The baroness sighed. "Is my face then so cold," she asked, "and my voice so chill, that you cannot think me capable of wishing your happiness? But I will convince you." So saying, she drew the girl to her side on the sofa and took a letter from her bosom. "Look here," said she, "I have just received a letter from Russia, from my son, whom I have called home from St. Petersburg. I restrained my desire to open this letter, and brought it to you, that you might open it and read it to me. Are you aware what that means in a mother?" Aranka bowed her head and touched the other's hand with her lips. "There, take the letter," said the baroness, "and read it aloud. You know the writing?" Aranka received the letter, but had no sooner looked at the address than the glad smile vanished from her face. She shook her head and turned her large eyes with surprised inquiry upon the baroness. "What is the matter?" asked the latter. "That is not his writing," stammered the girl. "What do you say?" demanded the other. "Let me look again; I ought to know my son's handwriting. That is his _B_; that strong downward stroke, the manly firmness in every letter--" "Are very cleverly imitated," interrupted Aranka, completing the sentence. "But look again," urged the baroness; "the very words of the address--_à ma très-adorable mère_--can only have been written by my son. Open the letter and you will be convinced." A look of joy lighted up the young girl's face when the beginning of the letter met her eyes. "That is really his writing,--'My dear mother.'" "There, didn't I tell, you so!" declared the other in triumph. But, as when a cloud suddenly passes over the sun, Aranka's bright face lost its radiance the next moment. "What is it this time?" asked the baroness. "Only those first three words are in his hand; the rest is written by some one else, and in French." "By some one else? Oh, read quickly!" The letter trembled in the girl's hands. "'Dear madam,'" she read; "'forgive the well-meant deception committed by me on the cover of this letter. To spare you unnecessary alarm, I have imitated my friend's handwriting--for which I must go to the galleys if you betray me. Ödön wished to write himself, but after the first three words the pen fell from his hand. He is still very weak. Don't be alarmed, however. He was in great danger, but is now happily on the road to recovery. In two weeks more he will be able to resume his journey.'" "He was in great danger!" exclaimed the anxious mother. "Oh, read on, read on!" Despite her own agitation, she did not fail to note how deeply the girl was affected. Aranka was forced to use the utmost self-command in order to go on with the letter.