Leonora neither accepted nor rejected my interpretation of what had passed. She made no reply; but fixed her eyes upon me as if she would have read my very soul. Never did I see or feel eyes so expressive or so powerful as hers were at this, moment. Mine absolutely fell beneath them. What deprived me of presence of mind I know not; but I was utterly without common sense. I am sure I changed colour, and Leonora must have seen it through my rouge, for I had only the slightest tinge upon my cheeks. The consciousness that she saw me blush disconcerted me beyond recovery; it is really quite unaccountable: I trembled all over as I stood before her; I was forced to have recourse to the hartshorn and water, which stood upon the table. Leonora rose, and threw open the window to give me fresh air. She pressed my hand, but rather with an air of forgiveness than of affection; I was mortified and vexed; but my pride revived me. “We had better return to the company as soon as possible, I believe,” said she, looking down at the moving crowd below. “I am ready to attend you, my dear,” said I, coldly, “whenever you feel yourself sufficiently rested and composed.” She left the room, and I followed. You have no idea of the solicitude with which the people hoped she was _better_--and _well_--and _quite well_, &c. What amazing importance a fainting fit can sometimes bestow! Her husband seemed no longer to have any eyes or soul but for her. At supper, and during the rest of the night, she occupied the whole attention of every body present. Can you conceive any thing so provoking? But L---- must be an absolute fool!--Did he never see a woman faint before?--He cannot pretend to be in love with his wife--I do not understand it.--But this I know, that he has been totally different in his manner towards me these three days past. And now that my curiosity is satisfied about Leonora’s jealousy, I shall absolutely perish with ennui in this stupid place. Adieu, dearest Gabrielle! How I envy you! The void of my heart is insupportable. I must have some passion to keep me alive. Forward any letters from poor R----, if he has written under cover to you. OLIVIA. * * * * * LETTER XXVII. THE DUCHESS OF ---- TO HER DAUGHTER. Take courage, my beloved daughter; take courage. Have a just confidence in yourself and in your husband. For a moment he may be fascinated by the arts of an unprincipled woman; for a moment she may triumph over his senses, and his imagination; but of his esteem, his affection, his heart, she cannot rob you. These have been, ought to be, will be yours. Trust to your mother’s prophecy, my child. You may trust to it securely: for, well as she loves you--and no mother ever loved a daughter better--she does not soothe you with mere words of doting fondness; she speaks to you the language of reason and of truth.