than Montauban." -Lonquillez was too much struck with her words to appear unaffected by them; she observed his surprise. "You think no harm, I hope," said she. He assured her he did not. "Nay, I need not care, for that part, who hears me; yet some folks might think it odd: But we are all friends here, as we may say, and neither of you, I know, are tale-bearers, otherwise I should not prattle as I ulo; especially, as the last time I saw my lady, when I asked after her foster-brother, she told me, I must not speak of him now, nor talk of the meetings they used to have at my house." Such were her words: the memory of Lonquillez is faithful, and he was interested to remember.-I drew my breath short, and muttered vengeance. The good fellow saw my warmth, and tried to moderate it. "It is a matter, sir,' said he, "of such importance, that, if I may presume to advise, nothing should be believed rashly. If my mistress loves Savillon, if he still answers her fondness, they will surely write to each other. I commonly take charge of the letters for the post; if you can find any proof that way, it cannot lie nor deceive you.' I have agreed to his proposal.-How am I fallen, Segarva, when such artifices are easy to me!-But I will not pause on trivial objections -the fate of Montauban is set upon this cast, and the lesser moralities must speak unheeded. LETTER XLI. Montauban to Segarva. It is something to be satisfied of the worst. I have now such proof, Segarva !-Inquiry is at an end, and vengeance is the only business I have left. Before you can answer this-the infamy of your friend cannot be erased, but it shall be washed in blood! Lonquillez has just brought me a letter from my wife to Mademoiselle de Roncilles, a bosom friend of hers at Paris. He opened it by a very simple operation, without hurting its appear ance. It consisted only of a few hurried lines, desiring her to deliver an enclosed letter to Savillon, and to take charge of his answer.-That letter now lies before me.-Read it, Segarvathou wilt wish to stab her while thou read'st it -but Montauban has a dagger too. "I know not, sir, how to answer the letter my friend Mademoiselle de Roncilles has just sent me from you. The intimacy of o our former days 1 still recal, as one of the happiest periods of my life. The friendship of Julia you are certainly still entitled to, and might claim, without the suspicion of impropriety, though fate has now thrown her into the arms of another. There would then be no occasion for this secret interview, which, I confess, I cannot help dreading; but as you urge the impossibility of your visiting Mons. de Montauban, without betraying emotions, which, you say, would be dangerous to the peace of us all, conjured as I am by those motives of compassion, which my heart is, perhaps, but too susceptible of for my own peace, I have at last, not without a feeling like remorse, resolved to meet you on Monday next, at the house of our old nurse Lasune, whom I shall prepare for the purpose, and on whose fidelity I can perfectly rely. I hope you will give me credit for that remembrance of Savillon, which your letter, rather unjustly, denies me, when you find me agreeing to this measure of imprudence, of danger, it may be of guilt, to mitigate the distress which I have been unfortunate enough to give him." I feel, at this moment, a sort of determined coolness, which the bending up of my mind to the revenge her crimes deserve, has conferred upon me; I have therefore underlined some passages in this damned scroll, that my friend may see the weight of that proof on which I proceed. Mark the air of prudery that runs through it, the trick of voluptuous vice to give pleasure the zest of nicety and reluctance." It may be of guilt." Mark with what coolness she invites him to participate it !-Is this the handwriting of Julia ?--I am awake and see it.Julia! my wife! damnation ! I have been visiting this Lasune, whose house is destined for the scene of my wife's interview with her gallant, I feel the meanness of an inquisition, that degrades me into the wretched spy on an abandoned woman.I blushed and hesitated while I talked to this old doating minister of their pleasures. But the moment comes when I shall resume myself, when I shall burst upon them in the terrors of punishment. Whether they have really imposed on the simplicity of this creature, I know not; but her answers to some distant questions of mine looked not like those of an accomplice of their guilt.Or, rather, it is I who am deceived; the cunning of intrigue is the property of the meanest among the sex-It matters not: I have proof without her. She conducted me into an inner room fitted up with a degree of nicety. On one side stood a bed, with curtains and a bed-cover of clean • The passages here alluded to are printed in Italics. cotton. That bed, Segarva but this heart shall down; I will be calm-at the time while I looked on it, I could not; the old woman observed my emotion, and asked if I was ill; I recovered myself, however, and she suspected nothing; I think she did not-It looked as if the beldame had trimmed it for their use-damn her! damn her! killing is poor-canst thou not invent me some luxurious vengeance! Lonquillez has re-sealed, and sent off her let ter to Savillon; he will take care to bring me the answer; but I know the answer-"On Monday next," why should I start as I think on it? -Their fate is fixed! mine perhaps-but I will think no more. Farewell. Rouillé is just arrived here; I could have wished him absent now. He cannot participate my wrongs; they are sacred to more determined souls. Methinks, at this time, I hate his smiles; they suit not the purposes of Montauban. LETTER XLII. Julia to Maria. I HOPE, from the conveyance which Lisette has procured for this letter, it may reach you nearly as soon as that in which I inclosed one for Savillon. If it comes in time, let it prevent your delivering that letter. I have been considering of this interview again, and I feel a sort of crime in it towards my husband, which I dare not venture on. I have trespassed too much against sincerity already, in concealing from him my former attachment to that unfortunate young man. So strongly indeed did this idea strike me, that I was preparing to tell it him this very day, when he returned from riding, and found me scarce recovered from the emotion which a reperusal of Savillon's letter had caused; but his look had a sternness in it, so opposite to those feelings which should have opened the bosom of your distracted Julia, that I shrunk back into secrecy, terrified at the reflection on my own purpose. Why am I the wife of this man? but if confidence and tenderness are not mine to give, there is a duty which is not mine to refuse. Tell Savillon I cannot see him. Not in the way he asks-let him come as the friend of Julia de Roubigné. Oh, Maria! what a picture do these words recal! the friend of Julia de Roubigné !-in those happy days, when it was not guilt to see, to hear, to think of him --when this poor heart was unconscious of its little wanderings, or felt them but as harmless dreams, which sweetened the real ills of a life too early visited by misfortune! When I look back on that life, how fateful has it been! Is it unjust in Providence to make this so often the lot of hearts little able to strug gle with misfortune? or is it indeed the pos session of such hearts that creates their misfortunes? Had I not felt as I have done, half the ills I complain of had been nothing, and at this moment I were happy. Yet to have wanted such a heart, ill-suited as it is to the rude touch of sublunary things-I think I cannot wish so much. There will come a time, Maria, (might I forebode without your censure, I should say, it may not be distant,) when they shall wound it no longer! In truth, I am every way weak at present. My poor father adds much to my distresses: he has appeared, for some time past, to be verging towards a state, which alone I should think worse than his death. His affection for me is the only sense now quite alive about him, nay, it too partakes of imbecility. He used to embrace me with ardour; he now embraces me with tears. Judge, then, if I am able to meet Savillon at this time, if I could allow myself to meet him at all, Think what I am, and what he is. The coolness I ought to maintain had been difficult at best; at present it is impossible. I can scarce think without weeping; and to see that form Maria! when this picture was drawn!-I remember the time well-my father was at Paris, and Savillon left my mother and me at Belville. The painter, who was accidentally in our province, came thither to give me a few lessons of drawing. Savillon was already a tolerable designer; but he joined with me in becoming a scholar to this man. When our master was with us, he used sometimes to guide my hand; when he was gone, at our practice of his instructions, Savillon commonly supplied his place. But Sa villon's hand was not like the other's: I felt something from its touch not the less delightful from carrying a sort of fear along with that delight: it was like a pulse in the soul! Whither am I wandering? What now are those scenes to me, and why should I wish to remember them? Am I not another's, irrevocably another's?-Savillon knows I am. Let him not wish to see me: we cannot recal the past, and wherefore, wherefore should we add to the evils of the present? LETTER XLIII. Montauban to Segarva. I HAVE missed some link of my intelligence; for the day is past, and no answer from Savillon is arrived. I thank him, whatever be the reason; for he has given me time to receive the instructions of my friend. You caution me well as to the certainty of her guilt. You know the proof I have already acquired; but I will have assurance beyond the possibility of doubt: I will wait their very meeting before I strike this blow, and my vengeance, like that of Heaven, shall be justified by a repetition of her crimes. I am less easily convinced, or rather I am less willing to be guided, by your opinion, as to the secrecy of her punishment. You tell me that there is but one expiation of a wife's infidelity. I am resolved she dies--but that the sacrifice should be secret. Were I even to upbraid her with her crime, you say, her tears, her protestations, would outplead the conviction of sense itself, and I should become the dupe of that infamy I am bound to punish. Is there not something like guilt in this secrecy? Should Montauban shrink, like a coward, from the vindication of his honour?-Should he not burst upon this strumpet and her lover—the picture is beastly.sword of Montauban!-thou art in the right, it would disgrace it.-Let me read your letter again. -The I am a fool to be so moved-but your letter has given me back myself. "The disgrace is only published by an open revenge: it can be buried with the guilty by a secret one."-I am yours, Segarva, and you shall guide me. Chance has been kind to me for the means. Once, in Andalusia, I met with a Venetian empiric, of whom, among other chemical curiosities, I bought a poisonous drug, the efficacy of which he shewed me upon some animals to whom he administered it. The death it gave was easy, and altered not the appearance of the thing it killed. I have fetched it from my cabinet, and it stands before me. It is contained in a little square phial, marked with some hieroglyphic scrawls, which I do not understand. Methinks, while I look on it-I could be weak, very weak, Segarva-But an hour ago, I saw her walk, and speak, and smile-yet these few drops !-I will look on it no more I hear the tread of her feet in the apartment above. Did she know what passes in my mind! -the study in which I sit seems the cave of a demon! Lonquillez has relieved me again. He has, this moment, got from her maid the following letter, addressed to her friend Mademoiselle de Roncilles. What a sex it is! but I have heard of their alliances of intrigue. It is not that these things are uncommon, but that Montauban is a fool-a husband-a-perdition seize her! "Is my friend too leagued against me? Alas! my virtue was too feeble before, and needed not the addition of Maria's arguments to be over- | come. Savillon's figure, you say, aided by that languid paleness, which his late illness had given it, was irresistible-Why is not Julia sick?yet, wretched as she is, irretrievably wretched, she breathes, and walks, and speaks, as she did in her most happy days! "You entreat me, for pity's sake, to meet him. -'He hinted his design of soon leaving France to return to Martinique.'—Why did he ever leave France? Had he remained contented with love and Julia, instead of this stolen, this guilty meeting-What do I say?—I live but for Montauban! "I will think no longer-This one time I will silence the monitor within me- -Tell him I will meet him. On Thursday next, let him be at Lasune's in the evening: it will be dark by six. "I dare not read what I have written. Farewell." It will be dark by six !-Yet I will keep my word, Segarva; they shall meet, that certainty may precede my vengeance; but, when they part, they part to meet no more! Lonquillez's fidelity I know his soul is not that of a servant: he shall provide for Savillon. Julia is a victim above him-Julia shall be the charge of his master. Farewell! when I write again, it shall not be to threaten. LETTER XLIV. Savillon to Herbert. AFTER an interval of torture, I have at last received an answer from Madame de Montauban-Have I lived to write that name !--but it is fit that I be calm. Her friend has communicated her resolution of allowing me to see her in the house of that good Lasune, whom I have mentioned to you in some of our conversations, as the common nurse of both. Were it not madness to look back, and that, at present, I need the full possession of myself, the idea of Lasune's house would recal such things but they are past, never, never to return! I have recovered, and can go on calmly. I set out to-morrow morning: Thursday next is the day she has appointed for our interview. I have but to dispatch this one great business, and then depart from my native country for ever. Every tie that bound me to this world is now broken, except that which accident gave me in your friendship: before I cross the Atlantic, I would once more see my Herbert; when I have indulged myself in that last throb of affection, which our friendship demands at parting, there remains nothing for me to do, but to shrink up from all the feelings of life, and look forward, without emotion, to its close. I feel, at this moment, as if I were on my deathbed, the necessity of a manly composure; that stifled sigh was the last sacrifice of my weakness; I am now thinking what I have to do with the hours that remain: meet me like a man, and help me to employ them as I ought. Nothing shall drag me back to Europe, and therefore I would shake off every occasion to revisit it. Though the externals of place and distance are not of much importance to me, yet there is something in large towns that I wish to avoid. As you mention a design of being in Dorsetshire sometime soon, may I ask you to make next week that time, and meet me at the town of Pool in that county? Inconsiderable and unknown as I am, there are circumstances that might mark me out in Picardy; and therefore I shall go by Dieppe to that port of England, where I know I shall, at this season, find an opportunity of getting over the Atlantic. ban. he, "till supper-time, and Rouille's shooting party will detain him till it is late."-The consciousness of my purpose pressed upon my tongue while I answered him: I faltered, and could hard ly speak." You speak faintly," said Montau"You are not ill, I hope," taking my hand. I told him, truly, that my head ached a good deal, that it had ached all day, that I meant to try if a walk would do it service. "Perhaps it may," answered he; and methought he looked steadily, and with a sort of question at me; or rather my own mind interpreted his look in that manner-I believe I blushed. How I tremble as I look on my watch! Would I could recal my promise. I am somewhat bolder now; but it is not from having conquered my fear; something like despair assists me.-It wants but a few minutes-the hand that points them seems to speak as I watch it. I come, Savillon, I come! How shall I describe our meeting? I am unfit for describing-it cannot be described-I shall be calmer by and by. I know not how I got to the house. From the moment I quitted my chamber, I was unconscious of every thing around me. The first object that struck my eye was Savillon; I recollect my nurse placing me on a chair opposite to where he sat I inclose a letter to a merchant in London, relating to some business, in which my uncle was concerned, with the house of which he is a part--she left us-I felt the room turning round ner. Be so kind to forward it, and let him know that I desire the answer may be committed to your care. As I see by his correspondence, that he is not altogether a man of business, he may rerhaps be desirous of meeting with you, to ask some questions about the nephew of his old acquaintance. He will wonder, as others will, at so rich a man returning to Martinique. If a reason is necessary, invent some one; it is peculiar to misery like mine to be incapable of being told.—I shall relapse, if I continue to write. -You will, if it is possible, meet me at Pool; if not, write to me thither, where I shall find you. Let your letter wait me at the post-house. Farewell. LETTER XLV. Julia to Maria. THE hour is almost arrived! My husband has just left me: he came into my room in his riding dress." I shall not be at home," said with me--I had fainted, it seems. When I recovered, I found her supporting me in her arms, and holding a phial of salts to my nose. Savillon had my hands in his, gazing on me with a countenance of distress and terror. My eye met his, and for some moments, I looked on him, as I have done in my dreams, unmindful of our situation. The pressure of his hand awakened me to recollection. He looked on me more earnestly still, and breathed out the word Julia!— It was all he could utter; but it spoke such things, Maria!-You cannot understand its force. Had you felt it as I did!--I could not, indeed I could not, help bursting into tears. My dearest children," cried the good Lasune, taking our hands which were still folded together, and squeezing them in her's. The action had something of that tender simplicity in it, which is not to be resisted. I wept afresh; but my tears were less painful than before. She fetched a bottle of wine from a cupboard, and forced me to take a glass of it. She offered another to Savillon. He put it by, with a gentle inclination of his head. "You shall drink it, indeed, my dear boy," said she; "it is a long time since you tasted any thing in this house." He gave a deep sigh, and drank it. She had given us time to recover the power of speech: but I knew less how to begin speaking than before. My eyes now found something in Savillon's, which they were ashamed to meet. Lasune left us; I almost wished her to stay. Savillon sat down in his former place; he threw his eyes on the ground-" I know not," said he, in a faltering voice, "how to thank you for the condescension of this interview-our former friendship"-I trembled for what he seemed about to say." I have not forgotten it," said I, half interrupting him.-I saw him start from his former posture, as if awaked by the sound of my voice." I ask not," continued he, " to be remembered: I am unworthy of your remembrance-In a short time, I shall be a voluntary exile from France, and breathe out the remains of life amidst a race of strangers, who cannot call forth those affections, that would henceforth be shut to the world!"" Speak not thus!" I cried, "for pity's sake, speak not thus! Live, and be happy, happy as your virtues deserve, as Julia wishes you!" Julia wish me happy!" -"Oh! Savillon, you know not the heart that you wring thus!-If it has wronged you, you are revenged enough."-" Revenged! revenged on Julia! Heaven is my witness, I entreated this meeting, that my parting words might bless her!"-He fell on his knees before me" May that power," he cried, "who formed this excellence, reward it! May every blessing this life can bestow, be the portion of Julia! May she be happy, long after the tongue that asks it is silent for ever, and the heart that now throbs with the wish, has ceased its throbbing!"-Had you seen him, Maria, as he uttered this!-What should I have done?-Weeping, trembling, unconscious, as it were, of myself, I spoke I know not what-told him the weakness of my soul, and lamented the destiny that made me another's. This was too much. When I could recollect myself, I felt that it was too much. I would have retracted what I had said: I spoke of the duty I owed to Montauban, of the esteem which his virtues deserved.-"I have heard of his worth," said Savillon; "I needed no proof to be convinced of it; he is the husband of Julia."-There was something in the tone of these last words, that undid my resolution again.-I told him of the false intelligence I had received of his marriage, without which no argument of prudence, no partial influence, could have made me the wife of another. He put his hand to his heart, and threw his eyes wildly to heaven.-I shrunk back at that look of despair, which his countenance assumed. He took two or three hurried turns through the room; then resuming his seat, and lowering his voice, "It is enough," said he, "I am fated to be miserable! but the contagion of my destiny. shall spread no farther. This night I leave France for ever !"-" This night!" I exclaimed. "It must be so," said he, with a determined calmness; "but before I go, let me deposit in your hands this paper. It is a memorial of that Savillon, who was the friend of Julia!"-I opened it: it was a will, bequeathing his fortune to me. "This must not be," said I, "this must not be.-Think not, I conjure you, so despairingly of life; live to enjoy that fortune, which is so seldom the reward of merit like thine. I have no title to its disposal.""You have the best one," returned Savillon, still preserving his composure; "I never valued wealth, but as it might render me, in the language of the world, more worthy of thee. To make it thine, was the purpose of my wishing to acquire it; to make it thine is still in my power.' "I cannot receive this, indeed I cannot. Think of the situation in which I stand.” I pressed the paper upon him: he took it at last, and pausing, as if he thought, for a moment"You are right; there may be an impropriety in your keeping it.-Alas! I have scarce a friend, to whom I can entrust any thing; yet I may find one, who will see it faithfully executed." He was interrupted by Lasune, who entered somewhat hurriedly, and told me, Lisette was come to fetch me, and that she had met my husband in her way to the house. "We must part then," said he," for ever!-let not a thought of the unfortunate Savillon disturb the happiness which Heaven allots to Julia; she shall hear of him but once again-when that period arrives, it will not offend the happy Montauban, if she drops a tear to the memory of one, whose love was expiated by his sufferings!"- -Maria! was it a breach of virtue, if then I threw myself on his neck, if then I wept on his bosom? His look, his last look! I see it still! never shall I forget it! Merciful God! at whose altar I vowed fidelity to another! impute not to me as a crime the remembrance of Savillon !-thou canst see the purity of that heart which bleeds at the remembrance! |