sibly try to practise on your judgment, as he designed to do on my credulity."
At the moment, when tracing this scene, I am astonished at the fortitude and dissimulation I had the power to acquire over my feelings, and never, I believe, was a man so truly perplexed and confused as the Count. My behaviour was so unexpected, that he was entirely at a loss what answer to frame; whether to own or deny the letter, which he still held without opening it. I saw the workings of his mind, and exulted in the propriety of my plan.—"Why do you not read that detestable scroll?" I asked.—"My dear Louisa," said he, "I have not time now to attend to that or to you; a particular engagement obliges me to leave you, but I will return in the evening, and explain every thing to your satisfaction."—"Well, my love," I replied, "I wish not to intrude on your time or engagements: You will find me perfectly obedient to all your wishes;—now that I see you forgive this apparent rash step, and are convinced that the necessity
