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 nothing at all, to her observations and questions. This offended Caroline at last, and she rose suddenly from the card-table, declaring that play did make people unaccountably insupportable. She then wished the Count, laughing, a good night; repairing to the opposite side of the apartment, where a forte piano stood, and began to play.

Yet she could relish nothing. I followed her like her shade, taking up a violin to accompany her; selected some of her favourite airs; but every thing was intolerable to her. She grew, at length, uncommonly sad and gloomy, reclining herself against the back of her chair, fetched a deep sigh, and shut her eyes.

I did every thing in my power to amuse her; but nothing would do: she returned very short answers, and grew cooler every moment. She continued to keep up that humour till the gaming parties rose; and being placed, at supper, between the