“The ones who go are generally happy; those who stay are sad enough. When we took our seats at the table that night, the empty chair at our side was dreary enough. I had business which took me out-of-doors; but the poor mother was alone the greater part of the time, and her heart was devoured by her regrets. Such is the destiny of women; all their sorrows and their griefs come from within, and are interwoven with their daily lives and employments. “The letters that we soon began to receive from Pisa, and Florence, were radiant with happiness. I began to build a little house by the side of our own; we chose the furniture and the wall papers. ‘They are here—they are there,’ we said; and at last we expected the final letters we should receive before they returned. “One evening I came in late; my wife had gone to her room; I supped alone; when suddenly I heard a step in the garden. The door opened, my daughter appeared; but she was no longer the fair young girl whom I had parted with a month before. She looked thin and ill, was poorly dressed, and carried in her hand a little travelling-bag. “‘It is I,’ she whispered hoarsely; ‘I have come.’ “‘Good heavens! what has happened? Where is Nadine?’ “She did not answer; her eyes closed, and she trembled violently from head to foot. You may imagine my suspense. “‘Speak to me, my child. What has happened? Where is your husband?’ “‘I have none—I have never had one;’ and suddenly, without looking at me, she began to tell me, in a low voice, her horrible history. “He was not a count, his name was not Nadine. He was a Russian Jew by the name of Roesh, a miserable adventurer. He was married at Riga, married at St. Petersburg. All his papers were false, manufactured by himself. His resources he owed to his skill in counterfeiting bills on the Russian bank. At Turin he had been arrested on an order of extradition. Think of my little girl alone in this foreign town, separated violently from her husband, learning abruptly that he was a forger and a bigamist,—for he made a full confession of his crimes. She had but one thought, that of seeking refuge with us. Her brain was so bewildered, that, as she told us afterwards, when she was asked where she was going, she simply answered ‘To mamma.’ She left Turin hastily, without her luggage, and at last she was safe with us, and weeping for the first time since the catastrophe.