The health of Albert and the religion of Alexandrine were the two poisons hidden under this smiling exterior. Ten days after his marriage, Albert in putting his handkerchief to his mouth, drew it away covered with blood. At Pisa he was better, at Constantinople quite well, at Rouen he was at death's-door. At Venice he was again better, and the husband and wife went together to Lido. While the wife was disturbed for the health of her husband, he was trembling for more important interests. From the commencement of their love, Albert's most ardent desire had been to see Alexandrine kneel at the same altar, and practice the same faith, as himself. This hope seemed sure of realization when they married, for God was ever with them in their happiest hours; since their marriage a feeling of delicacy had kept them silent on the great subjects of conversion. Albert did not wish that Alexandrine should be constrained by her affection for him, and she feared for herself the same powerful influence. She was not willing to sacrifice her reason to the dictates of her heart, and dreading the displeasure of her mother, she dreaded still more the censures of conscience. She desired to submit to conviction, and to resist the pleadings of her love. We recognize here the transparent sincerity of a character of which Albert said truly, "I never saw in her the slightest affectation." Thus Albert's health and Alexandrine's religion agitated them both with a constant, silent anxiety, which introduces something tragical and sorrowful into their history. Being prevented by his health from devoting himself to the service of his country and his church, Albert had concentrated all his desires on the establishment of truth in the heart dearest to him. Nothing could be more touching than Alexandrine's care for Albert's health. The charming Swede, the graceful daughter of the North, the belle of the Neapolitan _fêtes_, was transformed into the attentive nurse, hiding her fears, and accepting disagreeable duties. Shut up in a sick room, closing with her delicate fingers the curtains, while Albert was asleep, weeping while he slept, and, smiling when he woke. At this cruel moment hope is absent; sorrow extends still more and more her heavy icy hand over this hitherto so happy pair. Albert, at Venice, became so ill that they sent for his family. They come, they see him, he is dying, but he is consumed with an irresistible desire to revisit his country. They set out in a carriage at short journeys. They leave Venice the 10th of April, and arrive in Paris on the 11th of May. {20} On the 26th Albert is established 13 Rue de Madame, in a hired room near the Luxembourg. He is a little better and much happier, for he is in France, surrounded by his friends. They are young, they are good, they are happy--why then, death, sickness, and the crushing sorrow of approaching separation? Why all this anguish at once--conversion refused to the prayers