Monsieur du Plessis arrives at Paris:  his reception from Dorilaus and Louisa:  the marriage of these lovers agreed upon.

The innocent pleasure Louisa felt in picturing to herself the extacy which du Plessis would be in at the receipt of her letter, was not a flattering idea:—­to know she was in Paris, where, in all probability, she had come to seek him, and to have the intelligence of it from herself, had all the effect on him that the most raptured fancy can invent.

His orders to madam d’ Espargnes being punctually complied with, his bills of exchange also came soon after to hand; and the little hurts he had received from the robbers, as well as those of his mind, being perfectly healed, he set out with a lover’s expedition, and arrived in Paris to the pleasing surprize of a sister who tenderly loved him, and expected not this satisfaction of a long time.

He took but one night’s repose before he enquired concerning Dorilaus, and was told that he was a person of quality in England; but, on some disgust he had received in his native country, was come to settle in France.  As Louisa was extremely admired, they told him also that he had a very beautiful daughter, of whom he was extremely fond.  This last information gave not a little ease to the mind of him who heard it, and dissipated those apprehensions which the high character they gave of Dorilaus had, in spite of himself, excited in him:  he now imagined that as they were English, his Louisa might possibly have been acquainted with the daughter of this gentleman in their own country, and meeting her at Paris, might have put herself under her protection.

Full of those impatiencies which are inseparable from a sincere passion, he borrowed his sister’s chariot, and went to the Fauxbourg St. Germains; and being told one of the best houses in the place was that of Dorilaus, he asked for mademoiselle Louisa, on which he was desired to alight, and shewed into a handsome parlour while a servant went in to inform her:  after this, he was ushered up stairs into a room, the furniture of which shewed the elegance of the owner’s taste; but accustomed to every thing that was great and magnificent, the gilded scenes, the rich tapestry, the pictures, had no effect on him, till casting his eyes on one that hung over the chimney, he found the exact resemblance of the dear object never absent from his heart.—­It was indeed the picture of Louisa, which her father, soon after her arrival, had caused to be drawn by one of the best painters at that time in Paris.  This sight gave him a double pleasure, because it, in some measure, anticipated that of the original, and also convinced him that she was not indifferent to the person she was with.