Danger, my girl? It is my element. I am an adorer of
liberty, and liberty without peril can never exist.

But so much bloodshed, and injustice! Does not your
heart shrink from the view of a scene of massacre and tumult,
such as Paris has lately exhibited and will probably continue
to exhibit?

Thou talkest, Constantia, in a way scarcely worthy of thy
good sense. Have I not been three years in a camp?
What are bleeding wounds and mangled corpses, when accustomed
to the daily sight of them for years? Am I not a
lover of liberty, and must I not exult in the fall of tyrants,
and regret only that my hand had no share in their destruction?

But a woman—how can the heart of woman be inured to
the shedding of blood?

Have women, I beseech thee, no capacity to reason and
infer? Are they less open than men to the influence of
habit? My hand never faltered when liberty demanded the
victim. If thou wert with me at Paris, I could shew thee a
fusil of two barrels, which is precious beyond any other relick,
merely because it enabled me to kill thirteen officers
at Jenappe. Two of these were emigrant nobles, whom I
knew and loved before the revolution, but the cause they had
since espoused, cancelled their claims to mercy.

What, said the startled Constantia, have you fought in the
ranks?

Certainly. Hundreds of my sex have done the same.
Some were impelled by the enthusiasm of love, and some
by a mere passion for war; some by the contagion of example;
and some, with whom I myself must be ranked, by
a generous devotion to liberty. Brunswick and Saxe Coburg,
had to contend with whole regiments of women; regiments
they would have formed, if they had been collected
into separate bodies.

I will tell thee a secret. Thou wouldst never have seen
Martinette de Beauvais, if Brunswick had deferred one day
longer, his orders for retreating into Germany.

How so?

She would have died by her own hand.

What could lead to such an outrage?

[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

The love of liberty.

I cannot comprehend how that love should prompt you to
suicide.

I will tell thee. The plan was formed and could not miscarry.
A woman was to play the part of a banished Royalist,
was to repair to the Prussian camp, and to gain admission
to the general. This would have easily been granted
to a female and an ex-noble. There she was to assassinate
the enemy of her country, and to attest her magnanimity by
slaughtering herself. I was weak enough to regret the ignominious
retreat of the Prussians, because it precluded the
necessity of such a sacrifice.

This was related with accents and looks that sufficiently
attested its truth. Constantia shuddered and drew back, to
contemplate more deliberately the features of her guest.
Hitherto she had read in them nothing that bespoke the desperate
courage of a martyr, and the deep designing of an
assassin. The image which her mind had reflected, from
the deportment of this woman, was changed. The likeness
which she had feigned to herself, was no longer seen. She
felt that antipathy was preparing to displace love. These
sentiments, however, she concealed, and suffered the conversation
to proceed.

Their discourse now turned upon the exploits of several
women, who mingled in the tumults of the capital and in the
armies on the frontiers. Instances were mentioned of ferocity
in some, and magnanimity in others, which almost surpassed
belief. Constantia listened greedily, though not with
approbation, and acquired, at every sentence, new desire to
be acquainted with the personal history of Martinette. On
mentioning this wish, her friend said, that she endeavored to
amuse her exile, by composing her own memoirs, and that,
on her next visit, she would bring with her the volume,
which she would suffer Constantia to read.

A separation of a week elapsed. She felt some impatience
for the renewal of their intercourse, and for the perusal of the
volume that had been mentioned. One evening Sarah Baxter,
whom Constantia had placed in her own occasional service,
entered the room with marks of great joy and surprise,
and informed her that she at length had discovered Miss Monrose.
From her abrupt and prolix account, it appeared, that

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Sarah had overtaken Miss Monrose in the street, and guided
by her own curiosity, as well as by the wish to gratify her
mistress, she had followed the stranger. To her utter astonishment
the lady had paused at Mr. Dudley's door, with
a seeming resolution to enter it, but presently resumed her
way. Instead of pursuing her steps further, Sarah had
stopped to communicate this intelligence to Constantia.
Having delivered her news, she hastened away, but returning,
in a moment, with a countenance of new surprise, she
informed her mistress, that on leaving the house she had met
Miss Monrose at the door, on the point of entering. She
added that the stranger had inquired for Constantia, and
was now waiting below.

Constantia took no time to reflect upon an incident so unexpected
and so strange, but proceeded forthwith to the
parlor. Martinette only was there. It did not instantly
occur to her that this lady and Mademoiselle Monrose
might possibly be the same. The inquiries she made speedily
removed her doubts, and it now appeared that the woman,
about whose destiny she had formed so many conjectures,
and fostered so much anxiety, was no other than the daughter
of Roselli.

Having readily answered her questions, Martinette inquired
in her turn, into the motives of her friend's curiosity.
These were explained by a succinct account of the transactions,
to which the deceased Baxter had been a witness.
Constantia concluded, with mentioning her own reflections
on the tale, and intimating her wish to be informed how
Martinette had extricated herself from a situation so calamitous.

Is there any room for wonder on that head? replied the
guest. It was absurd to stay longer in the house. Having
finished the interment of Roselli, (soldier fashion,) for he
was the man who suffered his foolish regrets to destroy him,
I forsook the house. Roselli was by no means poor, but he
could not consent to live at ease, or to live at all, while his
country endured such horrible oppressions, and when so
many of his friends had perished. I complied with his
humor, because it could not be changed, and I revered
him too much to desert him.

[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]

But whither, said Constantia, could you seek shelter at a
time like that? The city was desolate, and a wandering
female could scarcely be received under any roof. All inhabited
houses were closed at that hour, and the fear of infection
would have shut them against you, if they had not
been already so.

Hast thou forgotten that there were at that time, at least ten
thousand French in this city, figutives from Marat and from
St. Domingo? That they lived in utter ferlessness of the
reigning disease; sung and loitered in the public walks, and
prattled at their doors, with all their customary unconcern?
Supposest thou that there were none among these, who
would receive a countrywoman,even if her name had not been
Martinette de Beauvais? Thy fancy has depicted strange
things, but believe me, that, without a farthing and without
a name, I should not have incurred the slightest inconvenience.
The death of Roselli I foresaw, because it was gradual
in its approach, and was sought by him as a good. My
grief, therefore, was exhausted, before it came, and I rejoiced
at his death, because it was the close of all his sorrows.
The rueful pictures of my distress and weakness,
which were given by Baxter, existed only in his own fancy.

Martinette pleaded an engagement, and took her leave,
professing to have come merely to leave with her the promised
manuscript. This interview, though short, was productive
of many reflections, on the deceitfulness of appearances,
and on the variety of maxims by which the conduct of
human beings is regulated. She was accustomed to impart
all her thoughts and relate every new incident to her father.
With this view she now hied to his apartment. This hour
it was her custom, when disengaged, always to spend with
him.

She found Mr. Dudley busy in revolving a scheme, which
various circumstances had suggested and gradually conducted
to maturity. No period of his life had been equally delightful,
with that portion of his youth which he had spent in
Italy. The climate, the language, the manners of the
people, and the sources of intellectual gratification, in painting
and music, were congenial to his taste. He had reluctantly
forsaken these enchanting seats, at the summons of
his father, but, on his return to his native country, had

[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]

encountered nothing but ignominy and pain. Poverty and
blindness had beset his path, and it seemed as if it were impossible
to fly too far from the scene of his disasters. His
misfortunes could not be concealed from others, and every
thing around him seemed to renew the memory of all that
he had suffered. All the events of his youth served to
entice him to Italy, while all the incidents of his subsequent
life, concurred to render disgustful his present abode.

His daughter's happiness was not to be forgotten. This
he imagined would be eminently promoted by the scheme.
It would open to her new avenues to knowledge. It would
snatch her from the odious pursuit of Ormond, and by a
variety of objects and adventures, efface from her mind any
impression which his dangerous artifices might have made
upon it.

This project was now communicated to Constantia.
Every argument adapted to influence her choice, was employed.
He justly conceived that the only obstacle to her
adoption of it, related to Ormond. He expatiated on the
dubious character of this man, the wildness of his schemes,
and the magnitude of his errors. What could be expected
from a man, half of whose life had been spent at the head of
a band of Cassacks, spreading devastation in the regions of
the Danube, and supporting by flagitious intrigues, the tyranny
of Catharine, and the other half in traversing inhospitable
countries, and extinguishing what remained of clemency
and justice, by intercourse with savages?

It was admitted that his energies were great, but misdirected,
and that to restore them to the guidance of truth,
was not in itself impossible, but it was so with relation to
any power that she possessed. Conformity would flow
from their marriage, but this conformity was not to be expected
from him. It was not his custom to abjure any of
his doctrines or recede from any of his claims. She
knew likewise the conditions of their union. She must go
with him to some corner of the world, where his boasted
system was established. What was the road to it, he had
carefully concealed, but it was evident that it lay beyond the
precincts of civilized existence.

[figure description] Page 186.[end figure description]

Whatever were her ultimate decision, it was at least
proper to delay it. Six years were yet wanting of that period,
at which only she formerly considered marriage as
proper. To all the general motives for deferring her choice,
the conduct of Ormond superadded the weightiest. Their
correspondence might continue, but her residence in Europe
and converse with mankind, might enlighten her judgment
and qualify her for a more rational decision.

Constantia was not uninfluenced by these reasonings. Instead
of reluctantly admitting them, she somewhat wondered
that they had not been suggested by her own reflections.
Her imagination anticipated her entrance on that mighty
scene with emotions little less than rapturous. Her studies
had conferred a thousand ideal charms on a theatre, where
Scipio and Cæsar had performed their parts. Her wishes
were no less importunate to gaze upon the Alps and Pyrenees,
and to vivify and chasten the images collected from
books, by comparing them with their real prototypes.

No social ties existed to hold her to America. Her only
kinsman and friend would be the companion of her journeys.
This project was likewise recommended by advantages of
which she only was qualified to judge. Sophia Westwyn
had embarked, four years previous to this date, for
England, in company with an English lady and her husband.
The arrangements that were made forbade either of the
friends to hope for a future meeting. Yet now, by virtue
of this project, this meeting seemed no longer to be hopeless.

This burst of new ideas and new hopes on the mind of
Constantia took place in the course of a single hour. No
change in her external situation had been wrought, and yet
her mind had undergone the most signal revolution. The
novelty as well as greatness of the prospect kept her in a
state of elevation and awe, more ravishing than any she had
ever experienced. Anticipations of intercourse with nature
in her most august forms, with men in diversified states of
society, with the posterity of Greeks and Romans, and with
the actors that were now upon the stage, and above all with
the being whom absence and the want of other attachments,
had, in some sort, contributed to deify, made this night pass
away upon the wings of transport.

[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]

The hesitation which existed on parting with her father,
speedily gave place to an ardor impatient of the least delay.
She saw no impediments to the immediate commencement
of the voyage. To delay it a month or even a week, seemed
to be unprofitable tardiness. In this ferment of her
thoughts, she was neither able nor willing to sleep. In
arranging the means of departure and anticipating the events
that would successively arise, there was abundant food for
contemplation.

She marked the first dawnings of the day, and rose. She
felt reluctance to break upon her father's morning slumbers,
but considered that her motives were extremely urgent, and
that the pleasure afforded him by her zealous approbation
of his scheme, would amply compensate him for this unseasonable
intrusion on his rest. She hastened therefore to his
chamber. She entered with blithsome steps, and softly drew
aside the curtain.