moment a tall elegant youth, about sixteen, entered the room, with looks of eager expectation. The Countess flew towards him, threw her arms round him; attempted to speak, but overpowered by tender emotions 'till then a stranger to her breast, she fainted in his arms. The young gentleman, alarmed, and equally agitated, assisted, in silence, to convey her to a seat; and whilst the Marchioness was busy in her endeavours to restore her sister, he kissed her hand eagerly and cried to the Marquis, "Tell me, Sir, who is this dear lady?" "It is—(said the other, with a little pause) she is your mother, Sir." "Mother! (repeated he, dropping on his knees.) Great God! have I a mother? my own mother!" "Yes, (replied the Marquis) she is indeed your parent, for very many years believed to be dead."
Young Frederic was now in a state very little better than the Countess: surprise, joy, the soft emotions that at once assailed him, rendered him speechless and immoveable.
