_De Val._ No, no--let me proceed. I can command myself--Florian! I wooed and won an angel for my bride--my expression is not a lover's rhapsody--at this distant period, seriously I pronounce it--Eugenia approached as closely to perfection as the Creator has permitted to his creature! Such as she was, to say I loved her were imperfect phrase! my passion was enthusiasm--was idolatry! Our marriage-bed was early blessed with increase--and as my lip greeted with a father's kiss the infant, my heart bounded with a new transport towards its mother.--My felicity seemed perfect! Now, Florian, mark! My country a second time called me to her battles; I left my kinsman, Longueville, to guard the dear-ones of my soul at home, then sped to join our army in a distant province. I was wounded and made prisoner by the enemy. When I recovered health and liberty, I found a rumour of my death had in the interval prevailed through France. I trembled lest Eugenia should receive the tale, and flew in person to prevent her terrors. It was evening when I reached the hills of Languedoc, and looked impatiently towards my cheerful home beneath. I looked--the last sunbeam glared redly upon smoking ruins! Oh! oh! the blood now chills and curdles round my heart--the wolves of war had rushed by night upon my slumbering fold--fire and sword had desolated all. I called upon my wife and my infant. I trembled on their ashes while I called! (_he sinks back exhausted in his chair._) _Flo._ Tremendous hour! so dire a shock might well have paralized a Roman firmness.