hand, my despair terrifies me! Let me die honorably!” Resolved to deliver his dear Phanor, though he should perish in his stead, he flew to the gates of the prison; but how was he to enter? He addressed himself to the slave whose office it was to carry food to the prisoners. “Open your eyes,” said he, “and know me; I am Lausus, I am the son of the King. I except an important service from you. Phanor is confined here: I will see him, I will. I have but one way to come at him: give me your clothes, and fly! There are the pledges of my acknowledgment. Withdraw yourself from the vengeance of my father. If you betray me, you rush on your ruin; if you assist me in my undertaking, my favor shall find you in the very heart of the deserts.”

The weak and timorous slave yielded to his promises and threats. He assisted the prince in disguising himself, and disappeared, after having told him the hour at which he was to present himself, and the conduct he was to observe in order to deceive the vigilance of the guards. Night approached and the moment arrived. Lausus presented himself, assuming the name of the slave. The bolts of the dungeon opened with a dismal sound. By the feeble glimmering of a torch, he penetrated into this mansion of horror; he advanced and listened: the accents of a moaning voice struck his ear; he knew it to be the voice of his friend. He saw him lying down in the corner of the cell covered with rags, consumed with weakness, the paleness of death on his countenance, and the fire of despair in his eyes. “Leave me,” said Phanor to him, taking him for the slave; “away with these odious nourishments: suffer me to die. Alas,” added he, sending forth cries interrupted by sighs, “alas! my dear Lausus is still more unhappy than I. Oh, gods above! If he knows the state to which he has reduced his friend!” “Yes,” cried Lausus, throwing himself on his bosom, “yes, my dear Phanor, he does know it, and he partakes of it!” “What do I see?” cried Phanor transported. “Ah, Lausus, my Prince!” At these words both of them lost the use of their senses, locked in each other’s arms. Their hearts met, and their sighs intermingled. They remained for a long time mute and immovable, stretched out on the floor of the dungcon. Grief stifled their voices, and they answered each other only by embracing more closely, and bathing one another with their tears. Lausus, at last coming to himself, “Let us lose no time,” said he; “take these clothes, get hence and leave me here.” “What, I! Great gods, can I be so vile! Ah, Lausus, could you believe it? Ought you to propose it to me?” “I know you well,” said the Prince, “but you should also know me. The sentence is pronounced, your punishment is prepared, you must die or fly.” “Fly!” “Hear me: my father is violent, but he is not without sensibility. Nature asserts her right over his heart. If I deliver you from death I have only to melt him to compassion for myself; and his arm, when lifted up against a son, will be easily disarmed.” “He would strike,” said Phanor, “and your death would be my crime: I cannot abandon you.” “Well, then,” said Lausus, “remain here, but at your death you shall see mine also. Depend not on my father’s clemency; it would be in vain for him to pardon me: think not that I would pardon myself. This hand, which wrote the fatal letter that condemns you, this hand which, even after its crime is still the hand of your friend, shall reunite us in your own despite.” In vain would Phanor have insisted. “Let us argue no longer,” interrupted Lausus; “you can say nothing to me that can equal the shame of surviving my friend, after I have destroyed him. Your pressing earnestness makes me blush, and your prayers are an affront. I will answer for my own safety if you will fly. I swear to die if you will stay and perish. Choose: the moments now are precious.”

Phanor knew his friend too well to pretend to shake his resolution. “I consent,” said he, “to let you try the only means of safety that is left us; but live if you would have me live: your scaffold shall be mine.” “I readily believe it,” said Lausus, “and your friend esteems you too much to desire you to survive him.” At these words they embraced, and Phanor went out of the dungeon in the habit of the slave, which Lausus had just thrown off.

What a night! What a dreadful night for Lydia! Alas, how shall we paint the emotions that arose in her soul, that divided, tore it between love and virtue? She adored Lausus, she detested Mezentius, she was sacrificing herself to her father’s interests, delivering herself up to the object of her hatred, tearing herself forever from an adored lover. They led her to the altar as it were to punishment. Barbarous Mezentius! Thou art content to reign over the heart by violence and fear! It suffices thee that thy consort trembles before thee as a slave before his master. Such is love in the heart of a tyrant. Yet, alas! it is for him alone that she is hereafter to live: it is to him that she is going to be united. If she resists, she must betray