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History of the War of the Succession in Spain. By LORD MAHON. 8vo. London: 1832. The days when Miscellanies in Prose and Verse by a Person of Honour, and Romances of M. Scuderi, done into English by a Person of Quality, were attractive to readers and profitable to booksellers, have long gone by.
Desgrais and his men tried in vain to shake her off, and raise her from the ground, till at length a rough, powerful fellow, gripping her arms with his strong hands, dragged her away from Desgrais by sheer force. Stumbling awkwardly, he let the girl go, and she went rolling down the stone steps, and lay like one dead on the pavement. Mademoiselle Scuderi could contain herself no longer.
Here Scudéri waxes indignant at such a display of pride, and reminds the "thrice great author of Le Cid of the modest words in which Tasso, the greatest man of his age, began his apology for the finest of his works against the bitterest and most unjust censure perhaps that will ever be pronounced.
"What?" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, in indignation, "I become an organ of the criminal court, and abuse the confidence of this unfortunate fellow to bring him to the scaffold! No! Desgrais. Ruffian and murderer though he may be, I could never deceive and betray him thus villainously. I will have nothing to do with his avowal.
In three days time he had little doubt he would be in possession of the wondrous secret, which would probably bring many strange matters to light. Mademoiselle Scuderi knew well what the terrible La Regnie meant by the "powerful means," which were to break down Olivier's heroism. It was but too clear that the unfortunate wretch was threatened with the torture.
"Thus much is certain, at all events," said Mademoiselle Scuderi, when she had read this letter, "that, whether this mysterious man belongs to the band of robbers and murderers, or not, he has no very evil designs against me.
For the love of all the Saints!" she cried, as, covering her face with both hands, she sank back in her chair. She had reason for being thus horrified. Anne Guiot, the daughter of a citizen who had fallen into poverty, had lived with Mademoiselle Scuderi from her childhood; she had brought her up like a daughter, with all affection and care.
La Martinière, who was with her mistress, fell back fainting in the carriage with a shriek of terror as soon as she saw the young man. In vain Mademoiselle Scuderi pulled the string, and called out to the driver.
Mademoiselle Scuderi rose, and walked up and down slowly and in silence, as if considering what it was best to do. Then she told Baptiste to bring a sedan chair, and La Martinière to dress her, as she was going straight to the Marquise de Maintenon. She repaired thither at the hour when she knew Madame de Maintenon would be alone, taking the casket and jewels with her.
"Monsieur Scuderi," she said, "is a soldier, brother; and, as I have heard, a complete one, and so is the Sieur d'Urfe." "More shame for them; they should have known better what they were writing about.
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