Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 292: what you’re looking at

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

+49 PICKWICK ABROAD, {he young bride—whose heart and plight were already given to her rousin—was not long before she forgot her duties towards her husband, and —although there be in Aer conduct certain extenuating circum- stances to palliate the enormity of her guilt, for she was inexperienced, and therefore easily led astray—=still she encouraged the nocturnal visits of her lever, A letter—accidentally mislaid—revealed the whole history of his disgrace and dishonour to the injured husband, who was yet, nevertheless, determined co hear from the lips of his own wife the confession of her crimes. He didso; a large bribe secured the services of a priest—that priest was an almoner of the family—and was the one who attended the weekly confessional of the guilty lady ! —Ah! Eugenie, you are pale—you are ill—” cried the chevalier in a tone of’ the most ineffable disdain, while Hector sate stupified in his chair, and the count and countess looked at each other in doubt, un- certainty, and silent astonishment, for they were not able to comprehend the meaning of this singular scene. The chevalier rose from his chair, struck his hand violently upon the table, and continued in a voice of thunder—‘‘ Yes ! you, Monsieur de Lamoreau, were rejoiced to receive my proposals in favour of your niece, because they suited your ambitious purposes, and precluded the possibility of an union between your son and a portionless girl, I am the old man—the old fool—the dolt—the idiot—whose pride was flattered, and whose vanity was gratified, by the prospect of espousing a young and beautiful girl; you, Eugenie, are the faithless wife, whose inexperience and miaisérie have been more fatal to my happiness than aught beside; and you, Hector, are the villain who has robbed the old man of his treasure, who has polluted his threshold, cast dirt upon his hoary locks, and wrested from him the ous aporne of felicity he could henceforth have looked to in this world! Yes—you, Hector —you, more criminal, ten Niousand times than that faulty thing, whose ruin may be traced to the ambition of her cruel uncle, and the wiles of her lover—you, Hector, are the wretch—the msiscreant, whom society should learn to shun, whom mankind should hunt through the world like the poisonous reptile which stings us while we sleep! This af- ternoon, Eugenie, were the walls of yon sacred church polluted b the murmuring echoes of your unhallowed confession; and I—T, your injured husband—I, Eugenie, was the one, who, seated in the ox, heard you relate your crimes, and dared—to save appearances— to give you absolution. By this time Saint Joseph—the vile instru- ment that your seducer introduced to quiet the qualms of your con- science—is far away, bearing with him the produce of additional villany.” Great God! protect me!’’ cned Eugenie, and she fell senseless upon the floor. The countess hastened to assist her unfortunate niece; and the chevalier seized the opportunity to beckon Hector out of the room. A moment elapsed ere M. de Lamoreau, whose imagination was totally bewildered and whose frame was entirely unnerved by the terrible occurrences of the evening, perceived their departure. But when he saw their places empty, parental fear suggested to his mind the pro- bable cause of their absence, and he ran from the room almost diz- tracted, calling for the servants and the police in the same breath. A 6)(0)() a S 5} a SS (c©) |