ld have been ridiculous in him to attempt what it was impossible for
him to achieve--namely, to convince the Count, by force of arms, that he
did foul wrong to the Countess--the peerless in sense as in beauty--in
terming her a modest and orderly young woman, qualities which might have
been predicated with propriety of the daughter of a sunburnt peasant,
who lived by goading the oxen, while her father held the plough. And
then, to suppose her under the domination and supreme guidance of a
silly and romantic aunt!--The slander should have been repelled down
the slanderer's throat. But the open, though severe, physiognomy of the
Count of Crevecoeur, the total contempt which he seemed to entertain for
those feelings which were uppermost in Quentin's bosom, overawed him,
not for fear of the Count's fame in arms, that was a risk which would
have increased his desire of making out a challenge--but in dread of
ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of every
description, and which, from its predominance over such minds, often
checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.

Under the influence of this fear of becoming an object of scorn rather
than resentment, Durward, though with some pain, confined his reply to
a confused account of the Lady Hameline's having made her escape from
Schonwaldt before the attack took place. He could not, indeed, have made
his story very distinct, without throwing ridicule on the near relation
of Isabelle and perhaps incurring some himself, as having been the
object of her preposterous expectations. He added to his embarrassed
detail, that he had heard a report, though a vague one, of the Lady
Hameline's having again fallen into the hands of William de la Marck.

"I trust in Saint Lambert that he will marry her," said Crevecoeur, "as
indeed, he is likely enough to do, for the sake of her moneybags, and
equally likely to knock her on the head, so soon as these are either
secured in his own grasp, or, at farthest, emptied."

The Count then proceeded to ask so many questions concerning the mode in
which both ladies had conducted themselves on the journey, the degree
of intimacy to which they admitted Quentin himself, and other trying
particulars, that, vexed, and ashamed, and angry, the youth was scarce
able to conceal his embarrassment from the keen sighted soldier and
courtier, who seemed suddenly disposed to take leave of him, saying,
at the same time