infirmities of age, and all hope seemed gone, a letter arrived from
Mademoiselle de la Motte to her parents.

It was written from San Vito, a small mountain hamlet in the northern
part of Italy. By this letter she informed them that she was safe and
happy as the wife of Captain Waldemar de Volaski, who had long possessed
her heart, and to whom she had just given her hand. She begged her
father and mother to pardon her for having sought her happiness in her
own way, and assured them, notwithstanding her seemingly unfilial
conduct, she still cherished the strongest sentiments of love and honor
toward them both, and ever remained their dutiful and affectionate
daughter--VALERIE DE LA MOTTE DE VOLASKI.

The mother, who under any other circumstances, would have been
overwhelmed with mortification and sorrow at this _mesalliance_ of
her daughter, was now so glad to know that Valerie was alive in health,
even though as the bride of a poor young captain of the Guards, that she
thanked Heaven earnestly, and rejoiced exceedingly.

But the baron who would as willingly have never heard of his lost
daughter, as that she had so degraded herself, left his wife's
bed-chamber abruptly, and went off to his smoking-room, where he could
vent his feelings by cursing and swearing to his heart's content.

The next day the Baron de la Motte, breathing maledictions, set out for
Italy, accompanied by the baroness, who had wonderfully rallied in health
and strength since she had received news of her missing daughter.

The proud baroness was, in one respect, like the poor Hebrew mother of
the Bible story. She preferred to give up her child to another claimant
rather than lose that beloved child by death.

The baron's party traveled day and night, without pause or rest, until
they crossed the northern frontier of Italy, and halted at the little
hamlet of San Vito, at the foot of the Apennines.

Here they found the fugitive pair living a sort of Arcadian life: and
here they learned the facts which they had not hitherto even suspected.

Captain Waldemar de Volaski and Mademoiselle Valerie de la Motte had
loved each other from the first moment of their meeting at the ball given
in honor of the French minister, at the Imperial Palace of Annitchkoff,
and had betrothed themselves to each other during the first month of
their acquaintance. They had kept their betrothal a secret, only because
they felt assured it would meet with the most violent opp