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 wretched sustenance for her sake; in its own good time Heaven will release us from thee, cruel, merciless wretch!"—But why should I repeat the ravings of a man in his situation? It is sufficient to say, that his insults, his impotent threats, roused me from that lethargy of soul, into which the incoherent language of Eugenia had plunged me, and turned my momentary remorse into fury: In the bitterness of passion I swore, that if Eugenia died, I would inflict unheard of tortures on him; and should he escape my power, then his mistress should feel the severest vengeance that I could devise. Worked up to madness by the agitations of my mind, I scarce remember what passed between us, nor did I ever pass a night so replete with horror as the succeeding one.

The following night I found Eugenia still the same, cheerful and melancholy by turns, but all recollection of her situation entirely lost. Sometimes she talked of her father, her child, her dear Count, as if all were present with her; then looking on me she