Louis found himself pressed to the breast of Don Ferdinand, who indistinctly repeated his father's assurance of esteem. Praise and flattery of dubious import were fresh in the mind of Louis; but there was something in the encomium uttered by the Marquis, an air of noble sincerity rather than of courtly politeness, that filled him with a pleasure very apparent in the luminous countenance with which he bowed in modest silence to what was said. The Marquis pursued the subject with a vehemence not usual to him; and still addressing Louis, spoke of the indispensible duty of maintaining mutual confidence between relations; and then expatiated on the honourable contest which man is commissioned to hold at all periods of his life with the ignoble impulses of sense, till the appetites are subdued, and the passions themselves become the agents of virtue. "Few young men," added he, "would have made so bold an amendment as you you have done, on the story of Telemachus. He waited till Mentor thrust him from the rock, you cast yourself into the sea!" Louis lost the pleasure of being approved, in the embarrassing personality of the language. He thought the Marquis went much farther than delicacy could warrant, or real respect for the object of his praise would have dictated. What had he then heard of the scene at the castle? How much was left for himself to tell his revered uncle? And whether did he indeed deserve praise or blame for his tardy yet desperate determination to escape? While this passed in his thoughts, he looked down disordered. But some were present, who read in the anxious face of Santa Cruz a dearer aim than paying a compliment to a stranger. Mrs. Coningsby observed that Ferdinand was discomposed by his father's remarks; and the Marquis himself soon perceived the mischief he had done. He sought to excite a generous emulation in his despondent son; but he saw that his extraordinary eulogy of Louis had been received by Ferdinand as an insidious reproach to himself: and resentful of the covert infliction, he stood distant, frowning and pale. A withering chill struck to the heart of the father, who became abruptly silent. Striving to shake off his embarrassment, Louis looked up, and met the haughty glance of Don Ferdinand. When their eyes encountered, the Spaniard's ashy cheek flashed scarlet, and he turned with a scornful air towards the window. This, by offending Louis, tended to restore his self-possession. Whatever the father might intend by his excessive praise, the son evidently shewed that he despised its object. Louis thought he could not mistake the looks of the young Spaniard, and a sense of self-respect immediately dispelled his confusion.