Sometimes he compared this sentiment with the fatal error of the first moments of his youth, but immediately banished such a comparison from his mind—­for then it was a perfidious art that had overcome him; but who could doubt the truth of Corinne?  Was that peculiar charm she possessed the effect of magic, or of poetical inspiration?  Was she an Armida, or a Sappho?  Was there any hope of captivating so lofty and brilliant a genius!  It was impossible to decide; but at least it was easily seen, that not society, but heaven itself, could have formed this extraordinary being, and that her mind could no more be imitated, than her character feigned.  “Oh, my father!” said Oswald, “if you had known Corinne what would you have thought of her?”

Chapter ii.

The Count d’Erfeuil came in the morning, according to custom, to see Lord Nelville, and reproaching him for not having been to see Corinne the day before, said, “Had you come, you would have been very happy.”  “Why so?” replied Oswald.  “Because yesterday I discovered, to a certainty, that you have greatly interested her.”  “Still this levity,” interrupted Lord Nelville; “know that I neither can nor will endure it.”  “Do you call levity,” said the Count, “the promptitude of my observation?  Am I less in the right, because more quickly so?  You were made to live in the happy time of the Patriarchs, when the age of man was five centuries; but mind, I give you notice that four of them at least are lopped off in our days.”  “Be it so,” answered Oswald, “and what discovery have you made by these rapid observations?”—­“That Corinne loves you.  Yesterday, when I arrived at her house, she received me very kindly, to be sure; but her eyes were fixed on the door, to see whether you followed me.  She tried for a moment to talk of something else; but as she is a lady of a very ingenuous and natural disposition, she asked me, quite frankly, why you had not come with me?  I blamed you very much; I said that you were a very odd, gloomy sort of creature; but you will excuse my relating all that I said over and above in your praise.”

“‘He is very sad,’ said Corinne; ’he must certainly have lost some one very dear to him.  Whom is he in mourning for?’ ‘His father, Madam,’ said I; ’though it is more than a year since he lost him; and as the law of nature obliges us all to survive our parents, I imagine there is some other secret cause for so long and deep a melancholy.’  ‘Oh!’ replied Corinne, ’I am very far from thinking that griefs, similar in appearance, are felt alike by all men.  I am very much tempted to believe that the father of your friend, and your friend himself, are exceptions from the general rule.’  Her voice was very tender, my dear Oswald, when she said these words.”  “Are these,” replied Oswald, “your proofs of that interest you spoke of?” “In truth,” replied the Count d’Erfeuil, “these are quite enough, according to my way of thinking, to convince