Adelaide was all transport, which was soon after rather checked by the introduction of the Marquis de Clermont and his son: the young men ran into each other's arms. 'A thousand welcomes, my dear De Bouville, I impatiently longed to see you.' 'I believe it,' returned the other, with a smile; 'you had powerful reasons, and I have shortened my stay in England considerably on your account.' 'Apropos,' said the Marquis; 'how do you like England, my young friend?' 'So well, Sir,' replied the Count, 'that I could be contented to pass my life there in the bosom of my friends. I consider the English as the happiest people under the sun: they are naturally brave, friendly, and benevolent; they enjoy the blessings of a mild and free government; their personal safety is secured by the laws; no man can be punished for an imaginary crime, they have fair trials, confront their accusers, can even object to a partial jury; in short, as far as human judgement admits can be deemed infallible. Very few, if any, suffer but for actual crimes, adduced from the clearest proofs. Their merchants are rich and respectable, the first nobility do not disdain an alliance with them, they are considered as the supporters of the kingdom: 'tis incredible to think of the liberal sums subscribed by these opulent, respectable, generous people, on any popular occasion, or private benefaction, without astonishment. The men of fashion are many of them admirable orators, great politicians, and perfectly acquainted with the government of different nations, as much as of their own. The young men, I believe, are the same every where - fond of pleasure, expence, and intrigue; but the rock on which they most generally split is that spirit of gambling which pervades through almost all ranks of people, dissipates fortunes, distresses families, hardens the heart, depraves the mind, and renders useless all the good qualities they receive from nature and education. There are very strict laws against play, but those laws only awe the middling or poorer kind of people, the great infringe them with impunity.
'But I beg pardon' added the Count, 'for falling into the common mode of travellers, engrossing the attention of the company to myself.' 'I desire you will go on,' said the Marquis; 'I am pleased with your observations.' 'And the ladies, dear brother,' cried Mademoiselle De Bouville 'pray tell us something of the ladies.' 'I shall punish your curiosity,' replied he, smiling, 'by and bye. What I most admire in the English, is the great encouragement given to all manufactories, and to all useful discoveries; there ought not to be any poor, that is, I mean beggars, in England, such immense sums are raised for their support, such resources for industry, and so many hospitals for the sick and aged, that, if proper management was observed, none need complain of cold or hunger; yet in my life I never saw so many painful and disgusting objects as there are in the streets and environs of London. I admire the public buildings, the places of entertainment, and the performers at them; but sometimes, as will ever be the case, liberty degenerates into licentiousness, and the mob will rudely interrupt the performers, and carry their applause or censure in opposition to every effort of their betters: this certainly is an abuse of their freedom, but 'tis an evil they know not how to remedy in a land of liberty.
'As for the ladies, my dear sister.' 'Aye, brother, now for it; - I hate your English belles, they are such monopolizers when they make their appearance at Paris.' 'And yet, Adelaide, I assure you, it is not often you see the most beautiful of them here, doubtless there are very many charming women among the first circles of fashion, who may dispute the palm of beauty with any court in the known world; but generally speaking, the middling ranks of people are by far the handsomest of both sexes, and I account for it in this manner. In fashionable circles they keep very late hours, play deep, enter into every scheme for amusement and dissipation, without regard to their health or complexions; hence they injure one, and destroy the other: no artificial resources can give brilliancy to the eyes, or health and vivacity to the figure; acquired bloom can never deceive, and the natural beautiful complexions of the English ladies are so delicate and transparent, that art may disguise, but never can improve them. Their ill hours, and deforming their lovely faces by the anxiety of avarice, envy, and passion, when at their midnight orgies, adorning and watching the effects of chance in their favour, destroys their beauty many years before age would have lessened their attractions; for I must confess,' added he, smiling at his sister, 'the English women, take them all in all, are more fascinating than any other nation I ever saw.' 'And yet,' said she, 'you are returned heart-whole, brother?' 'That is begging the question, my curious sister; but where there are so many charmers, men's eyes involuntarily wander, and must consider it almost an insult upon the rest to select one, when there are such equal pretensions.'
'The English ladies are much obliged to you, Count,' said the Marquis de Melfort, 'and we shall soon have an opportunity of judging if your picture is over-charged, as we design visiting England within this month.'
This declaration conveyed no pleasure to any of the party. The De Bouvilles were already so much prejudiced in favour of Miss Weimar, that they were hurt at the idea of parting: the Count particularly felt uneasy, though he could not express it upon so short an acquaintance.
Matilda was highly pleased with Monsieur De Clermont, her friend's lover; he was polite, sensible, and intelligent; the Marquis, his father, lively, chatty, and attentive to the ladies.
The dinner hours passed very agreeably, and they regretted that an assembly in the evening must break in upon their party.
The young folks had an hour to themselves: the Count paid Matilda the most marked attention; congratulated his sister on the acquisition of such a friend, and hoped some event, favourable to his wishes, might prevent their tour to England, though he acknowledged the hope a selfish one. After chatting on various subjects, the Count accidentally enquired of Matilda, if she liked Paris as well as she did Vienna? The question confused her, and she replied, with some hesitation, she had never seen Vienna. 'I beg your pardon, madam,' said he, 'I understood you came from thence.' 'No, brother, Miss Weimar resided in Switzerland.' 'At Berne, madam?' asked he. 'No, Sir,' answered she, still more confused. 'I chiefly resided in the country.' The Count saw by her manner he had been guilty of some impropriety, though he hardly knew of what nature; he was therefore silent, and she recovered from her embarrassment. In the evening the company began to assemble; amongst the rest that eternal gadabout Madame le Brune, and her niece, Mademoiselle De Fontelle. The Count was obliged to pay his compliments, and receive their congratulations on his return; which done, he hastily returned to the side of Matilda.
The envious De Fontelle could not bear this; she made her way to them, took the hand of Matilda, called her her sweet friend, assured her they must be violently intimate, she was quite charmed with her; with a hundred such delusive compliments, as meant nothing, and to which the other only replied with a cold civility. All at once, turning quickly to her, 'Bless me, Miss Weimar, I forgot to ask if you have a relation of your name now in Paris?' The roses forsook Matilda's cheek, she trembled, and could scarce stand; every one observed her confusion; the Count caught her arm. 'Bless me!' cried Mademoiselle De Fontelle, 'has my question disordered you; I only asked because I was in company yesterday with a gentleman of your name, just arrived from Germany.'
This was enough for the unhappy girl - down she dropt, and had not the Count been attentive to her motions, and caught her in his arms, she must have fallen to the ground. Every body was alarmed, and crowded round her, the Marchioness particularly so; she was carried into another room, the Count still supporting her, and followed by his sister. It was some time before she returned to life. The first objects that struck her, was the Count holding her in his arms, the Marchioness on her knees, applying salts, and Mademoiselle De Bouville pressing her hand. 'O, madam!' cried she, eagerly and trembling, 'he is come he is come.' 'Compose yourself, my love,' said the Marchioness, 'no one is come that can hurt you.' 'Yes, yes,' answered she, hardly knowing what she said, ' 'tis he, he will carry me of, he will take me from you.'
Her