The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

MONSIEUR VOLNEY JO his friends with the spectacle of his own deep sorrows until they were mellowed down to the healthier tone of resignation. Such was the mood, according to the letters, to which the viscount had at length brought himself, and he concluded by announcing his speedy return to his domain near Fontaine- bleau. ‘These letters were written from Italy, and about three months after their arrival in France the viscount himself reappeared at Fontainebleau. I need hardly say that he was cordially welcomed by my father, as well as by the march- ioness, or that he was delighted to observe how his beloved boy had thriven. He settled down once more at his own palatial mansion, and the marchioness surrendered up the little Alfred to the parental protection. Time passed on; the mind of the viscount appeared to have completely re- covered from its shock, and even the mournfulness which had succeeded upon the phase of bitter affliction was yielding in its turn to happier influences. The friendship between my father and himself continued as warm as ever, and, as you may easily suppose, the viscount was a constant guest at the Volney mansion. After an interval of between three and four years since the birth of the first child, my elder sister, — an interval which made my father apprehend that he was now destined to continue childless, —I was born. Great was the joy of my parents, as I have been informed, and though perhaps my father could have wished for an heir to his name, he was nevertheless filled with enthusiastic happiness when contemplating his infant daughter. And now, my dear Zoe, I am about to touch upon the saddest portion of my tale, — that episode in last night’s series of revelations which has filled me with so much erief.”’ Clarine again paused for a few instants; the tears trickled from her eyes, and Lady Octavian spoke in the most soothing terms which her imagination could suggest. Mademoiselle Volney pressed her friend’s hand affectionately, wiped away her tears, and pursued her narrative in the following terms: “I was scarcely a year old when a frightful suspicion sud- denly seized upon my father. Oh, dearest Zoe, how can I continue! How can I pursue a theme which sheds dishonour upon my mother’s name,— that mother whom I have ever thought of with love and reverence, although she perished ere her image could be imprinted upon my mind! It is a ECOMMICOOO© <S (C(O)