Are you sure nobody did?—­Very sure?  Father Marescotti, said she, turning to him, (who wept from the time she entered,) you don’t love him:  but you are a good man, and will tell me truth.  Where is he?  Did nobody affront him?

No, madam.

Because, said she, he never did any thing but good to any one.

Father Marescotti, said I, admires him as much as any body.

Admire him!  Father Marescotti admire him!—­But he does not love him.  And I never heard him say one word against Father Marescotti in my life.  —­Well, but, Jeronymo, what made him go away, then?  Was he not to stay supper?

He was desired to stay; but would not.

Jeronymo, let me whisper you—­Did he tell you that I wrote him a letter?

I guessed you did, whispered I.

You are a strange guesser:  but you can’t guess how I sent it to him—­But hush, Jeronymo—­Well, but, Jeronymo, Did he say nothing of me, when he went away?

He left his compliments for you with the general.

With the general!  The general won’t tell me!

Yes, he will.—­Brother, pray tell my sister what the chevalier said to you, at parting.

He repeated, exactly, what you had desired him to say to her.

Why would they not let me see him? said she.  Am I never to see him more?

I hope you will, replied the bishop.

If, resumed she, we could have done any thing that might have looked like a return to his goodness to us (and to you, my Jeronymo, in particular) I believe I should have been easy.—­And so you say he is gone?—­And gone for ever! lifting up her hand from her wrist, as it lay over my shoulder:  Poor chevalier!—­But hush, hush, pray hush, Jeronymo.

She went from me to her aunt, and cousin Laurana.  Love me again, madam, said she, to the former.  You loved me once.

I never loved you better than now, my dear.

Did you, Laurana, see the Chevalier Grandison?

I did.

And did he go away safe, and unhurt?

Indeed he did.

A man who had preserved the life of our dear Jeronymo, said she, to have been hurt by us, would have been dreadful, you know.  I wanted to say a few words to him.  I was astonished to find him not here:  and then my dream came into my head.  It was a sad dream, indeed!  But, cousin, be good to me:  pray do.  You did not use to be cruel.  You used to say, you loved me.  I am in calamity, my dear.  I know I am miserable.  At times I know I am; and then I am grieved at my heart, and think how happy every one is, but me:  but then, again, I ail nothing, and am well.  But do love me, Laurana:  I am in calamity, my dear.  I would love you, if you were in calamity:  indeed I would.—­Ah, Laurana!  What is become of all your fine promises?  But then every body loved me, and I was happy!—­Yet you tell me, it is all for my good.  Naughty Laurana, to wound my heart by your crossness, and then say, it is for my good!—­Do you think I should have served you so?