The parents of Madlle. Sontag were, as we have stated, artists, with very limited means. This she never forgot; and her short experience of adversity in her earliest years was sufficient to awaken every sentiment of charity. She was known by all the exiled Germans whom adversity had driven from their native land to seek charity and sympathy in France. One cold night, on leaving the theatre, after a performance of _Don Giovanni_, Donna Anna, still full of emotion, observed on the step of a door, as she passed, three young girls near their mother, singing _lieders_ of their Fatherland. Madlle. Sontag recognised the poor mother, who was weeping: she was scarcely thirty years old. She recollected that she had seen her at the theatre at Darmstadt, when she herself had been taken there in the arms of her parents. The _Cantatrice_ approached the group with trembling steps, and in a voice deeply moved by emotion, asked the mother where she lived--procured an answer--dropped a gold coin--hurried to her carriage, and drove off. On the same evening, a servant, attired in splendid livery, knocked at the door of a garret of a house in the Fauxbourg du Temple. "Who is there?" was asked by a voice, weakened by poverty and want. "A friend, who brings you good news," was the immediate reply. The door opened. "Here is a letter which I have been requested to deliver to you," said the lacquey. "Read it." The letter was thus couched:-- "On presenting yourself to-morrow at No. 17 Chaussee d'Antin, at Mr. M. B., the banker, you will find a sum of three thousand francs, which I beg you to accept. Return to Darmstadt with your three daughters, whose education I will look after." "Pray tell me the name of the saviour of myself and children?" "I cannot," was the reply of the messenger; "at Darmstadt only will it be known to you." The beggar dressed her children in their best attire, and the following morning took the road to Germany. For seven years she regularly received a pension, which enabled her to give her daughters a good education. One of them entered the Conservatoire of Berlin, and has now become one of the most brilliant stars of the German stage. Her name we of course must refrain from mentioning. Only within the last two years has the poor wanderer of those days discovered the secret author of a deed of such noble charity. This is but one instance of the many acts of signal charity of the Countess Rossi recorded by the German writers, from whom we have borrowed largely for the uses of this trifling sketch.