Alfred de Rosann by G.W.M. Reynolds — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Alfred de Rosann. 3 and the two families associated with each other on terms of perfect intimacy. M. d’Estelle had one secret only unrevealed to Mr. Clayton —and that was his real name and rank; but the worthy surgeon never intruded upon the private thoughts of the noble Frenchman, nor even hinted at the cause of his sorrows. Months passed away, and the health of Madame d’Estelle declined daily. At last her sufferings were brought to a termination: the cankering worm of disease had bitten a vital part; and the hand of death claimed its victim. We will draw a veil over the grief of a bereaved husband—we will not detail the sorrow of his friends—the kind sympathy they offered, nor the consolation it afforded. No pomp, no vain ostentation were displayed at the departed lady’s funeral; the mourners were few, but they were sincere; the sighs, that were heaved above her tomb, and the tears which were dropped upon the black coffin, were as free from hypocrisy as the mind of an infant is from cor- ruption. M. d’Estelle bore his loss with the fortitude of a noble mind, and determined to exert himself in favour of his daughter. He accordingly accepted the kind invitation of Mr. Clayton, and removed to that gen- tleman’s house, in order to give his child an opportunity of receiving an almost maternal attention at the hands of Mrs. Clayton, who soon became as fond of the interesting Eloise as of her own children. Her husband noticed this increasing tenderness, and was rather pleased than annoyed at its progress; for his humane disposition taught him to commiserate the helpless little being whom a father could not rear with the same facility as a mother or one supplying that mother’s place. The two boys vied with each other in endeavours to de- mionstrate their affection for the daughter of the emigrant; and Henry im particular entertained an unfeigned attachment towards the gentle oise. Time rolled onwards—weeks and months passed away; and the mind of d’Estelle gradually became restless. He experienced a secret yearning to revisit the shores of his native country; he knew that if he could only set foot in the French metropolis, he might realize more than half of his once extensive property, the greater portion having been so laid out as to be immediately tangible by him, and available to no one else. He communicated his desires to Mr. Clayton, who at first com- batted them with success; but at length a circumstance occurred that fixed the wavering resolutions of the refugee, and rendered him deaf to the friendly remonstrances of the excellent surgeon. One evening, as M. d’Estelle was returning home from a theatre— the first time he had entered any place of public amusement since the death of his still lamented wife—he was accosted by an individual who respectfully saluted him, and called him by his real name. The noble emigrant could not at first recollect the features of the person that thus addressed him; but a moment’s reflection called to his mind the countenance of an old domestic whom he had been obliged to: discharge ere he quitted Paris. A long conversation ensued. The servant had only arrived in London a few days before the one on which this encounter took place; and he related in full many of the political changes which had just occurred in France, and of which his late master had only heard imperfect rumours, or had gathered garbled 2 COnicbooolks (GO)