I was so sorry for her, and so incensed with Olivia this night, that I could not restrain myself, and I made matters worse. At supper I came almost to open war with her ladyship. I cannot remember exactly what I said, but I know that I threw out the most severe inuendoes which politeness could permit: and what _was_ the consequence? Mr. L---- pitied Olivia and hated me; Leonora was in misery the whole time; and her husband probably thought that she was the instigator, though she was perfectly innocent. My dear Margaret, where will all this end? and how much more mischief shall I do with the best intentions possible? Yours affectionately, HELEN C----. * * * * * LETTER XLIII. GENERAL B---- TO MR. L----. Your letter has travelled after me God knows where, my dear L----, and has caught me at last with my foot in the stirrup. I have just had time to look it over. I find, in short, that you are in love. I give you joy! But be in love like a madman, not like a fool. Call a demirep an angel, and welcome; but remember, that such angels are to be had any day in the year; and such a wife as yours is not to be had for the mines of Golconda. Coin your heart, and drop your blood for it, and you will never be loved by any other woman so well as you are by Lady Leonora L----. As to your jealous hypochondriacism, more of that when I have more leisure. In the mean time I wish it well cured. I am, my dear friend, Yours truly, J. B. * * * * * LETTER XLIV. OLIVIA TO MADAME DE P----. L---- Castle. I Triumph! dear Gabrielle, give me joy! Never was triumph more complete. L---- loves me! That I knew long ago; but I have at last forced from his proud heart the avowal of his passion. Love and Olivia are victorious over scruples, prejudice, pride, and superstition! Leonora feels not--sees not: she requires, she excites no pity. Long may her delusion last! But even were it this moment to dissipate, what cause have I for remorse? “Who is most to blame, he who ceases to love, or she who ceases to please?” Leonora perhaps thinks that she loves her husband; and no doubt she does so in a conjugal sort of a way: he _has_ loved his wife; but be it mine to prove that his heart is suited to far other raptures; and if Olivia be called upon for sacrifices, _Olivia_ can make them. “Let wealth, let honour wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; Before true passion, all those views remove, Fame, wealth, and honour, what are you to love?” These lines, though quoted perpetually by the tender and passionate, can never become stale and vulgar; they will always recur in certain situations to persons of delicate sensibility, for they at once express all that can be said, and justify all that can be felt. My amiable Gabrielle, adieu. Pardon me if to-day I have no soul even for friendship. This day is all for love. OLIVIA. * * * * * LETTER XLV.