Father Bertrand; and in answer to the compliments of condolence which she received from the neighbouring families, and which they anxiously wished to pay in person, she declared her utter inability of seeing them at present.
No more the feast of mirth and hospitality was spread within the hall of the chateau—no more its lofty roof re-echoed sounds of melody—no more the peasants danced upon the lawn, while Benevolence sat by in the form of the Countess, and smiled upon their sports. Solitude encompassed, and silence reigned within it; and the old domestics, whose grief for their lady knew no diminution, scrupled not to say, that the glory, the happiness of her house had, with her, forsaken it for ever.
So congenial was its gloom to the present feelings of Madame D'Alembert, that she never talked of quitting it without the
