CHAPTER V. I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, SHAKSPEARE. BESIDES the taciturnity natural to an Engishman, Harold possessed a delicacy of seniment, quite opposite to that French propensity of letting off the whole train of their accomplishments, private circumstances, and even love affairs, in the course of a day's acquaintance. Doubtless we carry our caution and silence too far for the agrémens of life, if a mutual interchange of ideas is considered to constitute them; but, then, John Bull's sentiments are not so hacknied, and, proceeding from reflection, ought to be better than the hasty effusions of Monsieur Grenouille. Est-elle votre saur, Monsieur ?” "No," said Harold; "it is my wife." "Your wife!" ejaculated Adeline, with great emotion, letting go the miniature-" your wife! And are you really married, then?" "Yes; I have that happiness," replied Harold; " and that is a striking likeness of my dear Emily, who is the constant companion of my thoughts, as her little miniature is of my person. But no artist can paint her character, Adeline; I cannot tell you what she has been, or all she is to me. She is, indeed, too excellent for description. Here is part of her last letter, which I have translated into French, for the purpose of show ing you how fortunate I am in possessing such a wife." Adeline read the scrap with great emotion, for it contained sentiments of piety, virtue, meekness, and resignation. "C'est un “Ah, ange" she exclaimed, on finishing it. comme vous êtes heureux! I think-I think I could love her," she was continuing, when their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of company, who came to eat gâteaux, drink small wine, dance, play cards, talk of love and war, and celebrate the fame of "la Grande Nation." Harold had little doubt but the writer of the anonymous letter was Father Ambrose, and that Adeline had probably consulted him on the propriety of loving a heretic. Such, indeed, was not the only instance our hero had an opportunity of observing, of the amazing power auricular confession places in the hands of a priest as a member of the community; and although the character of Father Ambrose was much too high and honourable to make an evil use of it, yet, after all, he was but a man, like others subject to frailty, liable to fall away from faith, and scatter the secrets entrusted to him to the winds. To Captain Harold, R. N. from his brother M. J. C. W. L. "DEAR HAROld, 66 I am most anxious for your exchange. How is it that I never appreciated your good quali sufficient to cause you to avoid her society as much as possible; as your distant manners convince me that, if your affections are not already engaged, you have no reciprocal feeling of that nature towards her.” In reading the former part of the letter, Harold had no idea to what it could possibly lead; but, far from experiencing the gratification of idle vanity, (for he was a real, and not a pretended man of honour,) he felt it incumbent upon him to disclose more of his private bistory to the Count's family than he had yet done, as the best and most delicate means of arriving at the truth of the information contained in the anonymous letter, and at once to put an end to any erroneous feelings which Adeline might entertain. A few days afterwards, he found an opportunity to do so. The old Count was with his daughters, and had just finished reading an account of a brilliant affair in Spain, where of course the French were victors, though the English kept possession of the field, when Harold entered. Out of politeness, the old soldier did not read it over again, though he placed "La Victoire" of the French army in such a position as would be sure to attract the attention of his visitor, and afford him the pleasure of answering some questions as to the consistency of the movements of the divisions, in which he was a very Uncle Toby. " This little ruse de salon" succeeded ad mirably; and the Count, having had the satisfaction he desired, left Harold at liberty to converse with Adeline. During their conversation, he contrived to let the little miniature of Emily, which he usually wore suspended about his neck, escape between the buttons of his waistcoat. It instantly attracted the attention of the anxious girl, who on examining it exclaimed, "Ah! quelle beaux yeux! quelle beau sein! quelle belle tête! quelle jolie bouche! quelle air caressant et tendre! Ah, comme elle est angélique! |