Monsieur du Plessis was obliged to content himself with this since he could obtain no more; and for a time every thing passed smoothly and agreeably on; but news after news continually arriving of the king of Sweden’s ill success in Ukrania, rendered all the noble friends of Horatio extremely dissatisfied:—­the public accounts were too deficient for their information of any particular officer, and as there were very few French in the Swedish army, they could hope for no intelligence of him but from himself; which, as he omitted giving, they at last concluded he was either killed or taken prisoner; which last misfortune they looked upon as equal with the former:—­the Russian barbarity, and their manner of treating those whom the chance of war threw into their hands, was no secret thro’ all Europe; and whichever of these accidents had happened, must be very grievous to a gentleman of Dorilaus’s disposition, who, when unknowing he was his son, loved him with more tenderness than many fathers do their offspring, but now convinced not only that he was so, but also that he was possessed of such amiable qualities as might do honour to the most illustrious race, had fixed an idea in his mind of such a lasting happiness in having him near him, that the thoughts of being deprived of him for ever threw him into a melancholy, which not all the friends he had acquired in Paris, not all the gaieties of that place, nor the sweet society of the engaging and dutiful Louisa, had the power to console.  So deep was his affliction, that monsieur du Plessis, amorous and impatient as he was, had not courage to urge a grant of his own happiness, while those who were to bestow it, were incapable of sharing any part of it.

Soon after there arrived a thunder-clap indeed:—­certain intelligence that the once victorious Charles was totally overthrown, his whole army either cut to pieces or taken prisoners, and himself a fugitive in the grand seignior’s dominions.—­Dorilaus, now not doubting but the worst he feared had come to pass, shut himself from all company, and refused the unavailing comfort of those who came to offer it.—­The fair eyes of Louisa were continually drowned in tears, and the generous du Plessis sympathized in all her griefs.  But what became of mademoiselle Charlotta de Palfoy! her tender soul, so long accustomed to love Horatio, had not courage to support the shock of losing him;—­losing him at a time when she thought herself secure of being united to him for ever;—­when his discovered birth had rendered her father’s wishes conformable to her own, and there wanted nothing but his presence to render both their families completely blessed:—­all that excess of love which modesty had hitherto restrained her from giving any public marks of, now shewed itself in the violence of her grief and her despair.—­She made no secret of her softest inclinations, and gave a loose to all the impatience of a ruined love.  Even the haughty baron was melted into tears of compassion, and so far from condemning, that, he attempted all in his power to alleviate her sorrows.