60 Gothic Classics. Эдгар Аллан По

written to a friend, as has likewise my sister, to procure Joseph's testimony, as far as his knowledge extends, lest, as he is old, we should lose a witness of some consequence.'

      The Count entered warmly into the business; his life and fortune was at the service of his friends: they embraced and thanked him The following day they left town, after writing the most affectionate letters to their beloved Matilda, whose absence they most sincerely regretted.

      Matilda, on her first residence in the convent, found it replete with many inconveniences she did not expect. For the first week she cried incessantly, and poor Louison, not happier, continually prest her to return. 'Ah, mon Dieu!' cried she, 'if my good master and lady, if the dear charming Count de Bouville knew how miserable you are, they would fly to bring you out again. Ah! the good Count, the morning before we came away, gave me ten English guineas; the tears were in his eyes; "Take care of your charming mistress, Louison," said he, "and I will always be your friend": - Dear, dear gentleman! O, that he was but here!'

      This little anecdote, which one might have supposed would have added to Matilda's grief, proved a most salutary remedy for it: she instantly dried her eyes. 'Amiable, generous man!' said she, 'shall I repine, that I have devoted myself to retirement to preserve a mind like his from repentance and self-reproach, and from the disdain of those low-minded people, incapable of the nobleness of heart which would prompt him to forget his own dignity, to raise a friendless orphan. No; I will at least prove deserving of his esteem, by my own self-denial; I will support every inconvenience, every trial with resignation -happy, if, in sacrificing the trifling amusements the world affords, I can promote his peace, and secure his future happiness.'

      Fortified by these generous sentiments, she no longer wept or sighed; she sought consolation in the practice of her religious duties, which strengthened her mind and composed her spirits: she found in the uniform observance of piety, charity, and compassion towards the sick and unfortunate, that peace which the world could not give, and that serenity of mind which no recollection of misfortunes could deprive her of.

      She became the admiration of the whole community; every one was desirous of her favor, but Matilda, blest with uncommon penetration, and capable of the nicest discrimination, was at no loss to distinguish the selfish and fulsome attentions of the officious, from the approbation of the worthy and humble few who looked on her with eyes of kindness, but never intruded; from these few, to whom she payed particular civility, her heart selected mother St Magdalene; she was about eight and twenty, and had been a nun nearly ten years; she was one of those very elegant forms you cannot behold without admiration; her face was more expressive than beautiful, yet more engaging than a lifeless set of features without animation, however perfect or blooming, could possibly be; she was pious without ostentation, kind and affectionate to her sisterhood, and courteous, without design or meanness, to the pensioners.

      This charming woman soon attracted the notice of Matilda, -she sought her company and conversation -she received her attentions with particular complacency.

      Mother Magdalene was sensible of her civilities -she plainly comprehended the value of them, but from peculiar notions of delicacy, and to avoid giving umbrage to the sisterhood, she rather repressed than encouraged her particular kindness. Matilda, however, would not be repulsed, and Magdalene was at length compelled to be her 'Dear Mother'.

      They were frequently together, and by her example Matilda was encouraged to the perseverance in every moral and religious duty. Letters from her two friends, the Marchioness and Countess, were the only things she permitted to break in upon them, and those letters were a continual stimulation to a sense of gratitude and generosity, which she found herself called upon to exert. Whilst Matilda had thus happily reconciled her mind to her situation, her friends were enjoying the amusements that Scarborough afforded.

      The Count was always the attendant on Mrs Courtney; and though his passion was as fervent as ever, and his regrets as powerful for the loss of Matilda, he could not be always in company with an amiable woman, who paid him such particular attention, without being gratified by it, and sometimes shewing those little marks of gallantry which all women expect.

      The Count, though he had a more than common share of solidity and stability, with the most refined understanding and integrity of heart, yet he was still a Frenchman -still possessed a natural gaiety of heart, the greatest politeness and attention to the fair sex, and sometimes fell into the hyperbolical compliments so natural to his countrymen, when addressing the ladies. Mrs Courtney, too ready to believe every thing to be as she wished, gave him every encouragement, and contrived frequently to draw him into situations and expressions which were rather equivocal, but by which he meant nothing, though the lady thought otherwise.

      They had been near three weeks at Scarborough; the ladies had heard twice from Matilda, but as she requested her name might never be mentioned to the Count, but from necessity, they only answered his eager enquiries, by saying she was well, and appeared to be much pleased with her situation. He saw there was a reserve in their manner, and justly supposed it owing to her restrictions: he did justice to her greatness of mind, which only served to increase his love and regrets.

      One morning Mrs Courtney, entering the Marchioness's dressing room, flung herself into a chair, 'Bless me! said she, 'what shall I do with your friend, the Count? he has drawn me into a pretty scrape, -I never intended marrying again, but he is so pressing, so irresistible -' 'Who,' cried the Marchioness, surprised, 'the Count? he pressing?' 'Why, yes,' answered she; 'surely you must have observed his particular devoirs for some time past.' 'Not I, upon my honor,' answered the Marchioness; I never supposed his attentions to you wore the face of particularity.' 'Then you can have observed nothing,' said she, peevishly. 'Pray, what think you, my dear madam?' turning to the Countess. 'Upon my word, I am equally surprised,' replied she; 'but if you can settle the matter agreeably between yourselves, I shall certainly rejoice at it, because I am very sure Matilda will keep her resolution, in refusing his addresses.'

      Those last words, which were spoken undesignedly, piqued Mrs Courtney a good deal. 'I do not think 'tis of much consequence,' said she, haughtily, 'whether she keeps her resolution or not; -I believe by this time he is very sensible of the impropriety of his offer -but I forget, I appointed him to meet me at a friend's, in the next street, -bon jour, ladies,' said she, with a forced gaiety, and ran out of the room, leaving them looking at each other with astonishment.

      'Can this be Mrs Courtney?' cried the Countess, 'my God, what a change!' 'But is there, can there, be any truth,' said the Marchioness, 'in the Count's attentions?' 'Heaven knows,' said she, 'but if it is so, I shall never depend upon man again.'

      Some company coming in, prevented further conversation; but at dinner, when they all met, the ladies observed the Count appeared to be thoughtful and uneasy, Mrs Courtney gay and lively, Lord Delby rather attentive to both; in short, it was the first dinner in which the party seemed collected within themselves, and forgot their friends, except Mrs Courtney, who behaved with remarkable politeness and sweetness to all.

      When the ladies retired to the drawing-room the Count addressed the Marquis in the following manner. 'I believe, my dear Sir, you are sufficiently acquainted with me, to know that I am equally incapable of a dishonourable thought or action to any one, much less towards a lady for whom I entertain the highest respect, and the sister of my hospitable entertainer.' 'For heaven's sake,' cried the Marquis, 'what is all this, -who dares accuse you?' 'A misapprehension only, I hope, said the Count, in a calm tone, 'not an accusation. Both you and all our friends are perfectly acquainted with my attachment to the amiable Matilda, -an attachment, added he, raising his voice, 'that will be as lasting as my life, for I never shall love any other woman but unhappily the respect and attentions I have paid to the merits of Mrs Courtney, have been misconceived; I have been upbraided with seeking to gain her affections, and with having given colour to suppose mine were also devoted to her: the highest respect, nay, even admiration of her many amiable qualities, I have undoubtedly expressed, but not one word beyond what friendship would warrant, from a man who made no scruple to own his love for another, though perhaps that other never can be his. My heart, my honor, does not reproach me with the least duplicity or mean design. Can you, my dear Marquis, from the whole tenor of my conduct, suppose I could be a trifling coxcomb, much less a deliberate villain, for I must hold any man as such who could seek to gain