the Hague. I received a letter from her while I was at the play, and the
servant who brought it told me he was waiting to conduct me to her. I
sent my own servant home, and set out on my quest.

My guide made me climb to the fourth floor of a somewhat wretched house,
and there I found this strange woman in a small room, attended by her son
and daughter. The table stood in the midst of the room, and was covered
with a black cloth, and the two candles standing upon it made it look
like some sort of sepulchral altar. The Hague was a Court town. I was
richly dressed; my elaborate attire made the saddest possible contrast
with the gloom of my surroundings. Therese, dressed in black and seated
between her children at that black table, reminded me of Medea. To see
these two fair young creatures vowed to a lot of misery and disgrace was
a sad and touching sight. I took the boy between my arms, and pressing
him to my breast called him my son. His mother told him to look upon me
as his father from henceforth. The lad recognized me; he remembered, much
to my delight, seeing me in the May of 1753, in Venice, at Madame
Manzoni's. He was slight but strong; his limbs were well proportioned,
and his features intellectual. He was thirteen years old.

His sister sat perfectly still, apparently waiting for her turn to come.
I took her on my knee, and as I embraced her, nature herself seemed to
tell me that she was my daughter. She took my kisses in silence, but it
was easy to see that she thought herself preferred to her brother, and
was charmed with the idea. All her clothing was a slight frock, and I was
able to feel every limb and to kiss her pretty little body all over,
delighted that so sweet a being owed her existence to me.

"Mamma, dear," said she, "is not this fine gentleman the same we saw at
Amsterdam, and who was taken for my papa because I am like him? But that