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Updated: June 14, 2025
Colonel Raynal had given him a strange look, and said, "What, you here?" in a tone of voice that was intolerable. Raynal came to meet the sisters. He saluted Josephine on the brow. "You are pale, wife: and how cold her hand is." "She has been ill this month past," said Rose interposing. "You look ill, too, Mademoiselle Rose." "Never mind," cried the baroness joyously, "you will revive them both."
Two soldiers came to the gate. They walked feebly, for one was lame, and leaned upon the other, who was pale and weak, and leaned upon a stick. "Soldiers," said Raynal, "and invalided." "Give them food and wine," said Josephine. Rose went towards them; but she had scarcely taken three steps ere she cried out, "It is Dard! it is poor Dard! Come in, Dard, come in."
Jacintha, conscious that she had betrayed her trust, was almost heart-broken. She was ashamed to appear before her young mistress, and, coward-like, wanted to avoid knowing even how much harm she had done. She pretended toothache, bound up her face, and never stirred from the kitchen. But she was not to escape: the other servant came down with a message: "Madame Raynal wanted to see her directly."
She helped her to dress, and breakfasted with her in the tapestried room, and dissembled, and put on gayety, and made light of everything but Josephine's health. Her efforts were not quite in vain. Josephine became more composed; and Rose even drew from her a half promise that she would give Raynal and time a fair trial.
She stood, her eyes turned downwards, yet inwards, and dilating with horror. Silence. Now a mist began to spread over her eyes, and in it she saw indistinctly the figure of Raynal darting to her sister's side, and raising her head. She dared not look round on the other side. She heard feet stagger on the floor. She heard a groan, too; but not a word. Horrible silence.
A London translation of an original work in French, by the Abbe Raynal, which treats of the Revolution of North America, having been reprinted in Philadelphia and other parts of the continent, and as the distance at which the Abbe is placed from the American theatre of war and politics, has occasioned him to mistake several facts, or misconceive the causes or principles by which they were produced; the following tract, therefore, is published with a view to rectify them, and prevent even accidental errors intermixing with history, under the sanction of time and silence.
Carter on June 15 of that year, says: 'I suppose you have heard a great deal of the Abbé Raynal, who is in London. I fancy you would have served him as Dr. Johnson did, to whom when Mrs. Vesey introduced him, he turned from him, and said he had read his book, and would have nothing to say to him. Mrs. Chapone's Posthumous Works, i. 172. See Walpole's Letters, v. 421, and vi. 444.
"Well, little lady," began Raynal, "and how are you, and how is my mother-in-law that is to be or is not to be, as your sister pleases; and how is SHE? have I frightened her away? There were two petticoats, and now there is but one." "She left me to answer you." "All the worse for me: I am not to your taste." "Do not say that," said Rose, almost hysterically. "Oh! it is no sacrilege.
He was lying on his back, environed by slops and cursing his evil fate, and fretting his soul out of its fleshly prison, when suddenly he heard a cheerful trombone saying three words to Marthe, then came a clink-clank, and Marthe ushered into the sickroom the Commandant Raynal. The sick man raised himself in bed, with great surprise and joy.
It was then that this priest had seen him face to face, and I will try to write down his words as he told them me. "I came into the parlour," he said, "through the door behind my lord's chair, as Master Raynal was brought in by the other door. "I have never seen such a sight, Sir John, as I saw then. He was in his white kirtle only, with the five wounds upon his breast, and he had on his sandals.
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