The sight of this volume
would have distressed Thaddeus, had he not seen that it afforded
comfort to the poor veteran, whom it transported back into the scenes
on which he delighted to dwell; yet he would often lay down his pen,
shut the book, and weep like an infant.
The count left him one morning at his employment, and strolled out,
with the intention of calling on Lady Tinemouth. As he walked along
by Burlington House, he perceived Pembroke Somerset, with an elderly
gentleman, of a very distinguished air, leaning on his arm. They
approached him from Bond Street.
All the blood in the count's body seemed rushing to his heart. He
trembled. The ingenuous smile on his friend's countenance, and his
features so sweetly marked with frankness, made his resolution
falter.
"But proofs," cried he to himself, "are absolute!" and turning his
face to a stand of books that was near him, he stood there until
Somerset had passed. He went past him, speaking these words--
"I trust, father, that ingratitude is not his vice."
"But it is yours, Somerset!" murmured Thaddeus, while for a moment he
gazed after them, and then proceeded on his walk.
When his name was announced at Lady Tinemouth's, he found her with
another lady, but not Miss Egerton. Lady Tinemouth expressed her
pleasure at this visit, and her surprise that it had been so long
deferred.
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