Can you write and read?
Yes, sir.
And how long have you been out of place?
Above seven weeks.
Why did not you return to England, when you received your wages?
I had no money. I owed a fellow servant a guinea and a half, which I
had borrowed to buy shirts and stockings.
And those you have made away with?
Not all. I was obliged to take some of them to Mount Pity.
_Mont Piété_, you mean.[1]
[Footnote 1: The general receptacle for pledges. Among other monopolies
and trades, government in France used to be the common pawnbroker.]
Belike yes, sir.
Well, here's something for you, for the present; and come to me
to-morrow morning.
The lad went away, with more in his countenance than he knew how to put
into speech; and I asked Clifton what he meant by desiring him to come
again. I intend, madam, said he, to make some inquiries of his master;
and if they please me to hire him; for I want a servant, and if I am
not deceived he will make a good one.
Think, Louisa, whether I were not pleased with this proof of
discernment. By this accident, I learned more of Clifton's character in
ten minutes than perhaps I might have done in ten months. He saw, for I
wished him to see, that he had acted exactly as I could have desired.
He appears indeed to be a favourite with servants, which certainly is
no bad omen. He is Laura's delight. He is a free gentleman, a generous
gentleman, [I suppose he gives her money] a merry gentleman, and has
the handsomest person, the finest eye, and the best manner of dressing
his hair she ever beheld!--She quite overflows in his praise.
In a few days we are to go to the country seat of the Marquis of
Villebrun, where we intend to stay about a fortnight. Your brother has
introduced us to all his friends, among whom is the marquis; and, as we
are intimate with our ambassador, we have more invitations than we can
accept, and acquaintance than we can cultivate. Frank is to go with us.
And now, Louisa, with anxiety I own, my mind is far from satisfied. I
have not thought sufficiently to convince myself, yet act as though I
had. It is little less than open war between your brother and Frank.
The supposition of a duty, too serious to be trifled with, has induced
me to favour rather than repulse the too eager advances of Clifton;
though this supposed duty has been but half examined.
The desire to retrieve mind cannot but be right; yet the mode may be
wrong.
At this moment my heart bitterly reproaches me, for not proceeding on
more certain principles. The merit of Frank is great, almost beyond the
power of expression. I need not tell my Louisa which way affection,
were it encouraged, would incline: but I will not be its slave. Nor can
I reproach myself for erring on that side; but for acting, in
resistance to inclination, with too little reserve. No arguments I
believe can shew me that I have a right to sport with the feelings of
my father, and my friends; though those feelings are founded in
prejudice. But my inquiries shall be more minute; and my resolves will
then be more permanent and self-complacent.
Adieu, my best and dearest friend. Write often: reprove me for all that
I do amiss--Would my mind were more accordant with itself! But I will
take it roundly to task.