tive freedom and ease; and yet, I cannot tell the
swelling emotion of my heart with which I emerged from the deep archway
of the fortress, and heard the bang of the heavy gate as it closed
behind me. Steep as was the path, I felt as if I could have bounded
down it without a fear! The sudden sense of liberty was maddening in
its excitement, and I half suspect that had I been on horseback in that
moment of wild delight, I should have forgotten all my plighted word and
parole, though I sincerely trust that the madness would not have endured
beyond a few minutes. If there be among my readers one who has known
imprisonment, he will forgive this confession of a weakness, which to
others of less experience will seem unworthy, perhaps dishonourable.

Dorf Kuffstein was a fair specimen of the picturesque simplicity of
a Tyrol village. There were the usual number of houses, with carved
galleries and quaint images in wood, the shrines and altars, the little
'platz,' for Sunday recreation, and the shady alley for rifle practice.

There were also the trellised walks of vines, and the orchards; in the
midst of one of which we now approached a long, low farmhouse, whose
galleries projected over the river. This was the abode of Madame
d'Aigreville.

A peasant was cleaning a little mountain pony, from which a side-saddle
had just been removed as we came up, and he, leaving his work, proceeded
to ask us into the house, informing us, as he went, that the ladies had
just returned from a long ramble, and would be with us presently.

The drawing-room into which we were shown was a perfect picture of
cottage elegance; all the furniture was of polished walnut-wood, and
kept in the very best condition. It opened by three spacious windows
upon the terrace above the river, and afforded a view of mountain and
valley for miles on every side. An easel was placed on this gallery, and
a small sketch in oils of Kuffstein was already nigh completed on it.
There were books, too, in different languages, and, to my inexpressible
delight, a piano!

The reader will smile, perhaps, at the degree of pleasure objects so
familiar and everyday called forth; but let him remember how removed
were all the passages of my life from such civilising influences--how
little of the world had I seen beyond camps and barrack-rooms, and how
ignorant I was of the charm which a female presence can diffuse over
even the very humblest abode.

Before I had well ceased to won