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<h2> CHAPTER VI. </h2>
<h3> AN INTRIGUING TEACHER. </h3>
<p>MADAME Du Pont was a woman every way calculated to take the care of young
ladies, had that care entirely devolved on herself; but it was impossible
to attend the education of a numerous school without proper assistants;
and those assistants were not always the kind of people whose conversation
and morals were exactly such as parents of delicacy and refinement would
wish a daughter to copy. Among the teachers at Madame Du Pont's school,
was Mademoiselle La Rue, who added to a pleasing person and insinuating
address, a liberal education and the manners of a gentlewoman. She was
recommended to the school by a lady whose humanity overstepped the bounds
of discretion: for though she knew Miss La Rue had eloped from a convent
with a young officer, and, on coming to England, had lived with several
different men in open defiance of all moral and religious duties; yet,
finding her reduced to the most abject want, and believing the penitence
which she professed to be sincere, she took her into her own family, and
from thence recommended her to Madame Du Pont, as thinking the situation
more suitable for a woman of her abilities. But Mademoiselle possessed too
much of the spirit of intrigue to remain long without adventures. At
church, where she constantly appeared, her person attracted the attention
of a young man who was upon a visit at a gentleman's seat in the
neighbourhood: she had met him several times clandestinely; and being
invited to come out that evening, and eat some fruit and pastry in a
summer-house belonging to the gentleman he was visiting, and requested to
bring some of the ladies with her, Charlotte being her favourite, was
fixed on to accompany her.</p>
<p>The mind of youth eagerly catches at promised pleasure: pure and innocent
by nature, it thinks not of the dangers lurking beneath those pleasures,
till too late to avoid them: when Mademoiselle asked Charlotte to go with
her, she mentioned the gentleman as a relation, and spoke in such high
terms of the elegance of his gardens, the sprightliness of his
conversation, and the liberality with which he ever entertained his
guests, that Charlotte thought only of the pleasure she should enjoy in
the visit,—not on the imprudence of going without her governess's
knowledge, or of the danger to which she exposed herself in visiting the
house of a gay young man of fashion.</p>
<p>Madame Du Pont was gone out for the evening, and the rest of the ladies
retired to rest, when Charlotte and the teacher stole out at the back
gate, and in crossing the field, were accosted by Montraville, as
mentioned in the first CHAPTER.</p>
<p>Charlotte was disappointed in the pleasure she had promised herself from
this visit. The levity of the gentlemen and the freedom of their
conversation disgusted her. She was astonished at the liberties
Mademoiselle permitted them to take; grew thoughtful and uneasy, and
heartily wished herself at home again in her own chamber.</p>
<p>Perhaps one cause of that wish might be, an earnest desire to see the
contents of the letter which had been put into her hand by Montraville.</p>
<p>Any reader who has the least knowledge of the world, will easily imagine
the letter was made up of encomiums on her beauty, and vows of everlasting
love and constancy; nor will he be surprised that a heart open to every
gentle, generous sentiment, should feel itself warmed by gratitude for a
man who professed to feel so much for her; nor is it improbable but her
mind might revert to the agreeable person and martial appearance of
Montraville.</p>
<p>In affairs of love, a young heart is never in more danger than when
attempted by a handsome young soldier. A man of an indifferent appearance,
will, when arrayed in a military habit, shew to advantage; but when beauty
of person, elegance of manner, and an easy method of paying compliments,
are united to the scarlet coat, smart cockade, and military sash, ah!
well-a-day for the poor girl who gazes on him: she is in imminent danger;
but if she listens to him with pleasure, 'tis all over with her, and from
that moment she has neither eyes nor ears for any other object.</p>
<p>Now, my dear sober matron, (if a sober matron should deign to turn over
these pages, before she trusts them to the eye of a darling daughter,) let
me intreat you not to put on a grave face, and throw down the book in a
passion and declare 'tis enough to turn the heads of half the girls in
England; I do solemnly protest, my dear madam, I mean no more by what I
have here advanced, than to ridicule those romantic girls, who foolishly
imagine a red coat and silver epaulet constitute the fine gentleman; and
should that fine gentleman make half a dozen fine speeches to them, they
will imagine themselves so much in love as to fancy it a meritorious
action to jump out of a two pair of stairs window, abandon their friends,
and trust entirely to the honour of a man, who perhaps hardly knows the
meaning of the word, and if he does, will be too much the modern man of
refinement, to practice it in their favour.</p>
<p>Gracious heaven! when I think on the miseries that must rend the heart of
a doating parent, when he sees the darling of his age at first seduced
from his protection, and afterwards abandoned, by the very wretch whose
promises of love decoyed her from the paternal roof—when he sees her
poor and wretched, her bosom tom between remorse for her crime and love
for her vile betrayer—when fancy paints to me the good old man
stooping to raise the weeping penitent, while every tear from her eye is
numbered by drops from his bleeding heart, my bosom glows with honest
indignation, and I wish for power to extirpate those monsters of seduction
from the earth.</p>
<p>Oh my dear girls—for to such only am I writing—listen not to
the voice of love, unless sanctioned by paternal approbation: be assured,
it is now past the days of romance: no woman can be run away with contrary
to her own inclination: then kneel down each morning, and request kind
heaven to keep you free from temptation, or, should it please to suffer
you to be tried, pray for fortitude to resist the impulse of inclination
when it runs counter to the precepts of religion and virtue.</p>
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