"Do you know, Tiernay," said the general to me, one day, "I am about to incur a very heavy penalty in your behalf--I am going to contravene the strict orders of the War Office, and take you along with me this evening down to the village." I started with surprise and delight together, and could not utter a word. "I know perfectly well," continued he, "that you will not abuse my confidence. I ask, then, for nothing beyond your word, that you will not make any attempt at escape; for this visit may lead to others, and I desire, so far as possible, that you should feel as little constraint as a prisoner well may." I readily gave the pledge required, and he went on-- "I have no cautions to give you, nor any counsels. Madame d'Aigreville is a royalist." "She is madame, then!" said I, in a voice of some disappointment. "Yes, she is a widow, but her niece is unmarried," said he, smiling at my eagerness. I affected to hear the tidings with unconcern, but a burning flush covered my cheek, and I felt as uncomfortable as possible. I dined that day as usual with the general; adjourning after dinner to the little drawing-room, where we played our chess. Never did he appear to me so tedious in his stories, so intolerably tiresome in his digressions, as that evening. He halted at every move--he had some narrative to recount, or some observation to make, that delayed our game to an enormous time; and at last, on looking out of the window, he fancied there was a thunder-storm brewing, and that we should do well to put off our visit to a more favorable opportunity. "It is little short of half a league," said he, "to the village, and in bad weather is worse than double the distance." I did not dare to controvert his opinion, but, fortunately, a gleam of sunshine shot, the same moment, through the window, and proclaimed a fair evening. Heaven knows I had suffered little of a prisoner's durance--my life had been one of comparative freedom and ease; and yet, I can not tell the swelling emotion of my heart with which I emerged from the deep archway of the fortress, and heard the bang of the heavy gate, as it closed behind me. Steep as was the path, I felt as if I could have bounded down it without a fear! The sudden sense of liberty was maddening in its excitement, and I half suspect that had I been on horseback in that moment of wild delight, I should have forgotten all my plighted word and parole, though I sincerely trust that the madness would not have endured beyond a few minutes. If there be among my readers one who has known imprisonment, he will forgive this confession of a weakness, which to others of less experience will seem unworthy, perhaps dishonorable. Dorf Kuffstein was a fair specimen of the picturesque simplicity of a Tyrol village. There were the usual number of houses, with carved galleries and quaint images in wood, the shrines and altars, the little "Platz," for Sunday recreation, and the shady alley for rifle practice.