not,' said the Count; 'the silly imagination of some people conjure up frightful fancies, and endeavor to impose them upon others as realities; but pray Joseph how soon can you leave this house? my man Peter will go with you to the other; you will find a much better habitation, and can take your friends with you.' 'In about a week, my Lord, I shall be ready.' 'Not sooner?' 'I must speak to my friends; we must get our little domestic business put in order, and then we shall be fit to go comfortably, though 'tis a long journey for old folks, my Lord.' 'Nothing at all nothing at all,' said his Lordship; 'Peter will see you safe. We shall be with you next week use all the dispatch you can, for I have alterations to make in the house, before I give it up.'
The Count and his attendants mounted their horses and rode off, leaving Joseph in great perplexity. Bertha, ignorant of the events which caused his uneasiness, was well pleased to change her abode for a better one, and was in a violent hurry to call on Pierre and Jaqueline, but Joseph requested she would wait another day, 'till he had considered the matter. He well knew, that if the Count visited the other wing, he must be sensible that it had been lately inhabited. If he was innocent of his conjectures, and unconcerned in the late transactions he would judge unfavourably of Joseph; if, on the contrary, he had any hand in carrying off the lady and murdering her attendant, the removal of the body would convince him some person must have been there; his suspicions would naturally fall on himself, and perhaps he might be sacrificed also. These considerations greatly distressed Joseph; every way he saw perplexity and vexation, and was afraid to throw himself into the Count's power, though he saw no chance of avoiding it. He had been every day to the other apartments, except the preceding one, and found every thing tranquil; but now that the Count was in the neighbourhood, he was afraid to go: yet he thought the only way to avoid suspicion, or impending evils, would be to replace the body on the bed, at all events.
Endeavouring to derive courage from necessity, he trembling ventured to the private passage, but, to his surprise and horror, the lamps were all extinguished; he knew they must have been put out, otherwise they would have lasted that day; he therefore hastily turned back, and regained the house. After a little deliberation he went up the staircase, and opening every apartment very softly till he came to the door which led to the gallery of the other wing, he found it fastened on the other side. This circumstance confirmed his fears: he listened some time, and plainly heard voices, but could distinguish nothing; he then retreated with the same care, locking up all the doors on the outside, for whether it was the Count and his servant, or a set of banditti, he thought his situation equally dangerous.
Poor Joseph could not communicate his fears to Bertha, and therefore his uneasiness passed off for indisposition, but he had a sleepless night.
The next morning he went to the post town, and, to his great joy, received a letter from Matilda. She was safe at Paris; and the Marquis and his Lady, under the greatest apprehensions for their sister; convinced she would never return to the castle, should she be alive, and grateful to their old friend Joseph, offered him and his wife an asylum at their house, thinking they might one day or other be sacrificed to the Count's revenge.
Scarcely had he read this letter, when he saw Peter, the Count's servant, coming towards him; he had the paper still in his hand, 'So, Joseph, you have been at the post, I see.' 'Yes,' answered he, with as much ease as he could assume; 'I hear now and then from a sister of mine, who is in service at Paris: but is my Lord here in this town, Peter?' 'Yes,' replied he, 'his Lordship is settling some business with his tenants.' 'Well,' said Joseph, 'next week we shall be ready to go, Peter.' 'Very well,' cried the other, with a smile, and they parted.
On Joseph's return to his house, he began to consider of his removal; he was sure he could not depend on the Count, but how to get away without his knowledge was the difficulty; after much deliberation, he took his resolution and going to Bertha, told her the Lady Matilda was in Paris, and had sent for them to live with her. She was out of her wits with joy: 'O,' cried she, 'that will be a thousand times better than living in the Count's house; yes, yes, let's go, the sooner the better, say I.' 'But,' said Joseph, 'you must not say a word to the Count, or any body, for the world.' She promised secrecy, and they began to contrive about taking away their little matters, and setting off in a day or two. That night Joseph thought to get some rest, though his fears still remained, and kept him waking for some hours: about midnight he dropped asleep, but was soon awakened by a great smoke and a terrible smell of fire. He hastily got up, and opening the door, the flames burst in upon him; he ran to the bed and called Bertha to follow him; she jumped out, as he thought, for that purpose: he got into the court, and saw the other wing also on fire, and presently the building he came out of fell in. He called Bertha; alas! she was smothered in the ruins. The whole building was now in flames. He ran to the stable, got the horse, and riding through the wood as fast as possible, a contrary way from the town, he stopt not till he came to the foot of a mountain; with difficulty he crept off his horse, and threw himself on the ground. 'Bertha! my dear Bertha, I have lost thee for ever; I am now a poor forlorn creature, without a friend in the world: why did I fly, - why did I not perish in the fire with my wife? What a coward I am! O, that cursed Count, this is all his doings; I expected he would seek my death, but poor Bertha, she was unconscious of offence to the barbarian, yet she is gone, and I am left desolate who ought to have been the sufferer.' Exhausted by grief and lassitude the wretched old man lay almost motionless for some hours when Providence conducted a carriage that way, with a lady and gentleman in it, and two attendants on horseback. Seeing the horse grasing and an elderly man lying on the ground, the gentleman stopt the carriage, and sent a servant to him: he explained his situation in a brief manner, which when the domestic informed his master of, he ordered he should be brought and put into the carriage, and the horse led on by the servant to their seat.
We will now return to Matilda, who with her faithful Albert, arrived at Paris without meeting any accident. They soon found the Hotel de Melfont, and Matilda writing a short billet to the Marchioness, reposed herself a little after the fatigue of her journey.
In less than three hours the Marchioness arrived in her carriage, and entered the room with that delight in her countenance which plainly testified the pleasure she expected to receive in the company of her young friend; she flew towards her, and embraced her with a warmth that affected the grateful heart of Matilda to tears. 'Welcome, a thousand times welcome, my dear Miss Weimar; the friend of my poor sister must be the friend of my heart! Charming girl!' said she, gazing on her, 'that countenance needs no recommendation; what do I not owe my Victoria. Matilda, in returning her caresses, involuntarily started and repeated Victoria! 'Yes, my love, that is my sister's name; you know her only as the unhappy Countess of Wolfenbach, I suppose: but let me see your faithful Albert, to whom I hear you are greatly indebted.' 'I am indeed madam,' replied Matilda, 'my whole life at present is and must be a state of obligation.' 'Dismiss that idea, my dear Miss Weimar, and feel that you have the power of obliging in your society those whose study it will be to convince you how grateful they are for the favour you confer on them.' Matilda bowed and kissed the hand of the Marchioness, with an expression in her eyes that spoke volumes to the heart. Albert now entered the room; My good friend, said the Lady, 'I hope you are well; I wished to see you, to thank you for your services to this young lady. I humbly thank your ladyship cried Albert, 'but I have only done my duty, and when you know my mistress you will think so, for she deserves all the world should serve her.' 'I doubt it not,' replied the Lady, 'and after my first care to render your mistress happy, my second shall be to make the remainder of your days comfortable.' Neither Matilda nor Albert could refrain from tears. Come, come,' said the Marchioness, 'let us be gone; my carriage waits; the Marquis is impatient to see you, and I have a thousand questions to ask about my dear sister.' All! thought Matilda, how shall I unfold the dismal tale - how must I wound a bosom so tender and affectionate! This reflection threw her into a melancholy reverie, as the carriage drove off The Marchioness observed it, and taking her hand, 'We are not strangers, my dear Miss Weimar; I have only been to meet my younger sister and introduce her to my husband, already prepared to love her.' Matilda, overcome by a reception so kind, cried out, whilst sobs spoke the genuine feelings of her heart, 'Dear madam, you oppress me with your generosity and goodness: O that I may be found, on further knowledge, to deserve your good opinion.' 'I am persuaded of it,'
