have been acquainted with the daughter of this gentleman in their own country, and meeting her at Paris, might have put herself under her protection.

Full of those impatiencies which are inseparable from a sincere passion, he borrowed his sister's chariot, and went to the Fauxbourg St. Germains; and being told one of the best houses in the place was that of Dorilaus, he asked for mademoiselle Louisa, on which he was desired to alight, and shewed into a handsome parlour while a servant went in to inform her: after this, he was ushered up stairs into a room, the furniture of which shewed the elegance of the owner's taste; but accustomed to every thing that was great and magnificent, the gilded scenes, the rich tapestry, the pictures, had no effect on him, till casting his eyes on one that hung over the chimney, he found the exact resemblance of the dear object never absent from his heart.—It was indeed the picture of Louisa, which her father, soon after her arrival, had caused to be drawn by one of the best painters at that time in Paris. This sight gave him a double pleasure, because it, in some measure, anticipated that of the original, and also convinced him that she was not indifferent to the person she was with.

He was fixed in contemplation on this delightful copy, when the original appeared in all the advantages that jewels and rich dress could give her.—Tho' he loved her only for herself, and nothing could add to the sincere respect his heart had always paid her, yet to see her so different from what he expected, filled him with a surprize and a kind of enforced awe, which hindered him from giving that loose to his transports, which, after so long an absence, might have been very excusable;—and he could only say—my dear adorable Louisa, am I so blessed to see you once more!—She met his embrace half way, and replied, monsieur du Plessis, heaven has given me all I had to wish in restoring to me so faithful a friend;—but come, continued she, permit me to lead you to a father, who longs to embrace the protector of his daughter's innocence. Your father, madam! cried he; yes, answered she; in seeking a lover at Paris I found a father; Dorilaus is my father:—I have acquainted him with all the particulars of our story, and, I believe, the sincere affection I have for you will not be less pleasing for receiving his sanction to it.

With these words she took his hand and led him, all astonishment, into an inner room where Dorilaus was sitting, who rose to meet him with the greatest politeness, and which shewed that to be master of, it was not necessary to be born in France; and on Louisa's acquainting him with the name of the person she presented, embraced him with the tenderness of a father, and made him such obliging and affectionate compliments, as confirmed to the transported du Plessis the character had been given of him.

After the utmost testimonies of respect on both side, Dorilaus told his daughter she ought to make her excuses to monsieur for having eloped from the monastry where he had been so good to place her, which, said he, I think you can do in no better a manner than by telling the truth, and as I am already sufficiently acquainted with the whole, will leave you to relate it, while I dispatch a little business that at present calls me hence. He went out of the room in speaking this, and Louisa had a more full opportunity of informing her lover of all she had suffered since their parting, till this happy change in her fortune, than she could have had in the presence of her father, tho' no stranger to her most inmost thoughts on this occasion.

The pleasing story of her pilgrimage rehearsed, how did the charmed du Plessis pity and applaud, by turns, her sufferings and fortitude!—How exclaim against the treachery of the abbess, and those of the nuns who were in confederacy with her! But his curiosity satisfied in this point, another rose instantly in his mind, that being the daughter of such a person as Dorilaus, wherefore she had made so great a secret of it, and what reason had occasioned her being on the terms she was with Melanthe. He no sooner expressed his wonder on these heads, than, having before her father's permission to do so, she resolved to leave him in no suspence on any score relating to her affairs.

Tho', said she blushing, I cannot reveal the history of my birth without laying open the errors of those to whom I owe my being, yet I shall not think the sacrifice too great to recompence the obligations you have laid upon me; and then proceeded to acquaint him with every thing relating to her parents, as well as to herself, from the first moment she was found in the garden of Dorilaus.

It is not to be doubted but that he listened to the story with the utmost attention, in which he found such matters of admiration, that he could not forbear frequently interrupting her, by crying, Oh heaven! oh providence! how mysterious are thy ways!—How, in thy disposal of things, dost thou force us to acknowledge thy divine power and wisdom!

He was also extremely pleased to find she was the sister of Horatio, whom he had often been in company with both at the baron de la Valeire's and at St. Germains, and had admired for the many extraordinary qualities he discovered in him: this led them into a conversation concerning that young gentleman, and the misfortunes which some late news-paper gave an account were beginning to fall upon the king of Sweden; after that, renewing the subject of their mutual affection, and du Plessis running over the particulars of their acquaintance in Italy, Louisa asked whether the count de Bellfleur had ever testified any remorse for the injury he would have offered her, and in what manner they had lived together in the army? To which monsieur du Plessis replied, that the authority of the prince had prevented him from attempting any open acts of violence; but that by his manner of behaviour it was easy to see he had not forgiven the disappointment; and he verily believed wanted only a convenient opportunity to revenge it: but, continued he, whatever his designs were, heaven put a stop to the execution of them; for, in the first skirmish that happened between us and the forces of prince Eugene, this once gay, gallant courtier, had his head taken off by a cannon ball.

The gentle Louisa could not forbear expressing some concern for the sudden fate of this bad man, greatly as she had been affronted by him; but when she reflected that the same accident might have befallen her dear du Plessis, she was all dissolved in tears.

They were in this tender communication when Dorilaus returned leading the countess d'Espargnes in one hand, and mademoiselle de Palfoy in the other. Monsieur du Plessis was surprized to meet his sister in a place where he knew not she was acquainted, and she no less to find him there. The occasion of it was this:

Dorilaus, when he left the lovers together, went directly to the baron de Palfoy's, and related to him and to mademoiselle the whole history of monsieur du Plessis and Louisa; on which they contriv'd to make a pleasant scene, by engaging the countess d'Espargnes to go with them to Dorilaus's, without letting her know on what account.—The event answered their wishes; madam d' Espargnes rallied her brother on finding him alone with so beautiful a young lady; and mademoiselle Charlotta, for his inconstancy to his mistress at Bolognia: but when the riddle was solved, and the countess came to know that the lady left in the monastery and Louisa were the same, she no longer condemned an attachment which before had given her so much pain.

Mademoiselle Charlotta chid her for the reserve she had maintained to her in this affair, especially, said she, as you were obliged to the conversation you had with madam d'Espargnes in my apartment, that you received any intelligence of monsieur du Plessis, or knew how to direct your commands to him to return.

That, madam, is an obligation lies wholly on me, said monsieur du Plessis; and I believe I shall find it very difficult to requite it, any more than I shall to deserve my sister's pardon, for so industriously endeavouring to conceal from her the secret of my passion and its object.

Louisa told the ladies that she now hoped they would excuse the disorder she had been in at the countess's discourse, since they knew the motive:—a good deal of pleasantry passed between this agreeable company; and as they were in the midst of it, the baron de Palfoy, who had been hindered from accompanying Dorilaus, when he conducted the ladies, now joined them; and tho' he was considerably older than any there, was no less entertaining and good-humoured than the youngest.

Dorilaus had privately ordered a very magnificent collation, which being served up, Louisa did the honours of the table with so good a grace, that madam d' Espargnes was charmed with her, and took an opportunity of asking Dorilaus when she might hope the happiness of calling so amiable a lady by the name of sister. Du Plessis thanked her for the interest she took in his affairs; and the baron de Palfoy added, that as the lovers wanted no farther proofs how worthy they were of each other, he would join in solliciting for a completion of their happiness. To which Dorilaus replied, that he was too well satisfied with his daughter's conduct, not to leave her entirely at her own disposal; and as to what related to fortune and settlement, he should be ready to enter into such articles as, he believed, monsieur du Plessis would have no reason to complain of.

The passionate lover at these words cried out, that it was Louisa's self alone he was ambitious of possessing; nor had either that lady or her father any room to look on what he said as a mere compliment, because his love had long since waved all the seeming disproportion between them.

In fine, not only at this time, but every day, almost every hour, was Louisa, as it now depended wholly on herself, importuned by her lover and the countess d'Espargnes to render his happiness complete; but she still delayed it, desiring to hear some news of Horatio, the baron de Palfoy having settled every thing with Dorilaus concerning his marriage with mademoiselle Charlotta, she was willing, she said, that as they were born on the same day, their nuptials should be also celebrated at the same time.

Monsieur du Plessis was obliged to content himself with this since he could obtain no more; and for a time every thing passed smoothly and agreeably on; but news after news continually arriving of the king of Sweden's ill success in Ukrania, rendered all the noble friends of Horatio extremely dissatisfied:—the public accounts were too deficient for their information of any particular officer, and as there were very few French in the Swedish army, they could hope for no intelligence of him but from himself; which, as he omitted giving, they at last concluded he was either killed or taken prisoner; which last misfortune they looked upon as equal with the former:—the Russian barbarity, and their manner of treating those whom the chance of war threw into their hands, was no secret thro' all Europe; and whichever of these accidents had happened, must be very grievous to a gentleman of Dorilaus's disposition, who, when unknowing he was his son, loved him with more tenderness than many fathers do their offspring, but now convinced not only that he was so, but also that he was possessed of such amiable qualities as might do honour to the most illustrious race, had fixed an idea in his mind of such a lasting happiness in having him near him, that the thoughts of being deprived of him for ever threw him into a melancholy, which not all the friends he had acquired in Paris, not all the gaieties of that place, nor the sweet society of the engaging and dutiful Louisa, had the power to console. So deep was his affliction, that monsieur du Plessis, amorous and impatient as he was, had not courage to urge a grant of his own happiness, while those who were to bestow it, were incapable of sharing any part of it.

Soon after there arrived a thunder-clap indeed:—certain intelligence that the once victorious Charles was totally overthrown, his whole army either cut to pieces or taken prisoners, and himself a fugitive in the grand seignior's dominions.—Dorilaus, now not doubting but the worst he feared had come to pass, shut himself from all company, and refused the unavailing comfort of those who came to offer it.—The fair eyes of Louisa were continually drowned in tears, and the generous du Plessis sympathized in all her griefs. But what became of mademoiselle Charlotta de Palfoy! her tender soul, so long accustomed to love Horatio, had not courage to support the shock of losing him;—losing him at a time when she thought herself secure of being united to him for ever;—when his discovered birth had rendered her father's wishes conformable to her own, and there wanted nothing but his presence to render both their families completely blessed:—all that excess of love which modesty had hitherto restrained her from giving any public marks of, now shewed itself in the violence of her grief and her despair.—She made no secret of her softest inclinations, and gave a loose to all the impatience of a ruined love. Even the haughty baron was melted into tears of compassion, and so far from condemning, that, he attempted all in his power to alleviate her sorrows.



CHAP. XXVI.

The Catastrophe of the whole.

Poor Horatio, released, as I have already said, from his worse than Turkish bondage, had now, with the companions of his misfortunes, left a country where they had suffered so much and had so little to hope, that their enlargement seemed even to themselves a miracle.—As they parted, miserable and forlorn, thro' those provinces where, about a year before, they had marched with so much pomp and force, as, together with the king of Sweden's name, inspired admiration and terror over all those parts of the world, it filled them with the most poignant anguish, and drew tears from those among them least sensible of any tender emotions.

All this disconsolate company, except Horatio, being Swedes', they made the best of their way, some to Stockholm, and others to Straelsund.—Now left alone, a long journey before him, and altogether uncertain what reception he should find at Paris, either from Dorilaus or mademoiselle Charlotta, his condition was extremely pityable, and he stood in need of more fortitude than could be expected from his years, to enable him to go thro' it.

The nearer he approached Paris, the greater was his shock at the necessity of appearing there in the despicable figure he now made; but his courage still got the better, and surmounted all difficulties. If Dorilaus thinks my disobedience to his commands a crime too great to merit his forgiveness, would he say to himself, or Charlotta disdains, in his misfortunes, the faithful Horatio, I have no more to do than to return to Poland and seek an honourable death in the service of Stanislaus.

He made his entrance into that opulent city through the most bye-ways he could, and concealed himself till towards night in a little cabaret, where having soon been informed where Dorilaus lived, he went when it was quite dark to his house, though how divided between hope and fear it is easy to imagine. He knocked at the gate, which being opened by the porter, and he desiring to speak with his master, was answered with many impertinent questions, as—who he came from, what his business was, and such like interrogatories which the sawciness of servants generally put to persons such as this fellow took Horatio to be by his appearance. But he had no sooner desired he would tell Dorilaus that he came from Russia, and brought intelligence of Horatio, than his tone of voice and behaviour was quite changed.—Our traveller was now carried into a parlour and entreated to sit down, and the late surly porter called hastily for one of the servants, bidding him, with the utmost joy, run in and inform his master that here was a person come from Russia that could give him news of colonel Horatio.

This a little raised the lately depressed spirits of Horatio, as it assured him his name was not unknown in that family, nor had been mentioned with indifference.

He attended but a very little time before he was shewed up into Dorilaus's apartment, who was just opening his mouth to enquire if Horatio were yet living, and in what condition, when he saw it was himself. Surprize and joy rendered him incapable either of speaking to him, or hearing the apologies he was beginning to make for having disobeyed his commands:—but he fell upon his neck and gave him an embrace, which dissipated all Horatio's fears, and left him no room to doubt if his peace was made.

No words were exchanged between them for a considerable time, but—oh my dear son, my ever loved Horatio, on the one side, my more than father, patron, on the other:—at length the tumultuous rapture of so unexpected a meeting and reception, giving way to a more peaceful calm,—Dorilaus made Horatio relate all the particulars had happened to him; and when he had ended, now, said he, I will reward the sincerity I easily perceive you have made use of in this narrative, by acquainting you, in my turn, with secrets you are far from having any notion of, and which, I believe, will compensate for all your sufferings, and make you own, that while you seemed to groan under the utmost severities of fortune, she was preparing for you all the blessings in her power to give, and even more than your ambition aimed at. But I have first a message to dispatch, continued he; at my return you shall know all.

With these words he went out of the room, but came back in a moment, and, after renewing his embraces to Horatio, revealed to him the whole secret of his birth, with all had happened to Louisa till the time of their happy meeting in Paris.

With what pleasing wonder the soul of Horatio was filled at this discovery, is much more easy to conceive than describe, so I shall leave it to the reader's imagination to guess what it was he felt and spoke on so extraordinary an occasion. While he was pouring out the transports it occasioned in the most grateful thanks to heaven, and his new found father, Louisa entered, Dorilaus having sent to the baron de Palfoy's, where he knew she was, to let her know a messenger from Russia was arrived with news of her brother:—they instantly knew each other, though it was upwards of four years since they were separated, and in that time the stature of both considerably increased:—nothing could exceed the joy of these amiable twins:—never was felicity more perfect, which yet received addition on Horatio's part, when Louisa told him, that it was as much as Charlotta could do to restrain herself from coming with her to hear what account the supposed messenger had brought.

Dorilaus on this immediately sent to let her know his son was well, and expected in Paris the next day, for he would not suffer him to appear before her, or the baron, till a habit was made for him more agreeable to his condition than that he arrived in. It is certain that the impatience of a lover would have made Horatio gladly wave this ceremony, but he would not a second time dispute the commands of such a father.

But wherefore should I delay the attention of my reader, who, I doubt not, but easily perceives by this time how things will end: so I shall only say that the meeting of Horatio and Charlotta was such, as might be expected from so arduous and constant an affection: that every thing having been settled between the two fathers at the time they sent their joint mandates to call him home, there now remained nothing but to celebrate the long desired nuptials, which was deferred no longer than was requisite for preparations to render the ceremony magnificent.

The generous du Plessis and his beloved Louisa were also united the same day; and it would be hard to say which of these weddings afforded most satisfaction to the friends on both sides, or were attended with the most happy consequences to the persons concerned in them.

By these examples we may learn, that to sustain with fortitude and patience whatever ills we are preordained to suffer, entitles us to relief, while by impatient struggling we should but augment the score, and provoke fate to shew us the vanity of all attempts to frustrate its decrees.

FINIS.