I left the general; and the bishop led him out, in order to enquire into the occasion of my warmth. When I turned to the company, I found the dear Clementina, supported by the two marchionesses, and attended by Camilla, just by me, passing to-wards the door, in order, it seems, at her motion, to withdraw. She stopt. Ah, chevalier! said she; and reclining her head on her mother’s bosom, seemed ready to faint. I took one hand, as it hung down lifelessly extended (her mother held the other); and kneeling, pressed it with my lips Forgive me la-dies; forgive me, Lady Clementina! My soul overflowed with tenderness, though the moment before it was in a tumult of another kind; for she cast down her eyes upon me with a benignity, that for a long time they all afterwards owned they had not beheld. 1 could not say more. I arose. She moved on to the door; and when there, turned her head, straining her neck to look after me, till she was out of the room I was a statue for a few mo-ments; till the count, snatching my hand, and Fa — ther Marescotti’s, who stood nearest him, We see to what the malady is owing Father, you must join their hands! Chevalier! you will be a Catholic! Will you not? O that you would! said the father Why, why, joined in the count, did we refuse the so-earnestly requested interview, a year and half ago?

The young marchioness returned, weeping They will not permit me to stay. My sister, my dear sister, is in fits! O Sir, turning graciously to me, you are I will not say what you are But I shall not be in danger of disobeying my lord, on your account.

Just then entered the general, and the bishop. Now, brother, said the latter, if you will not be generous, be, however, just Chevalier, were you not a little hasty?

I tvas, my lord. But surely the general was unseasonable.

Perhaps I was.

There is as great a triumph, my lord, said I, in a due acknowledgment, as in a victory. Know me, my lords, as a man incapable of meanness; who will assert himself; but who, from the knowledge he has of his own heart, wishes at his soul to be received as the unquestionably disinterested friend of this whole family. Excuse me, my lords, 1 am obliged to talk greatly, because I would not wish to act petulantly. But my soul is wounded by those distresses, which had not, I am sorry to say it, a little while ago, a first place in your heart.

Do you reproach me, Grandison?