The envious De Fontelle could not bear this; she made her way to them, took the hand of Matilda, called her sweet friend, assured her they must be violently intimate, she was quite charmed with her; with a hundred such delusive compliments, as meant nothing, and to which the other only replied with a cold civility. All at once, turning quickly to her, "Bless me, Miss Weimar, I forgot to ask if you have a relation of your name now in Paris?" The roses forsook Matilda's cheek, she trembled, and could scarce stand; every one observed her confusion; the Count caught her arm. "Bless me! (cried Mademoiselle De Fontelle) has my question disordered you; I only asked because I was in company yesterday with a gentleman of your name, just arrived from Germany."
This was enough for the unhappy girl—down she dropt, and had not the Count been attentive to her motions, and caught her in his arms, she must have fallen to the ground. Every body was alarmed, and crowded round her, the Marchioness particularly so; she was carried into another room, the Count still supporting her, and followed by his sister. It was some time before she returned to life. The first objects that struck her was the Count, holding her in his arms, the Marchioness on her knees, applying salts, and Mademoiselle De Bouville pressing her hand. "O, madam! (cried she, eagerly and trembling) he is come—he is come." "Compose yourself, my love, (said the Marchioness) no one is come that can hurt you." "Yes, yes, (answered she, hardly knowing what she said) 'tis he, he will carry me off, he will take me from you."
Her friend still endeavoured to sooth and calm her spirits. The Count and his sister were surprised; they saw there was some mystery, but forebore any enquiries.
It was some time before she was perfectly restored: they urged her to return to the company—she felt a
