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a considerable fortune in the world, to remain in this solitude. Do you know what motive has induceed her to it? I do; but it is a seeret whieh she alone ean reveal. Is she married? No; she is a widow; but her heart is no less engaged, nay, it is rather bound with stronger chains. Madam, said the Count to Adelaide, as they had entered the cabin, you see how you turn the heads, as well as eaptivate ⟨all⟩ that bears the name of Fonrose. Nothing could have justified my son's extravagant passions, but so virtuous, so loving an object. My wife's utmost wishes were to have you for a friend. Ah! sir, replied Adelaide, your goodness perplexes me; lend me a while your attention, and judge my situation. She then, in the presence of the old folks, related her sad story, adding the name of the family, whieh the Count was well aequainted with: and she finished her narration by taking him for a witness of the inviolable fidelity she owed her husband. At these words a deep consternation appeared in their looks. Young Fonrose, bursting with ⟨grief⟩, threw himself into a corner of the hut, to give loose to his sorrows. His afflieted father laid himself down by him, easting his eyes on Adelaide, Madam, said he, behold the effect of your resolution. The Countcss pressing her to her bosom, Ah! will you then, said she, give us cause to lament a seeond time the death of our dear child? I leave the deeision of our fate to your son-let me have a few minutes conversation with him. Then retiring by themselves. Fonrose, said she, you know what sacred ties bind me here. If I could cease to lament the loss of him who loved and doted on me even beyond
