e first impression wore off, and her fear of being overwhelmed with
_ennui_[1] resumed its empire, she relapsed for a while into her old
habits, it was no longer with the same eagerness as before, and not
without frequent avowals that they had lost their attraction. She visibly
drew off from the entanglements of the coterie with which she had
surrounded herself. The members had grown jealous of one another. Madame
de Polignac feared the influence of the superior disinterestedness of the
Princess de Lamballe; Madame de Guimenee, who was suspected of a want of
even common honesty, grudged every favor that was bestowed on Madame de
Polignac; and their rivalry, which was not always suppressed even in the
queen's presence, was not only felt by her to be degrading to herself, but
was also wearisome.

Throughout the autumn her occupations and amusements were of a simpler
kind. She read more, and agreeably surprised De Vermond by the soundness
of her reflections on many incidents and characters in history. Accounts
of chivalrous deeds had an especial charm for her. Hume was still her
favorite author. And it happened that, while the gallantry of the loyal
champions of Charles I. was fresh in her memory, a casual conversation
threw in her way an opportunity of doing honor to the self-devoted heroism
of a French soldier whom the proudest of the British cavaliers might have
welcomed as a brother, but whose valiant and self-sacrificing fidelity had
been left unnoticed by the worthless sovereign in whose service he had
perished, and by his ministers, who thought only of securing the favor of
the reigning mistress--favor to be won by actions of a very different
complexion.

In the Seven Years' War, when the French army, under the Marshal De
Broglie, and the Prussians, under Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, were
watching one another in the neighborhood of Wesel, the Chevalier d'Assas,
a captain in the regiment of Auvergne, was in command of an outpost on a
dark night of October. He had strolled a little in advance of his sentries
into the wood which fronted his position, when suddenly he found himself
surrounded and seized by a body of armed enemies. They were the advanced
guard of the prince's army, who was marching to surprise De Broglie by a
night attack, and they threatened him with instant death if he made the
slightest noise. If he were but silent, he was safe as a prisoner of war;
but his safety would have been the ruin of the who