“My words seemed to penetrate his heart; his features relaxed, and, before I was aware of his design, he took your mother from me, and laid her gently on a couch.  The tide of tenderness had rushed back upon his soul, and every soft and generous feeling transiently revived.  He stood over her inanimate form, gazing on her with melancholy fondness till the tears gushed freely from his eyes, and fell on her pallid features.  At that moment, as if revived by his solicitude, she half unclosed her eyelids, and a faint glow gave signs of returning life.  De Courcy kissed her cold lips, and, murmuring a few words, which did not reach my ear, he gave one last and lingering look, and turned precipitately to leave the room.

“I had retreated from the couch, inexpressibly affected by a scene, which I fondly hoped was the dawn of returning happiness.  He stopped, as he was passing me, and, wringing my hand with emotion, pointed to your mother, and, in a voice scarcely audible, said,

“You love her, Justine; comfort her,—­cherish her, as I would have done,—­God knows how fervently,—­had she permitted me.  Farewell, my sister, forever.”

Madame de la Tour was too much agitated to proceed, and even Lucie willingly suspended the painful interest to indulge the natural emotions which her parents’ history excited.  After a brief interval, Madame de la Tour thus continued: 

“You must suffer me to pass rapidly over the remainder of this sad tale, my dear Lucie.  It was long before your mother revived to perfect consciousness; and the shock which she had received was only a prelude to still deeper misery.  The conduct of de Courcy was too soon explained.  Yielding to the fatal error, that she had given her affections to the Count de ——­, in the excitement of his passion, he sent a challenge, which was instantly accepted.  They met; and the Count was carried, as his attendants supposed, mortally wounded, from the field of contest.  De Courcy, however, was spared the commission of that crime; for, though the Count’s life was long despaired of, a good constitution prevailed, and he at length recovered.

“De Courcy had made all his arrangements on the preceding night; and, immediately after his interview with your mother, he quitted Paris forever.  A letter was left, addressed to her, which strikingly portrayed the disordered state of his mind, and feelingly delineated the strength of his affection, and the bitterness of his disappointment.  Robbed, as he believed, of her love, the world had no longer any thing to attach him; and he resolved to bury himself in some retirement, which the vain passions of life could never penetrate.