“I was young, impulsive, and not yet strong after the birth of my child, and the shock was more than I could bear. With one wild cry of joy, I sprang forward and threw myself upon his bosom, forgetting that I was already a wife and a mother, forgetful of my husband’s presence—of everything save that Louis was alive and had returned. I murmured fond, wild words of love and delight, words which a wife has no right to speak save in the ear of her husband, and mine, sitting there, listened horror-struck, and learned the whole. It was only when, exhausted with my joy, I lay weeping on Louis’s bosom that I was at last aroused to a consciousness of what I had done, by my husband’s stern sarcasm. “‘What may be the meaning of this exceedingly affecting scene, allow me to ask?’ he said, hissing the words between his teeth; and then with a shriek I realized our relative positions, and fell fainting to the floor. “I need not dwell upon what followed,” madam said, with a sigh, “when I came to myself, Louis was gone, and my husband, angry and wretched at discovering how he had been deceived, was very unreasonable, and poured forth such a storm of jealous wrath upon me that I was nearly crushed. I confessed everything to him then, I pleaded my sorrow and weakness, and implored his forgiveness and mercy, but he denounced me as an unfaithful wife, at least at heart, and vowed that from that day we should live as strangers, and yet, for our child’s sake, every outward propriety must be observed. I was more wretched than I can express, and very unwisely poured forth my troubles into Louis’s ear, when he came the next day and sought me alone. I could not deny that the old love was stronger than the new, and the future looked like darkest gloom to me—my husband’s respect and confidence gone—my lover returned to look reproach upon me from sad and hollow eyes, and my conscience constantly upbraiding me for having married a good and noble man when I had no heart to give him. I felt like a forsaken thing, and, always morbidly sensitive, I was tenfold more so then in my weakened, nervous state. I do not pretend to excuse my sin—I can only tell it just as it happened. Louis, as wretched as myself, comforted me with the old, tender words that he used to speak, and, bemoaning my sad fate in being linked to such a cruel husband, urged me to fly with him on a new vessel that he was to command, and be happy in our own way. The vessel was to sail in a few days, and with passionate eloquence he pictured the delight of the free, beautiful, roving life we would lead. I consented, and one day, when my husband was absent for a few hours, I took my baby and fled. Louis had gone on before me, and was to meet me at the seaport town from which the vessel was to sail. Not being able to leave home until afternoon, I was obliged to stop over night at a small town about half way from the port. I was more lonely than I can tell you, as alone and unprotected I