My
relations began to despair of my life, when a certain old lady of
our acquaintance, learning my illness, came to see me. She
considered and examined every thing with great attention, and
dived, I do not know how, into the real cause of my illness. Then
she took my relations aside, and desired they would retire from
the room. When the room was clear, she sat down on the side of my
bed: My child, said she, you are very obstinate in concealing
hitherto the cause of your illness; but you have no occasion to
reveal it to me, I have experience enough to penetrate into a
secret; you will not surely disown that it is love that makes you
sick. I can find a way to cure you, if you but let me know who
the happy lady is that could move a heart so insensible as yours;
for you have the name of a woman-hater, and I was not the last
that perceived you to be of that temper; but, in short, what I
foresaw has just come to pass, and am now glad of the opportunity
to employ my talents in bringing you out of pain.
The old lady, having talked to me in this fashion, paused,
expecting my answer; but, though what she had said made a strong
impression upon me, I durst not lay open to her the bottom of my
heart; I only turned to her, and fetched a deep sigh without
saying any thing. Is it bashfulness, said she, that keeps you
from speaking? or is it want of confidence in me? Do not doubt
the effect of my promise.
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