on our face!"

Frightened by his despair, my mother did not dare to show her grief,
and Marie was more desolate than they. Persuaded that I could justify
myself if I chose, she divined the motive of my silence, and believed
that she was the cause of my suffering.

One evening, seated on his sofa, my father was turning over the leaves
of the "_Court Almanac_," but his thoughts were far away, and the book
did not produce its usual effect upon him. My mother was knitting in
silence, and from time to time a furtive tear dropped upon her work.
Marie, who was sewing in the same room, without any prelude declared
to my parents that she was obliged to go to St. Petersburg, and begged
them to furnish her the means.

My mother said: "Why will you leave us?"

Marie replied that her fate depended on this journey; that she was
going to claim the protection of those in favor at Court, as the
daughter of a man who had perished a victim to his loyalty.

My father bowed his head. A word which recalled the supposed crime of
his son, seemed a sharp reproach.

"Go," said he, at last, with a sigh; "we will not place an obstacle
to your happiness. May God give you an honorable husband and not a
traitor!"

He rose and left the room. Alone with my mother, Marie confided to
her, in part, the object of her journey. My mother, in tears, kissed