loud burst of laughter followed. And indeed, before Roger had time to express his indignation, there entered a lieutenant of the King’s bodyguard, who, with many excuses to the Queen, presented the order to arrest Roger, who was accused of high treason, on account of magical attempts against the life of his Majesty. The Queen was greatly agitated; the assembly dispersed; but the fame of Master Lucas increased prodigiously.
Now, my dear Mother, before I close this long epistle, I must make a confession to you. I really do not know where to find words to do it; but it is something which I must not conceal, and is the true cause for the agitation in which I began this letter. Dear Mother, I really believe I am in love; or rather I feel it with the utmost certainty; for if what I feel is not love, then I do not know, and hope never to know, what love is. And now, as the secret is out, I can freely speak to thee, my good Mother, my best friend. The young Count Mongomery, who so bravely vindicated my honour, has at once triumphed over my enemy and over my heart. He declared his love that very evening, and I—directed him to you, my dearest Mother. He is the son of the famous Chevalier Delorge, who once, at a combat of wild beasts, picked up a glove, which his lady had dropped between a lion and a tiger; and if you look at him, you will say, that he will prove no less valiant than his father. But wherefore talk of him, when he is himself the bearer of this letter? You will see him, hear him, and I feel sure that he will return with your consent.
CLARA TO THE SAME.
O, how much do I repent that I sent Mongomery away, he who alone could afford me protection! Ah! my dear Mother, I often used to smile at what I imagined the visionary dangers of the court, thinking that its intrigues could involve only politicians or coquettes: but how much was I mistaken! how little did I think that I should myself be in danger, and be obliged to have recourse to dissimulation!
I have always been astonished at the assurances of friendship which I received from Queen Catherine, a woman incapable of soft emotions or virtuous feelings. At length the secret is disclosed; and, shuddering, I look into the abyss which, covered with flowers, yawns at my feet. For some time past, I have observed that the King became very marked in his attentions towards me, which I at first mistook for common politeness. Judge, then, how much I was surprized and offended, when, the day before yesterday, being alone with the Queen, she left me for some moments, and the King, suddenly entering, made me a most passionate—a most dishonourable declaration of love. I replied as my feelings dictated, and he departed expressing his hopes of a speedy alteration in my sentiments. He was scarcely gone, the Queen re-entered. It might naturally be supposed, that she, who owes me protection, would at such a moment have been more than ready to afford it me. Fool that I was! After having heard my tale, she surveyed me with a look of mingled pity and anger, and said, “I knew it: but I did not think you to be such a child as to throw away your own happiness!” I burst into a flood of tears, and the Queen left me. I immediately retired to my beloved Queen Mary, who is the
