has given it root which no time, no absence, no misfortune ever can dislodge.—­The charming maid is ignorant of her conquest:—­the carnival draws near to a conclusion.—­I must return to the army, and these cruel circumstances oblige me either to make a declaration which she may possibly condemn as too abrupt, or go and leave her unknowing of my heart, and thereby deprive myself even of her pity:—­Which party, madam, shall I take?—­Will the severe extreme, to which I am driven, be sufficient to attone for a presumption which else would merit her disdain?

Louisa must have been as dull as she was really the contrary, not to have known all this was meant to herself; and the pleasing confusion which this discovery infused thro’ all her veins, made her at the same time sensible of the difference she put between him and all those who before had entertained her on that subject; but not knowing presently whether she ought to attribute it to her good or ill fortune, she was wholly at a loss how to behave, and, to avoid giving any direct answer, still affected an air of pleasantry.

See, cried she, the little reason you, have to speak in the praise of love; for if pity be all you have to hope for from your, mistress, I am afraid the consolation will be no way adequate to the misfortune.

Yet if you vouchsafe me that, replied he, kissing her hard, I never shall complain.  Me! interrupted she, pretending the utmost astonishment, and drawing her chair somewhat farther from him.  Yes, beautiful Louisa, resumed he; it is you alone who have been capable of teaching me what love truly is:—­your eyes, at first sight, subdued my heart; but your virtue has since made a conquest of my soul:—­if I dare hope to make you mine, it is only by such ways as heaven, and those who have the power of disposing you, shall approve:—­in the mean time I implore no more than your permission to admire you, and to convince you, by all the honourable services in my power to do you while you continue here, how much my words are deficient to denote my meaning.

Louisa, now finding herself under a necessity of answering seriously, told him, that if it were true that he had sentiments for her of the nature he pretended, they would not only merit, but receive the most grateful acknowledgments on her part; but at the same time she should be sorry he had entertained them, and would wish him not to indulge a prospect which could last no longer than while both remained in Venice, and must infallibly vanish on their separation.

No, madam, replied he, when the next campaign is over, I shall return to France; and sure the distance between that kingdom and England is not so great, but a less motive than yourself would easily carry me thither; and such credentials also of who, and what I am, as, I flatter myself, would not appear contemptible in the eyes of your friends:—­the prospect therefore is not so visionary as you seem to think, provided I have your consent.