distinction, ever conscious of the value of rank, and that still more active principle assumed as the right of personal attraction, by which nature asserts her rights as superior to all artificial distinctions, lay dormant. She was at this moment neither proud nor vain; praise failed to elate her; even words and looks, which she desired to consider those of love, (let the world laugh if it liked) failed to yield her consolation. It was very strange, even to herself, that she could be so inert, so discontented, so incapable of exertion or enjoyment; but there was no shaking off the sensation—it shrouded her faculties, it obscured her sight; she really apprehended that it made her look a complete object.
Alarmed with this idea, she told the Count "that she wished to go home immediately; she knew the duchess would lend her a chair, as she had often done."
"You have got your death of cold, I fear, dear Lady Anne. Alas! alas! I offer you my cloak when you enter the place, which I say will cover you all over, and you refuse positive—what sad pity! we are not young, neither you neither me—time is come for care to us both. I have lost two—yes, two beloved ones, more young as either."
The anger which rose in Lady Anne's heart, and suffused even her brow, gave her a momentary animation and power unknown for the whole evening; and, though she disdained reply, she left the room with a firm step and the air we are apt to attribute to royalty,
