had betrayed her passion for one who only called himself her friend, and who she believed pitied rather than returned the weakness he had witnessed. In the bosom of Imogen the feelings of wounded pride, of wounded delicacy, gave their colouring to every thought, to every supposition. She believed that the duke de Beauvilliers had come either as the herald of his friend's wishes, on the subject of their approaching union, or to warn her of the imprudence of her conduct, by which that union might be for ever dissolved. Yet he had found her lavishing the most tender caresses on his own picture; he had beheld it bathed with her tears, and consigned to her bosom, where he might naturally suppose it dwelt a constant and treasured companion. There was madness in the thought.

"Oh!" said the weeping Imogen," had "his spirit so associated with mine as to "leave me no room to regret the secret I "so unwittingly betrayed; had my soul found repose in the acknowledged ten

"

"derness of his; had he endeavoured to

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preserve me high in my own conscious

ness, and to convince me that, though "dear to his heart, I was still more exalt"ed in his esteem, some ray of consolation "had been left me: but, now the pity he

lately felt is united to contempt, and "he who supplicated me to save his ho"nour could hold no elevated opinion of "the stability of mine. And yet that God, "who alone sees into my heart, beholds the purity of my thoughts, and the rec❝titude of my principles."

While tears of anguish still flowed down the cheek of Imogen, and she leaned despondingly on her folded arms, she heard the noise of a footstep in the anti-chamber. She had scarcely time to draw her veil over her face, and pick up the fatal picture, which she now almost beheld with horror, when a page entered, and delivered her a card: it was an invitation from the lord high chamberlain, in the king's name, to a lottery the following day, when it was

his majesty's pleasure to distribute somet valuable trinkets, as prizes to the most distinguished ladies of the court.

At a moment when the sombre hue of her thoughts led her to suppose she was abandoned by the world, because she fancied she was abandoned by him who was all the world unto her, she deeply felt the distinction with which she was honoured by this particular mark of royal attention; and determined to avail herself of it, to appear with all her wonted splendor, and to convince the chevalier and the duke she had not been chid into submission by the stoical severity of the one, nor reduced to a state of hopeless pining sorrow by the indifference of the other. Such was the result of those inferences, drawn from the sophistry of a too-fastidious delicacy, the ardor of irritable feelings, and the disappointed emotions of a too-exquisite and unhappy sensibility.

CHAP. XXXIV.

"To know

"That which before us lies in daily life

"Is the prime wisdom."

MILTON.

"I've ta'en too little care of this."

SHAKESPEARE.

NEVER had the inclinations of Imogen pointed less towards pleasure and amusement, than when, on the following morning, habited in Eastern though tasteful splendor, with an air of lifeless animation," she descended from her dressing-room. As she crossed the ball to her carriage, she was met by the chevalier de Sorville. Struck by her dazzling appearance, he started; then, coldly bowing, he advanced, took her hand, and led her in silence into the study, the door of which lay open. Imogen looked amazed-the chevalier closed the door, laid his hat on the table, presented her a chair, and coolly said:

"Give me leave to request an audience "of half an hour from you."

"Half an hour!" repeated Imogen, endeavouring to veil the heaviness of her heart beneath an air of affected gaiety: " my dear chevalier, in a moment so criti"cal as this, half an hour is half an age. "I am going to court, and my carriage is " in waiting."

No, madam," said the chevalier, your carriage is not in waiting, for I "have dismissed it."

"Then, sir," said Imogen, while her cheek glowed with the blush of indignation, " you do but give me the trouble to "re-order it," and she walked towards the bell.

"Softly, lady," said the chevalier, seizing her hand, " you know not what you do: your engagements are doubtless impor

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tant, for they are the engagements of "pleasure, the business of your life, and apparently the end and object of your

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being; but at present, madam, there are