e lessons of
Frederick, he will be laughed at by the loose loungers of the
Palais Royal, as ignorant of the art of war, and branded by
the graver loungers of courts and councils, as ignorant of the
art of government. Once more, I say, take care of yourself.
The first step in retreat will raise all France against the
Allies. Ten victories would not cost as much as the first
week's march towards the frontier. Every thicket will have its
troop; every finger, for a hundred leagues round, will be on
the trigger. Robbery and murder, famine and fatigue; disease
and death, will be upon the troops; the retreat will become a
flight, and happy is the man who will ever see the Rhine
again. Be wise in time."

Enclosed within this long epistle was a brief note from Mariamne.

"You must not think me dying, because I importune you no
longer. But, _can_ you give me any tidings of Lafontaine? I
know that he is rash, and even enthusiastic; but I equally
know that he is faithful and true. _Yet_, if he _has_
forgotten me, or is married, or is any thing that, as a preux
chevalier, he ought not to be, tell me at once, and you shall
see how grateful I can be, before I cease to be any thing. But
if he has fallen--if, in the dreadful scenes now acting in
Paris, Lafontaine is no more--_tell me not_. Write some
deluding thing to me--conceal your terrible knowledge. I
should not wish to drop down dead before my father's face. He
is looking at me while I write this, and I am trying to laugh,
with a heart as heavy as lead, and eyes that can scarcely see
the paper. No--for mercy's sake, do not tell me _that he is
dead_. Give me gentle words, give me hope, deceive me--as they
give laudanum, not to prolong life, but to lull agony. Do
this, and with my last pulse I shall be grateful--with my last
breath I shall bless you."

Poor Mariamne! I had, at least, better hopes than those for her. But
within this billet was a third. It was but a few lines; yet at the
foot of those lines was the signature--"Clotilde de Tourville." The
light almost forsook my eyes; my head swam; if the paper had been a
talisman, and every letter written with the pen of magic, it could not
have produced a more powerful effect upon me. My hands trembled, and
my ears thrilled; and yet it contained but a few unimportant words--an
enquiry addressed to Mariamne, whe