opeans. When Lord Nelville knew that Corinne was going
to the ball, he was vexed at it. He thought he had perceived in her for
some time a melancholy disposition in sympathy with his own: all on a
sudden she appeared to him to be taken up with dancing, an art in which
she excelled; and her imagination seemed fired at the approach of a
_fete_. Corinne was not frivolous by character; but she felt herself
every day more and more enslaved by her love for Oswald, and she would
fain endeavour to weaken its force. She knew by experience, that
reflection and sacrifices have less effect upon passionate characters
than dissipation, and she thought that reason did not consist in
conquering ourselves according to rules, but by doing so how we can.

"I must," said she to Lord Nelville, who reproached her with her
intention of going to the ball, "I must know, however, if there be only
you in the world who can fill the void of my life; if that which pleased
me formerly may not still have the power to amuse me; and if the
sentiment you have inspired me with must absorb every other interest,
every other idea."--"You would then cease to love me?" replied
Oswald.--"No;" answered Corinne, "but it is only in domestic life that
it could be pleasing to me to feel thus governed by a single affection.
To me who need my talents, my mind, and my imagination, to support the
lustre of that kind of life which I have adopted, it must be
painful--extremely painful to love as I love you."--"You would not
sacrifice to me then," said Oswald to her, "this homage and this
glory."--"Of what importance can it be to you," said Corinne, "to know
whether or not I would sacrifice them to you? Since we are not
absolutely destined for one another, it would not be prudent to let that
happiness with which I must be satisfied, wither for ever."--Lord
Nelville made no answer, because it was necessary, in expressing his
sentiments, to avow also the purpose they inspired, and of this his own
heart was still in ignorance. He was silent therefore, and sighing,
followed Corinne to the ball, whither he went with much reluctance.

It was the first time since his calamity that he had seen a large
assembly; and the tumult of a _fete_ caused him such an impression of
sadness that he remained a long time in a room contiguous to that
appropriated for the ball, his head supported on his hand, not even
curious to behold Corinne dance. He listened to the festive music, which
like e