was as though he spoke to me of mine, and that I felt more deeply for him than he did for himself. Friendship like this was a charm that equalled the sensations of happiness itself!

I never thought of telling Charles what had so long oppressed me. I listened to him, and, by I know not what magical effect, his conversation banished from my mind the recollection of my sorrows. Had he questioned me, I should have confessed them all, but he did not imagine that I had any secret. Every body was accustomed to my weak state of health, and Madame de B. had striven so much to make me happy, that she had a right to think me so. So I ought to have been, I felt it, and often accused myself of ingratitude and folly. I doubt whether I should have ever dared to own how miserable the irreparable misfortune of my colour made me. There is a sort of degradation in not being able to submit to necessity, and when hopeless grief masters the soul, it bears the character of despair. There was a rigidity in Charles's notions, which likewise increased my timidity. One evening our conversation turned upon pity, and it was asked, whether misfortune inspires most compassion from its cause or from its effects. Charles decided for the former; this was declaring that all grief should be actuated by some powerful motive. But who can judge the motives of another? All hearts have not the same wants; and does not real misfortune consist in the heart's being deprived of its desires? It was seldom, however, that our conversations thus led me to reflect upon my own case, which I so earnestly sought to forget. I would have no looking-glasses in my room. I constantly wore gloves, and dresses that covered my throat and arms. I had a large hat and veil to walk out in, which I often continued to wear in doors: in short, I would fain have deceived myself, and, like a child, shut my own eyes, and thought that no one saw me.

Towards the end of the year 1795, the reign of terror being at an end, friends began to seek each other out, and the scattered remains of Madame de B.'s society rallied round her. With chagrin I beheld the circle of her friends increase, for the station I held in the world was so equivocal, that the more society returned to its natural order, the more I felt myself excluded from it. Every time that strangers came to visit us I underwent fresh misery. The expression of surprise, mingled with disdain, that I observed upon their countenances when they first beheld, me, put me to confusion. I was sure to become the subject of an aparté in the window-seat, or of a whisper in a corner, that it might be explained how a negress came to be admitted as an inmate in Madame de B.'s society. I used to suffer martyrdom during these explanations. I longed to be transported back to my barbarous country and its savage inhabitants, whom I should fear less than this cruel world that made me responsible for its own evils. The recollection of a disdainful look would remain upon me for whole days, appear to me in my dreams, flit before me under the likeness of my own image. Alas! such were the chimeras that I suffered to disturb me. Thou, my God! hadst not yet taught me to dispel these phantoms; I knew not that repose was to be found in thee.

I then sought for shelter in the heart of Charles. I was proud of his virtues, and still prouder of his friendship. I admired him as the most perfect being that I knew upon earth. I once thought that I felt for him the most tender love of a sister; but now, worn by grief, it seemed as if I had grown old, and my tenderness was become that of a mother. Indeed, a mother only could feel the same passionate desire for his success, and anxiety for his welfare through life. I would willingly have given up my existence to save him from a moment's pain. I saw the impression he made upon others long before he did. He was happy enough neither to think nor care about it. This was natural, for he had nothing to fear; nothing to give him that habitual uneasiness I felt about the opinion of others. His fate was all harmony, mine was all discord.

One morning an old friend called upon Madame de B., confidentially entrusted with a proposal of marriage for Charles. Mademoiselle de Thémines had suddenly become a rich heiress in the most distressing manner. Her whole family, excepting her great aunt, had perished on the scaffold in one day. This lady (having reached her eightieth year) as sole guardian of her niece, was exceedingly anxious to have her married, lest her own death should leave her without a single protector. Anais de Thémines, besides possessing the advantages of birth, wealth, and education, was beautiful as an angel. It was impossible that Madame de B, should hesitate; she spoke to her son, who (though he at first showed some reluctance at marrying so early) expressed a desire to see Mademoiselle de Thémines. The interview took place, and his reluctance vanished. Anais was formed to please him. She appeared so unconscious of her charms, and possessed modesty so unassuming and quiet, that she could not fail endearing herself to him; he was allowed to visit at her aunt's, and soon became passionately in love with her. I knew the progress of his feelings, and longed to behold this lovely creature to whom his happiness was soon to be entrusted. She came one morning to St. Germains. Charles had spoken of me to her, and I had no contemptuous scrutiny to undergo. She appeared to me an angel of goodness; I assured her that Charles would make her happy, and that his discretion was so much above his years, that she need have no apprehensions on account of his youth. She questioned me much about him, for she knew that we had been friends from infancy, and I was so delighted at having an opportunity of extolling his many virtues, that I could have talked for ever.

Some weeks passed before the marriage took place for the settlement of business, and Charles spent most part of that time at Madame de Thémines, sometimes remaining two or three days at a time in Paris. His absence pained me; I felt vexed at losing him, and vexed with myself for preferring my own happiness to his. I had never done so before. The days that he returned home were holidays for me. Then he would tell me how he had passed his time, what progress he had made in the affections of his mistress, and rejoice with me at the success he had met with, Once, he began (describing to me the manner he intended to live with her)—"I will obtain her conscience," said he, "and give her mine. All my thoughts shall be open to her, every secret impulse of heart will I tell her; in short, I wish the same mutual trust and confidence to be between us as between you and me, Ourika." The same confidence! How this pained me. I recollected that he knew not the only secret I ever had, and determined never to let him know it.

By degrees his absences became longer and more frequent, until at last he used merely to come to St. Germains for a few minutes at a time (generally on horseback, to save time on the road), and always returning to Paris the same afternoon, so that we completely lost his company of an evening. Madame de B. used to joke him for having deserted us, would I could have done so too! One morning, as we were walking in the forest, I perceived him coming full gallop at a distance. He had been absent nearly the whole week; as he approached us, he jumped from his horse, and began walking with us. After a few minutes general conversation, we remained behind, and began conversing as in former times. I remarked it. "In former times!" cried he, "Had I ever any thing to say in former times? I have only begun to exist since I have known my Anais! Ah, Ourika, I never can express to you what I feel for her. Sometimes it seems to me as if my whole soul were passing into her's. When she looks at me I can no longer breathe;—if she blushes, I long to throw myself in adoration at her feet;—and when I think that I am to become the protector of this angel, and that she trusts her happiness, her