Amidst the topics of their
conversation, I discovered that Pleyel had carefully omitted the mention
of those events which had drawn upon me so much abhorrence. I could
not account for his silence on this subject. Perhaps time or some new
discovery had altered or shaken his opinion. Perhaps he was unwilling,
though I were guilty, to injure me in the opinion of my venerable
kinsman. I understood that he had frequently visited me during
my disease, had watched many successive nights by my bedside, and
manifested the utmost anxiety on my account.

The journey which he was preparing to take, at the termination of our
last interview, the catastrophe of the ensuing night induced him to
delay. The motives of this journey I had, till now, totally mistaken.
They were explained to me by my uncle, whose tale excited my
astonishment without awakening my regret. In a different state of mind,
it would have added unspeakably to my distress, but now it was more
a source of pleasure than pain. This, perhaps, is not the least
extraordinary of the facts contained in this narrative. It will excite
less wonder when I add, that my indifference was temporary, and that the
lapse of a few days shewed me that my feelings were deadened for a time,
rather than finally extinguished.

Theresa de Stolberg was alive. She had conceived the resolution of
seeking her lover in America. To conceal her flight, she had caused the
report of her death to be propagated. She put herself under the conduct
of Bertrand, the faithful servant of Pleyel. The pacquet which the
latter received from the hands of his servant, contained the tidings of
her safe arrival at Boston, and to meet her there was the purpose of his
journey.

This discovery had set this man's character in a new light. I had
mistaken the heroism of friendship for the phrenzy of love. He who
had gained my affections, may be supposed to have previously entitled
himself to my reverence; but the levity which had formerly characterized
the behaviour of this man, tended to obscure the greatness of his
sentiments. I did not fail to remark, that since this lady was still
alive, the voice in the temple which asserted her death, must either
have been intended to deceive, or have been itself deceived. The latter
supposition was inconsistent with the notion of a spiritual, and the
former with that of a benevolent being.

When my disease abated, Pleyel had forborne his visits, and had lately
set out upon thi