Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,
These are their reasons; they are natural;
For I believe they are portentous2 things.”
Julius C?sar.
When Adeline appeared at breakfast, her harrassed and languid countenance3 struck Madame La Motte, who inquired if she was ill; Adeline, forcing a smile upon her features, said she had not rested well, for that she had had very disturbed dreams: she was about to describe them, but a strong and involuntary impulse prevented her. At the same time, La Motte ridiculed4 her concern so unmercifully, that she was almost ashamed to have mentioned it, and tried to overcome the remembrance of its cause.
After breakfast, she endeavoured to employ her thoughts by conversing6 with Madame La Motte; but they were really engaged by the incidents of the last two days; the circumstance of her dreams, and her conjectures7 concerning the information to be communicated to her by Theodore. They had thus sat for some time, when a sound of voices arose from the great gate of the abbey; and, on going to the casement8, Adeline saw the Marquis and his attendants on the lawn below. The portal of the abbey concealed10 several people from her view, and among these it was possible might be Theodore, who had not yet appeared: she continued to look for him with great anxiety, till the Marquis entered the hall with La Motte, and some other persons, soon after which Madame went to receive him, and Adeline retired11 to her own apartment.
A message from La Motte, however, soon called her to join the party, where she vainly hoped to find Theodore. The Marquis arose as she approached, and, having paid her some general compliments, the conversation took a very lively turn. Adeline, finding it impossible to counterfeit12 cheerfulness, while her heart was sinking with anxiety and disappointment, took little part in it: Theodore was not once named. She would have asked concerning him, had it been possible to inquire with propriety13; but she was obliged to content herself with hoping, first, that he would arrive before dinner, and then before the departure of the Marquis.
Thus the day passed in expectation and disappointment. The evening was now approaching, and she was condemned14 to remain in the presence of the Marquis, apparently15 listening to a conversation, which, in truth, she scarcely heard, while the opportunity was, perhaps, escaping that would decide her fate. She was suddenly relieved from this state of torture, and thrown into one, if possible, still more distressing16.
The Marquis inquired for Louis, and being informed of his departure, mentioned that Theodore Peyrou had that morning sat out for his regiment17 in a distant province. He lamented18 the loss he should sustain by his absence; and expressed some very flattering praise of his talents. The shock of this intelligence overpowered the long-agitated19 spirits of Adeline; the blood forsook20 her cheeks, and a sudden faintness came over her, from which she recovered only to a consciousness of having discovered her emotion, and the danger of relapsing into a second fit.
She retired to her chamber21, where, being once more alone, her oppressed heart found relief from tears, in which she freely indulged. Ideas crowded so fast upon her mind, that it was long ere she could arrange them so as to produce any thing like reasoning. She endeavoured to account for the abrupt22 departure of Theodore. “Is it possible,” said she, “that he should take an interest in my welfare, and yet leave me exposed to the full force of a danger, which he himself foresaw? Or am I to believe that he has trifled with my simplicity23 for an idle frolic, and has now left me to the wondering apprehension24 he has raised? Impossible! a countenance so noble, and a manner so amiable25, could never disguise a heart capable of forming so despicable a design. No! — whatever is reserved for me, let me not relinquish26 the pleasure of believing that he is worthy27 of my esteem28.”
She was awakened29 from thoughts like these by a peal30 of distant thunder, and now perceived that the gloominess of evening was deepened by the coming storm; it rolled onward31, and soon after the lightning began to flash along the chamber. Adeline was superior to the affectation of fear, and was not apt to be terrified; but she now felt it unpleasant to be alone, and, hoping that the Marquis might have left the abbey, she went down to the sitting room; but the threatening aspect of the Heavens had hitherto detained him, and now the evening tempest made him rejoice that he had not quitted a shelter. The storm continued, and night came on. La Motte pressed his guest to take a bed at the abbey, and he, at length, consented; a circumstance, which threw Madame La Motte into some perplexity, as to the accommodation to be afforded him; after some time, she arranged the affair to her satisfaction; resigning her own apartment to the Marquis, and that of Louis to two of his superior attendants; Adeline, it was farther settled, should give up her room to Monsieur and Madame La Motte, and remove to an inner chamber, where a small bed, usually occupied by Annette, was placed for her.
At supper, the Marquis was less gay than usual; he frequently addressed Adeline, and his look and manner seemed to express the tender interest, which her indisposition, for she still appeared pale and languid, had excited. Adeline, as usual, made an effort to forget her anxiety, and appear happy; but the veil of assumed cheerfulness was too thin to conceal9 the features of sorrow; and her feeble smiles only added a peculiar33 softness to her air. The Marquis conversed34 with her on a variety of subjects, and displayed an elegant mind. The observations of Adeline, which, when called upon, she gave with reluctant modesty35, in words at once simple and forceful, seemed to excite his admiration36, which he sometimes betrayed by an inadvertent expression.
Adeline retired early to her room, which adjoined on one side to Madame La Motte’s, and on the other to the closet formerly37 mentioned. It was spacious38 and lofty, and what little furniture it contained was falling to decay; but, perhaps, the present tone of her spirits might contribute more than these circumstances to give that air of melancholy39, which seemed to reign40 in it. She was unwilling41 to go to bed, left the dreams that had lately pursued her should return; and determined42 to sit up till she found herself oppressed by sleep, when it was probable her rest would be profound. She placed the light on a small table, and, taking a book, continued to read for above an hour, till her mind refused any longer to abstract itself from its own cares, and she sat for some time leaning pensively43 on her arm.
The wind was high, and as it whistled through the desolate44 apartment, and shook the feeble doors, she often started, and sometimes even thought she heard sighs between the pauses of the gust45; but she checked these illusions, which the hour of the night and her own melancholy imagination conspired46 to raise. As she sat musing47, her eyes fixed48 on the opposite wall, she perceived the arras, with which the room was hung, wave backwards49 and forwards; she continued to observe it for some minutes, and then rose to examine it farther. It was moved by the wind; and she blushed at the momentary50 fear it had excited: but she observed that the tapestry51 was more strongly agitated in one particular place than elsewhere, and a noise that seemed something more than that of the wind issued thence. The old bedstead, which La Motte had found in this apartment, had been removed to accommodate Adeline, and it was behind the place where this had stood, that the wind seemed to rush with particular force: curiosity prompted her to examine still farther; she felt about the tapestry, and perceiving the wall behind shake under her hand, she lifted the arras, and discovered a small door, whose loosened hinges admitted the wind, and occasioned the noise she had heard.
The door was held only by a bolt, having undrawn which, and brought the light, she descended52 by a few steps into another chamber: she instantly remembered her dreams. The chamber was not much like that in which she had seen the dying Chevalier, and afterwards the bier; but it gave her a confused remembrance of one through which she had passed. Holding up the light to examine it more fully5, she was convinced by its structure that it was part of the ancient foundation. A shattered casement, placed high from the floor, seemed to be the only opening to admit light. She observed a door on the opposite side of the apartment; and after some moments of hesitation53, gained courage, and determined to pursue the inquiry54. “A mystery seems to hang over these chambers55,” said she, “which it is, perhaps, my lot to develope; I will, at least, see to what that door leads.”
She stepped forward, and having unclosed it, proceeded with faltering56 steps along a suite57 of apartments, resembling the first in style and condition, and terminating in one exactly like that where her dream had represented the dying person; the remembrance struck so forcibly upon her imagination, that she was in danger of fainting; and looking round the room, almost expected to see the phantom58 of her dream.
Unable to quit the place, she sat down on some old lumber59 to recover herself, while her spirits were nearly overcome by a superstitious60 dread61, such as she had never felt before. She wondered to what part of the abbey these chambers belonged, and that they had so long escaped detection. The casements62 were all too high to afford any information from without. When she was sufficiently63 composed to consider the direction of the rooms, and the situation of the abbey, there appeared not a doubt that they formed an interior part of the original building.
As these reflections passed over her mind, a sudden gleam of moonlight fell upon some object without the casement. Being now sufficiently composed to wish to pursue the inquiry; and believing this object might afford her some means of learning the situation of these rooms, she combated her remaining terrors, and, in order to distinguish it more clearly, removed the light to an outer chamber; but before she could return, a heavy cloud was driven over the face of the moon, and all without was perfectly64 dark: she stood for some moments waiting a returning gleam, but the obscurity continued. As she went softly back for the light, her foot stumbled over something on the floor, and while she stooped to examine it, the moon again shone, so that she could distinguish, through the casement, the eastern towers of the abbey. This discovery confirmed her former conjectures concerning the interior situation of these apartments. The obscurity of the place prevented her discovering what it was that had impeded65 her steps, but having brought the light forward, she perceived on the floor an old dagger66: with a trembling hand she took it up, and upon a closer view perceived, that it was spotted67 and stained with rust68.
Shocked and surprised, she looked round the room for some object that might confirm or destroy the dreadful suspicion which now rushed upon her mind; but she saw only a great chair, with broken arms, that stood in one corner of the room, and a table in a condition equally shattered, except that in another part lay a confused heap of things, which appeared to be old lumber. She went up to it, and perceived a broken bedstead, with some decayed remnants of furniture, covered with dust and cobwebs, and which seemed, indeed, as if they had not been moved for many years. Desirous, however, of examining farther, she attempted to raise what appeared to have been part of the bedstead, but it slipped from her hand, and, rolling to the floor, brought with it some of the remaining lumber. Adeline started aside and saved herself, and when the noise it made had ceased, she heard a small rustling70 sound, and as she was about to leave the chamber, saw something falling gently among the lumber.
It was a small roll of paper, tied with a string, and covered with dust. Adeline took it up, and on opening it perceived an handwriting. She attempted to read it, but the part of the manuscript she looked at was so much obliterated71, that she found this difficult, though what few words were legible impressed her with curiosity and terror, and induced her to return with it immediately to her chamber.
Having reached her own room, she fastened the private door, and let the arras fall over it as before. It was now midnight. The stillness of the hour, interrupted only at intervals73 by the hollow sighings of the blast, heightened the solemnity of Adeline’s feelings. She wished she was not alone, and before she proceeded to look into the manuscript, listened whether Madame La Motte was not in her chamber: not the least sound was heard, and she gently opened the door. The profound silence within almost convinced her that no person was there; but willing to be farther satisfied, she brought the light and found the room empty. The lateness of the hour made her wonder that Madame La Motte was not in her chamber, and she proceeded to the top of the tower stairs, to hearken if any person was stirring.
She heard the sound of voices from below, and, amongst the rest, that of La Motte speaking in his usual tone. Being now satisfied that all was well, she turned towards her room, when she heard the Marquis pronounce her name with very unusual emphasis. She paused. “I adore her,” pursued he, “and by heaven” — He was interrupted by La Motte, “My Lord, remember your promise.”
“I do,” replied the Marquis, “and I will abide74 by it. But we trifle. To-morrow I will declare myself, and I shall then know both what to hope and how to act.” Adeline trembled so excessively, that she could scarcely support herself: she wished to return to her chamber; yet she was too much interested in the words she had heard, not to be anxious to have them more fully explained. There was an interval72 of silence, after which they conversed in a lower tone. Adeline remembered the hints of Theodore, and determined, if possible, to be relieved from the terrible suspense75 she now suffered. She stole softly down a few steps, that she might catch the accents of the speakers, but they were so low, that she could only now and then distinguish a few words. “Her father, say you?” said the Marquis. “Yes, my Lord, her father. I am well informed of what I say.” Adeline shuddered76 at the mention of her father, a new terror seized her, and with increasing eagerness she endeavoured to distinguish their words, but for some time found this to be impossible. “Here is no time to be lost,” said the Marquis, “tomorrow then.” — She heard La Motte rise, and, believing it was to leave the room, she hurried up the steps, and having reached her chamber, sunk almost lifeless in a chair.
It was her father only of whom she thought. She doubted not that he had pursued and discovered her retreat, and, though this conduct appeared very inconsistent with his former behaviour in abandoning her to strangers, her fears suggested that it would terminate in some new cruelty. She did not hesitate to pronounce this the danger of which Theodore had warned her; but it was impossible to surmise77 how he had gained his knowledge of it, or how he had become sufficiently acquainted with her story, except through La Motte, her apparent friend and protector, whom she was thus, though unwillingly78, led to suspect of treachery. Why, indeed, should La Motte conceal from her only his knowledge of her father’s intention, unless he designed to deliver her into his hands? Yet it was long ere she could bring herself to believe this conclusion possible. To discover depravity in those whom we have loved, is one of the most exquisite79 tortures to a virtuous80 mind, and the conviction is often rejected before it is finally admitted.
The words of Theodore, which told her he was fearful she was deceived, confirmed this most painful apprehension of La Motte, with another yet more distressing, that Madame La Motte was also united against her. This thought, for a moment, subdued81 terror and left her only grief; she wept bitterly. “Is this human nature?” cried she. “Am I doomed82 to find every body deceitful?” An unexpected discovery of vice83 in those, whom we have admired, inclines us to extend our censure84 of the individual to the species; we henceforth contemn85 appearances, and too hastily conclude that no person is to be trusted.
Adeline determined to throw herself at the feet of La Motte, on the following morning, and implore86 his pity and protection. Her mind was now too much agitated, by her own interests, to permit her to examine the manuscripts, and she sat musing in her chair, till she heard the steps of Madame La Motte, when she retired to bed. La Motte soon after came up to his chamber, and Adeline, the mild, persecuted87 Adeline, who had now passed two days of torturing anxiety, and one night of terrific visions, endeavoured to compose her mind to sleep. In the present state of her spirits, she quickly caught alarm, and she had scarcely fallen into a slumber88, when she was roused by a loud and uncommon89 noise. She listened, and thought the sound came from the apartments below, but in a few minutes there was a hasty knocking at the door of La Motte’s chamber.
La Motte, who had just fallen asleep, was not easily to be roused, but the knocking increased with such violence, that Adeline, extremely terrified, arose and went to the door that opened from her chamber into his, with a design to call him. She was stopped by the voice of the Marquis, which she now clearly distinguished90 at the door. He called to La Motte to rise immediately, and Madame La Motte endeavoured at the same time to rouse her husband, who, at length, awoke in much alarm, and soon after, joining the Marquis, they went down stairs together. Adeline now dressed herself, as well as her trembling hands would permit, and went into the adjoining chamber, where she found Madame La Motte extremely surprized and terrified.
The Marquis, in the mean time, told La Motte, with great agitation91, that he recollected92 having appointed some persons to meet him upon business of importance, early in the morning, and it was, therefore, necessary for him to set off for his chateau93 immediately. As he said this, and desired that his servants might be called, La Motte could not help observing the ashy paleness of his countenance, or expressing some apprehension that his Lordship was ill. The Marquis assured him he was perfectly well, but desired that he might set out immediately. Peter was now ordered to call the other servants, and the Marquis, having refused to take any refreshment94, bade La Motte a hasty adieu, and, as soon as his people were ready, left the abbey.
La Motte returned to his chamber, musing on the abrupt departure of his guest, whose emotion appeared much too strong to proceed from the cause assigned. He appeased95 the anxiety of Madame La Motte, and at the same time excited her surprize by acquainting her with the occasion of the late disturbance96. Adeline, who had retired from the chamber, on the approach of La Motte, looked out from her window on hearing the trampling97 of horses. It was the Marquis and his people, who just then passed at a little distance. Unable to distinguish who the persons were, she was alarmed at observing such a party about the abbey at that hour, and, calling to inform La Motte of the circumstance, was made acquainted with what had passed.
At length she retired to her bed, and her slumbers98 were this night undisturbed by dreams.
When she arose in the morning, she observed La Motte walking alone in the avenue below, and she hastened to seize the opportunity which now offered of pleading her cause. She approached him with faltering steps, while the paleness and timidity of her countenance discovered the disorder99 of her mind. Her first words, without entering upon any explanation, implored100, his compassion101. La Motte stopped, and, looking earnestly in her face, inquired whether any part of his conduct towards her merited the suspicion which her request implied. Adeline for a moment blushed that she had doubted his integrity, but the words she had overheard returned to her memory.
“Your behaviour, Sir,” said she, “I acknowledge to have been kind and generous, beyond what I had a right to expect, but” — and she paused. She knew not how to mention what she blushed to believe. La Motte continued to gaze on her in silent expectation, and at length desired her to proceed and explain her meaning. She entreated102 that he would protect her from her father. La Motte looked surprised and confused. “Your father!” said he. “Yes, Sir,” replied Adeline; “I am not ignorant that he has discovered my retreat. I have every thing to dread from a parent, who has treated me with such cruelty as you was witness of; and I again implore that you will save me from his hands.”
La Motte stood fixed in thought, and Adeline continued her endeavours to interest his pity. “What reason have you to suppose, or, rather, how have you learned, that your father pursues you?” The question confused Adeline, who blushed to acknowledge that she had overheard his discourse104, and disdained105 to invent, or utter a falsity: at length she confessed the truth. The countenance of La Motte instantly changed to a savage106 fierceness, and, sharply rebuking107 her for a conduct, to which she had been rather tempted69 by chance, than prompted by design, he inquired what she had overheard, that could so much alarm her. She faithfully repeated the substance of the incoherent sentences that had met her ear; while she spoke108, he regarded her with a fixed attention. “And was this all you heard? Is it from these few words that you draw such a positive conclusion? Examine them, and you will find they do not justify109 it.”
She now perceived, what the fervor110 of her fears had not permitted her to observe before, that the words, unconnectedly as she heard them, imported little, and that her imagination had filled up the void in the sentences, so as to suggest the evil apprehended111. Notwithstanding this, her fears were little abated113. “Your apprehensions114 are, doubtless, now removed,” resumed La Motte; “but to give you a proof of the sincerity115 which you have ventured to question, I will tell you they were just. You seem alarmed, and with reason. Your father has discovered your residence, and has already demanded you. It is true, that from a motive116 of compassion I have refused to resign you, but I have neither authority to withhold117, or means to defend you. When he comes to enforce his demand, you will perceive this. Prepare yourself, therefore, for the evil, which you see is inevitable118.”
Adeline, for some time, could speak only by her tears. At length, with a fortitude119 which despair had roused, she said, “I resign myself to the will of Heaven!” La Motte gazed on her in silence, and a strong emotion appeared in his countenance. He forbore, however, to renew the discourse, and withdrew to the abbey, leaving Adeline in the avenue, absorbed in grief.
A summons to breakfast hastened her to the parlour, where she passed the morning in conversation with Madame La Motte, to whom she told all her apprehensions, and expressed all her sorrow. Pity and superficial consolation120 was all that Madame La Motte could offer, though apparently much affected121 by Adeline’s discourse. Thus the hours passed heavily away, while the anxiety of Adeline continued to increase, and the moment of her fate seemed fast approaching. Dinner was scarcely over, when Adeline was surprized to see the Marquis arrive. He entered the room with his usual ease; and, apologizing for the disturbance he had occasioned on the preceding night, repeated what he had before told La Motte.
The remembrance of the conversation she had overheard, at first gave Adeline some confusion, and withdrew her mind from a sense of the evils to be apprehended from her father. The Marquis, who was, as usual, attentive122 to Adeline, seemed affected by her apparent indisposition, and expressed much concern for that dejection of spirits, which, notwithstanding every effort, her manner betrayed. When Madame La Motte withdrew, Adeline would have followed her, but the Marquis entreated a few moment’s attention, and led her back to her seat. La Motte immediately disappeared.
Adeline knew too well what would be the purport123 of the Marquis’s discourse, and his words soon increased the confusion which her fears had occasioned. While he was declaring the ardour of his passion in such terms, as but too often make vehemence124 pass for sincerity, Adeline, to whom this declaration, if honourable125, was distressing, and if dishonourable, was shocking, interrupted him and thanked him for the offer of a distinction, which, with a modest, but determined air, she said she must refuse. She rose to withdraw. “Stay, too lovely Adeline!” said he, “and if compassion for my sufferings will not interest you in my favour, allow a consideration of your own dangers to do so. Monsieur La Motte has informed me of your misfortunes, and of the evil that now threatens you; accept from me the protection which he cannot afford.”
Adeline continued to move towards the door, when the Marquis threw himself at her feet, and, seizing her hand, impressed it with kisses. She struggled to disengage herself. “Hear me, charming Adeline! hear me,” cried the Marquis; “I exist but for you. Listen to my entreaties126 and my fortune shall be yours. Do not drive me to despair by ill-judged rigour, or, because” —
“My Lord,” interrupted Adeline, with an air of ineffable127 dignity, and still affecting to believe his proposal honourable, “I am sensible of the generosity128 of your conduct, and also flattered by the distinction you offer me. I will, therefore, say something more than is necessary to a bare expression of the denial which I must continue to give. I can not bestow129 my heart. You can not obtain more than my esteem, to which, indeed, nothing can so much contribute as a forbearance from any similar offers in future.”
She again attempted to go, but the Marquis prevented her, and, after some hesitation, again urged his suit, though in terms that would no longer allow her to misunderstand him. Tears swelled130 into her eyes, but she endeavoured to check them, and with a look, in which grief and indignation seemed to struggle for pre-eminence, she said, “My Lord, this is unworthy of reply, let me pass.”
For a moment, he was awed131 by the dignity of her manner, and he threw himself at her feet to implore forgiveness. But she waved her hand in silence and hurried from the room. When she reached her chamber, she locked the door, and, sinking into a chair, yielded to the sorrow that pressed at her heart. And it was not the least of her sorrow, to suspect that La Motte was unworthy of her confidence; for it was almost impossible that he could be ignorant of the real designs of the Marquis. Madame La Motte, she believed, was imposed upon by a specious132 pretence133 of honourable attachment134; and thus was she spared the pang135 which a doubt of her integrity would have added.
She threw a trembling glance upon the prospect136 around her. On one side was her father, whose cruelty had already been too plainly manifested; and on the other, the Marquis pursuing her with insult and vicious passion. She resolved to acquaint Madame La Motte with the purport of the late conversation, and, in the hope of her protection and sympathy, she wiped away her tears, and was leaving the room just as Madame La Motte entered it. While Adeline related what had passed, her friend wept, and appeared to suffer great agitation. She endeavoured to comfort her, and promised to use her influence in persuading La Motte to prohibit the addresses of the Marquis. “You know, my dear,” added Madame, “that our present circumstances oblige us to preserve terms with the Marquis, and you will, therefore, suffer as little resentment137 to appear in your manner towards him as possible; conduct yourself with your usual ease in his presence, and I doubt not this affair will pass over, without subjecting you to farther solicitation138.”
“Ah, Madam!” said Adeline, “how hard is the task you assign me! I entreat103 you that I may never more be subjected to the humiliation139 of being in his presence, that, whenever he visits the abbey, I may be suffered to remain in my chamber.”
“This,” said Madame La Motte, “I would most readily consent to, would our situation permit it. But you well know our asylum140 in this abbey depends upon the good-will of the Marquis, which we must not wantonly lose; and surely such a conduct as you propose would endanger this. Let us use milder measures, and we shall preserve his friendship, without subjecting you to any serious evil. Appear with your usual complacence: the task is not so difficult as you imagine.”
Adeline sighed. “I obey you, Madam,” said she; “it is my duty to do so; but I may be pardoned for saying — it is with extreme reluctance141.” Madame La Motte promised to go immediately to her husband, and Adeline departed, though not convinced of her safety, yet somewhat more at ease.
She soon after saw the Marquis depart, and, as there now appeared to be no obstacle to the return of Madame La Motte, she expected her with extreme impatience142. After thus waiting near an hour in her chamber, she was at length summoned to the parlour, and there found Monsieur La Motte alone. He arose upon her entrance, and for some minutes paced the room in silence. He then seated himself, and addressed her: “What you have mentioned to Madame La Motte,” said he, “would give me much concern, did I consider the behaviour of the Marquis in a light so serious as she does. I know that young ladies are apt to misconstrue the unmeaning gallantry of fashionable manners, and you, Adeline, can never be too cautious in distinguishing between a levity143 of this kind, and a more serious address.”
Adeline was surprized and offended that La Motte should think so lightly both of her understanding and disposition32 as his speech implied. “Is it possible, Sir,” said she, “that you have been apprized of the Marquis’s conduct?”
“It is very possible, and very certain,” replied La Motte with some asperity144; “and very possible, also, that I may see this affair with a judgement less discoloured by prejudice than you do. But, however, I shall not dispute this point. I shall only request, that, since you are acquainted with the emergency of my circumstances, you will conform to them, and not, by an ill-timed resentment, expose me to the enmity of the Marquis. He is now my friend, and it is necessary to my safety that he should continue such; but if I suffer any part of my family to treat him with rudeness, I must expect to see him my enemy. You may surely treat him with complaisance145.” Adeline thought the term rudeness a harsh one, as La Motte applied146 it, but she forebore from any expression of displeasure. “I could have wished, Sir,” said she, “for the privilege of retiring whenever the Marquis appeared; but since you believe this conduct would affect your interest, I ought to submit.”
“This prudence147 and good-will delight me,” said La Motte, “and since you wish to serve me, know that you cannot more effectually do it, than by treating the Marquis as a friend.” The word friend, as it stood connected with the Marquis, sounded dissonantly148 to Adeline’s ear; she hesitated and looked at La Motte. “As your friend, Sir,” said she; “I will endeavour to” — treat him as mine, she would have said, but she found it impossible to finish the sentence. She entreated his protection from the power of her father.
“What protection I can afford is your’s,” said La Motte, “but you know how destitute149 I am both of the right and the means of resisting him, and also how much I require protection myself. Since he has discovered your retreat, he is probably not ignorant of the circumstances which detain me here, and if I oppose him, he may betray me to the officers of the law, as the surest method of obtaining possession of you. We are encompassed150 with dangers,” continued La Motte; “would I could see any method of extricating151 ourselves!”
“Quit this abbey,” said Adeline, and seek an asylum in Switzerland or Germany; you will then be freed from farther obligation to the Marquis and from the persecution152 you dread. Pardon me for thus offering advice, which is certainly, in some degree, prompted by a sense of my own safety, but which, at the same time, seems to afford the only means of ensuring your’s.”
“Your plan is reasonable,” said La Motte, “had I money to execute it. As it is I must be contented153 to remain here, as little known as possible, and defending myself by making those who know me my friends. Chiefly I must endeavour to preserve the favour of the Marquis. He may do much, should your father even pursue desperate measures. But why do I talk thus? Your father may ere this have commenced these measures, and the effects of his vengeance154 may now be hanging over my head. My regard for you, Adeline, has exposed me to this; had I resigned you to his will, I should have remained secure.”
Adeline was so much affected by this instance of La Motte’s kindness, which she could not doubt, that she was unable to express her sense of it. When she could speak, she uttered her gratitude155 in the most lively terms. “Are you sincere in these expressions?” said La Motte.
“Is it possible I can be less than sincere?” replied Adeline, weeping at the idea of ingratitude156. — “Sentiments are easily pronounced,” said La Motte, “though they may have no connection with the heart; I believe them to be sincere so far only as they influence our actions.”
“What mean you, Sir?” said Adeline with surprize.
“I mean to inquire, whether, if an opportunity should ever offer of thus proving your gratitude, you would adhere to your sentiments?”
“Name one that I shall refuse,” said Adeline with energy.
“If, for instance, the Marquis should hereafter avow157 a serious passion for you, and offer you his hand, would no petty resentment, no lurking158 prepossession for some more happy lover prompt you to refuse it?”
Adeline blushed and fixed her eyes on the ground. “You have, indeed, Sir, named the only means I should reject of evincing my sincerity. The Marquis I can never love, nor, to speak sincerely, ever esteem. I confess the peace of one’s whole life is too much to sacrifice even to gratitude.” — La Motte looked displeased159. “’Tis as I thought,” said he; “these delicate sentiments make a fine appearance in speech, and render the person who utters them infinitely160 amiable; but bring them to the test of action, and they dissolve into air, leaving only the wreck161 of vanity behind.”
This unjust sarcasm162 brought tears to her eyes. “Since your safety, Sir, depends upon my conduct,” said she, resign me to my father. I am willing to return to him, since my stay here must involve you in new misfortune. Let me not prove myself unworthy of the protection I have hitherto experienced, by preferring my own welfare to yours. When I am gone, you will have no reason to apprehend112 the Marquis’s displeasure, which you may probably incur163 if I stay here: for I feel it impossible that I could even consent to receive his addresses, however honourable were his views.”
La Motte seemed hurt and alarmed. “This must not be,” said he; “let us not harrass ourselves by stating possible evils, and then, to avoid them, fly to those which are certain. No, Adeline, though you are ready to sacrifice yourself to my safety. I will not suffer you to do so. I will not yield you to your father, but upon compulsion. Be satisfied, therefore, upon this point. The only return I ask, is a civil deportment towards the Marquis.”
“I will endeavour to obey you, Sir,” said Adeline. — Madame La Motte now entered the room, and this conversation ceased. Adeline passed the evening in melancholy thoughts, and retired, as soon as possible, to her chamber, eager to seek in sleep a refuge from sorrow.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
prodigies
|
|
| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
ridiculed
|
|
| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
conversing
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
conjectures
|
|
| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
counterfeit
|
|
| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
distressing
|
|
| a.使人痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
forsook
|
|
| forsake的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
relinquish
|
|
| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
peal
|
|
| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
conversed
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
modesty
|
|
| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
pensively
|
|
| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
gust
|
|
| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
conspired
|
|
| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
musing
|
|
| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
tapestry
|
|
| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
faltering
|
|
| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
lumber
|
|
| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
casements
|
|
| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
impeded
|
|
| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
spotted
|
|
| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
rust
|
|
| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
rustling
|
|
| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
obliterated
|
|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
surmise
|
|
| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
unwillingly
|
|
| adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
censure
|
|
| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
contemn
|
|
| v.蔑视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
persecuted
|
|
| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
appeased
|
|
| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
trampling
|
|
| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
slumbers
|
|
| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
implored
|
|
| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
entreated
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
disdained
|
|
| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
rebuking
|
|
| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
fervor
|
|
| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
apprehended
|
|
| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
apprehend
|
|
| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
abated
|
|
| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
apprehensions
|
|
| 疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
withhold
|
|
| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
ineffable
|
|
| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
awed
|
|
| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
specious
|
|
| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
solicitation
|
|
| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
asylum
|
|
| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
reluctance
|
|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
levity
|
|
| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
asperity
|
|
| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
complaisance
|
|
| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
dissonantly
|
|
| adj.不和谐的；刺耳的；不调和的；自相矛盾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
destitute
|
|
| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
encompassed
|
|
| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
extricating
|
|
| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
persecution
|
|
| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
ingratitude
|
|
| n.忘恩负义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
avow
|
|
| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
incur
|
|
| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |