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 Fatigued by talking, the Countess lay down upon a sofa after breakfast. This debility, in a mind so nervous and a frame so active as hers had hitherto been, gave the most painful apprehensions to Madeline; and, under a trifling pretext, she left the room in order to communicate them to Agatha, and enquire from her whether she did not deem some advise requisite for her lady.

Agatha shook her head mournfully on hearing them; but relative to her enquiry, answered in the negative, saying that rest and quiet were all that was necessary for the Countess, "if those don't do her good (said she), nothing can."

"Alas! (cried Madeline, as she turned from her), 'tis too true! 'tis sorrow that undermines her health, and medicine could not reach her malady. Oh! what, what is this sorrow which so dreadfully affects her,—which is so carefully concealed that even her most intimate friends know it not, for such I know Madame Chatteneuf and her daugh-