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 Matilda, affected with hopes, doubts, and fears, could not suppress her tears: on this important moment her fate seemed suspended.

The Count made two or three exclamations, but when he came to the murder of his friend, he smote his breast, "Unparalleled wickedness and ingratitude!" (cried he.) Hastily proceeding in the narrative, he no sooner came to the exchange of the children, than throwing his eyes on Matilda, "My heart, and your striking resemblance to the charming Countess, tell me, you are her child."

"I am! I am! (replied Matilda, weeping, and strongly agitated) if she will vouchsafe to own me!" He folded her to his bosom, "Own you! O, what transport to recover such a daughter! Compose yourself, my dear young lady; I am little less affected than you are,—but let me finish this interesting confession of a miserable wretch." He