Millefleur, frightened to death at the looks and voice of his master, dared not disobey; and Delamere employing him in putting up his cloaths till after Lady Montreville came in, was, he thought, secure of his secresy. He then made an effort, tho' a successless one, to hide the anguish that devoured him; and went down to supper. He found, that besides their constant attendant Crofts, his mother and sister were accompanied by two other English gentlemen, and a French man of fashion and his sister, who full of the vivacity and gaiety of their country, kept up a lively conversation with Miss Delamere and the Englishmen. But Delamere hardly spoke--his eyes were wild and inflamed--his cheeks flushed--and deep sighs seemed involuntarily to burst from his heart. Lady Montreville observed him, and then said-- 'Surely, Frederic, you are not well?' 'Not very well,' said he; 'but I am otherwise, merely from the intolerable heat. I have had the head-ache all day.' 'The head-ache!' exclaimed his mother--'Why then do you not go to bed?' 'No,' answered he, 'I am better up. Since the heat is abated, I am in less pain. I will take a walk by the fine moon that I see is rising, and be back again presently--and to-morrow,' continued he--'to-morrow, I shall go northward for a month. I cannot stay under this burning atmosphere.' Then desiring the company not to move on his account, he arose from table and hastened away. 'Do, my good Crofts,' said Lady Montreville--'do follow Frederic--he frightens me to death--he is certainly very ill.' Crofts hesitated a moment, being in truth afraid to interfere with Delamere's ramble while he was in a humour so gloomy; but on her Ladyship's repeating her request, dared not shew his reluctance. He went out therefore under pretence of following him; while the party present, seeing Lady Montreville's distress, almost immediately departed. Crofts walked on without much desire to fulfill his commission; for Delamere, whenever he was obliged to associate with him, treated him generally with coldness, and sometimes rudely. There was, however, very little probability of his overtaking him; for Delamere had walked or rather run to a considerable distance from the street where his mother lived, and then wandering farther into the fields, had thrown himself upon the grass, and had forgotten every thing but Emmeline--'Emmeline and Fitz-Edward gone together!--the mistress on whom he had so fondly doated!--the friend whom he had so implicitly trusted!' These cruel images, drest in every form most fatal to his peace, tormented him, and the agony of disappointed passion seemed to have affected his brain. Deep groans forced their way from his oppressed heart--he cursed his existence, and seemed resolutely bent, in the gloominess of his despair, to shake it off and free himself from sufferings so intolerable.