In speaking these last words he withdrew, and left Horatio in a situation of mind not easy to be conceived.--He was once about to entreat him to turn back, but had nothing to offer which could make him hope would prevail on him to alter his resolution.--He never had been insensible of the vast disparity there was at present between him and the noble family of de Palfoy: he could expect no other, or rather worse treatment than what he had now received, if his passion was ever discovered, and had no excuse to make for what himself allowed so great a presumption. With a countenance dejected, and a heart oppressed with various agitations, did he quit the house which contained what was most valuable to him in the world, while poor Charlotta endured, if possible, a greater shock. The baron de Palfoy, now convinced that all he had been informed of was true, was more incensed against her than he had been on the mistaken supposition of her being influenced in favour of monsieur de Coigney: he had no sooner left Horatio than he flew to her apartment, and reproached her in terms the most severe that words could form.--It was in vain she protested that she never had any design of giving herself to Horatio without having first received his permission.--He looked on all she said as an augmentation of her crime, and soon came to a determination to put it past her power to give him more than she had already done. Early next morning he sent her, under the conduct of a person he could confide in, to a monastry about thirty miles from Paris, without even letting her know whither she was about being carried, or giving her the least notice of her departure till the coach was at the door, into which he put, her himself with these words,--adeiu Charlotta, expect not to see Paris, or me again, till you desire no more to see Horatio. CHAP. X. _The reasons that induced Horatio to leave France; with the chevalier St. George's behaviour on knowing his resolution. He receives an unexpected favour from the baron de Palfoy._ While Charlotta, under the displeasure of her father, and divided, as she believed, for ever from her lover, was pursuing her melancholy journey, Horatio was giving way to a grief which knew no bounds, and which preyed with the greater feirceness on his soul, as he had no friend to whom he could disburden it. The baron's estrang'd behaviour was no small addition to his other discontents, and he lamented the cruel necessity which had enforced him to disoblige a person to whom he owed so many favours, and whose advice would now have been the greatest consolation.