her warning of the count's design, and that it would be a proper
prelude to something else he had to say. As the servants knew she was
not perfectly well, they told him, they believed she would see no
company; but on his entreating it, and saying he had something of moment
to impart, one of them went in and repeated what he had said, on which
she gave leave for his admission.

He rejoiced to find her alone, as he came prepared to reveal to her more
secrets than that of the count's menace; but the pleasure he took in
having so favourable an opportunity was very much damped, by seeing her
look more pale than usual, and that she was in a night-dress. Fearful
that this change proceeded from what had passed between them the day
before, he asked with a hastiness, that shewed the most kind concern, if
she were well. No otherways disordered, answered she, than in my mind,
and that not sufficiently to have any effect over my health; but to
confess the truth, monsieur, said she, the continual round of diversion
this carnival affords, has made what the world calls pleasure, cease to
be so with me; and I find more solid satisfaction in retirement, where I
am in no danger of being too much flattered or affronted.

Ah! madam, cried he, I see the audacity of the count dwells too much
upon your thoughts, and tremble to relate the business on which I came,
and which it is yet necessary you should know. You mistake me, monsieur,
replied she; a common foe of virtue, such as the count, is incapable of
taking up my thoughts one moment; it is only those I love can give me
real pain.

I understand you, madam, resumed he, and am too much interested in your
concern not to simpathize on the occasion: the misfortunes, such as I
fear will attend the too great sensibility of Melanthe, may give you so
terrible an idea of love in general, that it will be difficult to
persuade you there can be any lasting happiness to be found in that
passion:--but, charming Louisa, continued he, if you will make the least
use of your penetration, and examine with a desire of being convinced,
you will easily distinguish the real passion from the counterfeit: that
love, whose supremest pleasure is in being capable to give felicity to
the beloved object; and that wild desire, which aims at no more than a
self-gratification:--the one has the authority of heaven for its
sanction;--the other no excuse but nature in its depravity. From all
attempts of the one, I am confi